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Date Posted: 21:04:08 09/03/02 Tue
Author: Rita
Subject: Chapter 12

The Walkover Page 1 of 12
Chapter 12 Words: 3350
Tijuana (1995)


A year after hubby's second tumor-produced cancer and a year prior to his common bacterial-produced heart disease, it was obvious that antitumor antibiotics were being withheld in Michigan. I wanted to purchase antibiotics in Mexico.

It was also known that a Michigan hospital laboratory had raised a white blood cell figure 10 times the normal figure; and a medical person had told Hubby that when your doctor doesn't prescribe antibiotics, it's because you don't need any antibiotics. Yet, the medical people never mentioned the antitumor/antiviral antibiotics discovered in the 1960's.

My husband's 1995 blood tests was the following:

TEST RESULTS LAB INCREASE (Lab Normal) PERSONALIZED
Neutrophils 68.5 30-80 (54-62) 59
Lymphocytes 20.2 20-60 (25-33) 30
Monocytes 8.2 2-10 (3-7) 5
Eosinophils 1.5 .01-5.00 (.01-3) 1
Basophils 1.7* .01-5.00** (0-0.5) 0.2***

* Patients was not flagged because of the lab's increased figures.
** 10 times higher than 0.5.
*** Again, hubby had left the hospital without antibiotics.


I wrote all over the world to see what other places were using. The highest figure came from a UK hematologist who stated 0-0.8. Strange as it may sound, the lowest figure came from Lansing, Michigan with the reference of "Steven ML. Fundamentals of
Clinical Hematology" showing the basophils were 0-0.5.

Tijuana Page 2




I, too, had a tooth infection in 1988, and cell abnormalities were also showing up in my blood tests. A blood test would be like a person's personal health bible. A person needed to know what a normal cell range would be, before identifying cell abnormalities.
Both my husband and I had a White Blood Cell normal range of about 6. Therefore when the White Blood Cell count raised to 8, it was personally high, especially when the infections were long-termed and untreated. I had made it clear that I wished to go to Mexico to purchase what I considered to be the more effective antibiotics, which were Adriamycin, Penicillin Benzathine, and Streptomycin.

My husband Bill and I had spent two months in Laughlin, Nevada, which was about 2200 miles from Michigan. Then Hubby and I headed for Tijuana by driving from Laughlin to California.


We were cruising down US5 when we saw a big green sign with white bold print stating: last exit before border. We drove down the ramp onto a side street and into a Motel 6 parking lot about three-and-a-half blocks from the Mexican border. Bill and I rented a room for two nights. We were tired after the 360-mile ride from Laughlin.


The next day, Bill asked the motel clerk the best way to go to Tijuana. The clerk suggested that we leave the vehicle in the motel parking lot and take a cab to the border. While Bill was asking, I was outside walking around and looking at the scenery.
I couldn't see the border and there was a walkway over the highway US5. So, I walked halfway across the walkway and stood over the middle of the highway, looking for the Mexico border. I'd never been to Mexico and it was obvious that I was
going to have to get closer to see it.


The cab arrived. Bill and I got in, and he drove three blocks to a large fairly vacant parking lot to let us out. "Where do we go from here?" I asked.

Tijuana Page 3


The cab driver pointed to a distant building, saying, "Go to the money exchange."



The building was far away. There was a bus with a Tijuana sign and a man standing next to the door, a few steps from where Hubby and I stood. I rushed over to the stranger and asked him where the money exchange place was.


The bus driver told Bill and me that unless we were going to buy a big-ticket item, there was no need to exchange currency. He then suggested that for two dollars a person we could purchase a round trip ticket to the center of Tijuana. The buses ran every half hour to Tijuana and back to the United States until nine o'clock at night. Since Hubby and I had left the car at the motel, instead of going to the money exchange, we boarded the bus.


I was impressed how quickly we drove through customs with no questions asked and I was hoping that the return trip would be as easy. I have been over the Canadian border and usually someone says something to you. I looked down at my knitted slacks and small purse, thinking that I couldn’t carry much dressed like this and on foot. I had heard that antibiotics were cheap in Mexico, so I decided that I wouldn’t be spending over $100, in case purchases were questioned.


