Is your prescription the right one?
As usual, two weeks before embarking on my upcoming trip, I collected and counted all my medications, throwing in a few extra pills of each kind, just to be safe.
As usual, two weeks before embarking on my upcoming trip, I collected and counted all my medications, throwing in a few extra pills of each kind, just to be safe.
The Hospital for the Dying, in the Kalighat area of Kolkata (formerly Calcutta), India, is where I spent three memorable mornings as a volunteer. The hospital, established by Mother Teresa in 1950, is run by the Missionaries of Charity with the help of volunteers. Working there made me realize 1) how fortunate we Americans are and 2) how overregulated we are here in the U.S. or, perhaps, how underregulated they are in India.
One of the perils of international travel is dealing with illness or other health emergencies when in a foreign country. (Cruise ships with medical services aboard are the exception to this.) When we learned in 1988 that the International Association for Medical Assistance to Travellers, or IAMAT (1623 Military Rd. #279, Niagara Falls, NY 14304-1745; www.iamat. org), helps you do just this in numerous countries (in 2007 it’s 125), we joined.
In the letter titled “Economy Class Syndrome” (July ’07, pg. 16), the reader’s recounting of her husband’s pulmonary embolism demonstrates the dangers of the airline’s present policy of cramming more and more people into less and less space on their flights. One of my coworkers died of a pulmonary embolism last November immediately following a flight to the Philippines.
by Dr. Alan M. Spira, M.D., DTM&H, FRSTM
My husband, William, and I were to take a 12-day Amazon River cruise aboard the Princess Regal, Jan. 16-28, 2007. The cost of our trip was $6,653 including airfare.
by Alan M. Spira, M.D. (Second of two parts)
In the last issue I discussed the dreaded runs and how to decrease your chances of catching traveler’s diarrhea.
Malaria just doesn’t get respect. Until, that is, someone catches it.
While staying with friends just outside London in May ’06, I woke up one morning with a sore throat and a husky voice. I told my friends I had better catch the next flight back to California in case I was coming down with something.
They suggested I see a doctor first, but, it being Sunday, I imagined that, like in the U.S., that meant a trip to the E.R. in a hospital, a wait of two or three hours and a bill for three or four hundred dollars. My friend insisted it was no problem; the National Health Service had a Sunday clinic nearby.
by Alan M. Spira, M.D.
(Third of three parts)