The bus began making turns down several city streets. I didn't think about writing any of the names down. Soon there were too many for me to remember. The bus stopped and the driver announced that a bus would be leaving for the U.S. every half hour. All we had to do was return to the bus stop on Revolutionary Street and that the last bus back was at nine o'clock.


Bill and I toured Tijuana. The street was lined with shops and a peddler stood in front of every store, saying, "Come inside and see my establishment."


Hubby and I would shake our heads, replying, "No."

Tijuana Page 4


One shop had a Mexican band by the entrance. I wanted to listen to the Spanish music, so Bill and I walked in. As we entered, the musicians stopped. Bill and I walked around the various stores inside. A black leather cowboy hat caught my eye. I picked it up to look at the $28 price tag. The merchant asked, "You want to buy the hat?"


"No. It's too much."
The merchant then looked at Bill, asking if he wanted to buy his girl friend a present. Bill told him "No", and that I was his wife.



The retailer then asked: "Then how about something for your neighbors wife?" Again, Bill only shook his head.



The merchant quickly began pushing his wares, "This is a real good hat. It's genuine leather." He pulled out his lighter, and began torching the hat. "See. See. The flame didn't hurt the leather."



"You keep trying to burn it and I know I'm not going to want to buy that one. It's too expensive anyway." I exclaimed and proceeded to walk away.
"How much did you want to pay?"



I wanted to buy something for my daughter, but I didn't know if she would like the cowboy hat style. "Five dollars," I replied.



We bickered for a while. I ended up paying $12, and walked around Tijuana with a black leather hat.


Bill and I walked upstairs to a bar/restaurant. They had a special where you purchased one margarita and received a second free.

Tijuana Page 5


We sat on the open porch overlooking the busy street. I heard a whistle blowing. A mobile bartender sold tequila shots from the bottle directly into a patron's mouth, blowing a whistle until the purchaser said "enough." Then the bartender would shake the drinker's head.


One problem about drinking: what goes in must come out. The bathroom stalls had no toilet paper. The toilet paper was on a wall outside the stalls. In this bathroom, the attendant handed it to you. The next bathroom had no attendant. So, if you didn’t know to take the toilet paper with you before entering the stall, then you were simply without!



Bill and I finished our drinks and left.

Hubby stood on the sidewalk, while I walked into the first drugstore. I was looking for three antibiotics Adriamycin, Penicillin G Benzathine, and Streptomycin. They used to be available in the United States. Can you imagine going to a U.S. doctor that would prescribe four penicillin benzathine pills, that would be take one pill a week for 4 weeks. I was under the impression that the taking of one penicillin pill a week was a good reason for its disappearance. As for the other two antibiotics, consumption would be a little more complicated.

The first druggist tried to sell me a tube of Penicillin ointment. I was annoyed that a gram-positive antibiotic was offered instead of a gram-negative one. So I left purchasing nothing. By the time that I walked into the third drugstore, Bill was doing a pacing, disgusting number, and saying, "When a doctor tells you that you don't need antibiotics...you don't need any! Only a stupid person would think they do, when they don't"

Tijuana Page 6



So, I quickly went inside and purchased two antibiotics that I wasn't looking for, but they were made in the USA. I purchased them because of the Mexican's suggest: "They're better than nothing!"

Bill and I walked passed only two doors and there was another bar. Hubby wanted to do something that he wanted to do. I looked at my watch. It was only three. We had plenty of time for a beer or two before catching the nine o’clock bus in seven hours.


The front of the building was completely open. Bill and I walked around the U-shaped bar to the back, which faced the street. We sat observing the establishment and passing tourist. There was a slender Mexican with a neatly trimmed mustache who sat at the corner about four feet from Bill. He looked about thirty and wore a purple shirt trimmed with a tan collar and cuffs. I noticed that he wasn't paying for any drinks. Thus I mentioned to Bill that he must have something to do with the owning or managing of the
bar. Beer was a dollar a bottle, so Bill purchased three Corona's, one for each of us; and the bartender offered the three of us a shot of tequila. I turned down the shot and looked at my watch. It was 3:15. We still had time for another beer before catching the bus.
Bill began talking to his newfound Spanish-speaking friend. For 8-hours Bill's conservation consisted of four subjects: I was loco. Bill had not had so much fun since his dog died. Jose asked how long Bill and I had been married. The reply was “Twenty-seven years.” We had been married for as long as Jose was old. Bill constantly asked that I take a picture of his Mexican friend Jose. The photos came out showing various stages of drunkenness.



When Bill told Jose that he had not had so much fun since his dog died for the third time, Jose looked puzzled. He did not speak good English and he could not understand what Bill was saying. So I reached into my purse and pulled out my Spanish translator. With
calculator in hand, I walked to Jose and entered word by word:

Tijuana Page 7


I have not had so much fun since my dog died!


With another puzzled look, Jose replied, "Dog die; that's sad."
But the subject was changed when Jose was impressed with the pocket electronic Spanish-English translator.


"It goes from Spanish to English, too," I said, pointing to the calculator and trying to encourage Jose to spell something so we could understand what he was saying. A language barrier overwhelmed our conversation. Thus I ended my brief chat.



Then a Mexican guitarist came into the bar. He asked Bill if he wanted a song sung to his love.

Bill raised his right hand, pointing up one finger, inquiring the price, "One dollar."

"Si."

"Okay," Bill agreed and handed him a dollar.

The guitarist began naming several Spanish songs. He wanted us to choose one. All the titles were totally unfamiliar. So, we insisted that he pick the one he liked.


Jose, Bill and I had a few more Coronas. Again I passed on the tequila shots. I looked at my watch. It was 6 o'clock. I noticed several people had entered. Each wore a white shirt and the words "SECURITY" written across the back. "Look at those shirts," I said, pointing them out to Bill. "They have as many employees as there are customers. We have bars in Michigan that will hire extra security during the busy hours. Look at all the
security and it's only six o'clock."

Tijuana Page 8


Bill nodded, commenting: "It must be a busy bar."
Shortly, the bar was filled with people.

I decided to run across the street to a liquor store to purchase two quarts of Tequila while Bill remained talking to his newfound Mexican buddy. After I returned, Bill excused himself to go to the men's bathroom. I waited and waited until one of the male
employees told me that my husband was on the other side of the bar. I walked around the bar. And standing next to Bill was a young slender senorita clothed in a red dress. The dark-haired girl looked at me with a facial expression of "O-o-o-p-s." Then she slipped
away to blend in with the large crowd.

Bill was purchasing two red margaritas. I asked him, "Why are you buying two margaritas when you have a beer at the other side of the bar?"

I picked up both margaritas and we returned to our original bar stools. As I was just finishing the second margarita, a bar employee tapped me on the arm to let me know that it was 11:00p.m.

We missed the bus. Oh, my God. I panicked. Grabbing Bill's arm to get his attention, I said that we had to leave. By this time, Jose had his head on the bar passed out. Jose was not moving; he lived there, we didn’t! Finally, Bill was able to get up. Thus Hubby and I struggled through the crowd to the street. On the sidewalk was a large dumpster. Bill put both arms up and clutched the dumpster, holding onto the sides and saying, "I can't walk!"

"Well, try to remember how real quick," I snapped. "It's one foot, then the other for three miles to the U.S. border."

Tijuana Page 9


Bill took a few steps sideways, then a few steps backwards. Fortunately a taxi cab driver came up to us, asking, "Do you want a cab?"

"Yes," I nodded. We walked to his cab and got in. He drove us to the US5 section of the 8-lane border highway were he had to turn around and we had to get out in the middle of the highway where there was a row of market shops.

A young Mexican boy about twelve came over, asking, "Do you need some help?"

I examined the faded red sweatshirt with the yellow lettering "United States" and replied, "Yes. Your shirt says where I'm going. How do I get there?"

The young lad offered to get on one side of Bill, so that we could help him walk straight. The boy kept saying: "I can only go so far."

The lad spoke very good English. He pointed to where the custom building was, and then ran off. I stood looking at four lanes of bumper-to-bumper traffic. There was an overpass, but I couldn't see any stairs. The young boy returned with a young friend. The four of us weave through the four lanes of traffic. Again the young lad said: "We can only go so far."

"How far is only so far?" I asked.

"This far. We have to leave you now. The law says that we cannot enter the U.S. custom building.



Tijuana Page 10

A young couple was about 75 feet in front of us. They were walking in the direction of the customs building.

"See that couple, Bill? See how nice they are walking? That is what we have to do."
The young couple entered the building. We were still about 75 feet behind. Once Hubby and I were in the building, I took Bill's hand to encourage him to walk faster, hopefully straighter.

Instead Bill began shaking my hand to make me let go, saying: "You're going to make me fall down."


By that time we were in back of the young couple at the custom-US-entrance crossing. There were two American guards at the crossing, one on each side railing. The male guard facing us, said: "These people don't have anything to claim."


Hubby and I had quickly passed through the custom crossing, and walked outside. We then crossed the street. Bill stopped to balance himself on a large blue mailbox and told me that he had to pee.


I no sooner said, “So. So pee!”

When I could hear voices in back of me, whispering: "Is he going to pee?"

I turned to see where the several voices were coming from. There were at least six people sitting at the walk's edge. Bill and I noticed that there was a Jack-In-The-Box across the street that we had just crossed. So we walked back and into the eatery. Once inside, I saw the men's room and several chairs facing the restrooms. I walked to a
chair and sat down. Bill slowly walked along the wall, fumbling to find the room.

Tijuana Page 11

Hubby looked at me asking “Where?”

"Try where the sign says 'Men'," I said. At that moment two men exited. I pointed, saying, "Where those two men just walked out of."

Bill proceeded to enter the restroom as a security guard approached me, stating: "You know, in Mexico they arrest people for drunkenness."

"Thank you for that information," I said, nodding.

I didn't think about asking the security guard about U.S. cabs. The cabs were available in Tijuana, and I didn’t see any cabs after we had crossed the border. So, when Hubby rejoined me, we ate hamburgs and left. Once outside, Bill and I walked down a sidewalk that turned into a dirt walkway along railroad tracks. "Don't stagger," I told him, "we don't want to look drunk. Look around. You and I are in a dark section of a border town by the railroad tracks----lost! You know, some people might be slightly fearful of being mugged."

Since, I grew up in the inner city of Springfield, Massachusetts. This was a good time to try my Italian cousins philosophy. Walk like you’re a member of the Mafia, and if that don't work then you run like the wind.

There were no direction signs. I thought that we were walking the wrong way. So, I walked ahead of Bill to save him a few steps. Sure enough, we were going the wrong way. When I returned to tell him that we'd try the other street, Bill had fallen down and was complaining about breaking his eyeglasses and cutting his face. Bill's German
blood was beginning to show as he said, "Give me a cigarette."

Tijuana Page 12


"I don't have any."
Hubby continued to complain, "You left me. This is all your fault."


"Leaving you, would have been back in Tijuana holding onto the dumpster at midnight." I snapped, pointing to a gas station and saying, "Maybe they sell cigarettes over there."


The gas station looked open. We walked up to the small building's bulletproof-glassed cashier window. "Do you sell cigarettes?" I asked, while looking around for a cigarette machine.

The short, blonde man behind the glass petition was extremely nervous and his body and head shook, "No."
"You don't!" I blurted, shocked.


Quickly he responded, "You have to go down to the next gas station."


Turning to Bill, I added, "I don't believe this. Lost. No cigarettes, and he's more scared than we are!"


We continued our walk. When two people are bickering, they fail to notice the tail-tale logical signs. As we continued down the street, I heard the highway traffic that I had been so desperately listening for earlier. "Stop," I said and stood surveying the scenery.


Bill, too, could hear the vehicle sounds too. Looking behind us, I could see the overpass walkway, which I had stood on earlier. We backtracked and became unlost when we found US5. We crossed the highway on the walkway, and found our truck with the
cigarettes inside.

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