this morning there are three taxis waiting on the corner of via argentina.

“taxi mister, taxi, - this way mister.”

the drivers don’t say a word as the dirty man with crazy hair pretends to help. he points to a beat up taxi in the middle.

“no, quiero el frente.”

i don’t know why i’m even talking to him. my taxi slumbers three feet away. i don’t need his help. yet he extends a dirty palm so that i can reward him for his good service.

“estoy limpio.” i say, pockets empty for moments like this.

his palm pivots towards my girl friend (alex). she’s a soft touch. she knows panama’s full of unstable characters. alex tosses the man some silver. it’s easier. rebuff the wrong guy in panama and you might wake up next to a severed crocodile head.

“rock and roll.” he says, before happily scuttling off.

there’ll be no bloody reptiles in our bed tonight. our driver wears a tie and dress shirt. his taxi’s spotless, and he’s set a bowl of duros between the front seats. he navigates the streets calmly, without the customary obscene hand gestures. typical, in panama i can run the gamut from uber-professional to i-don’t-give-a-fuck in 60 seconds.

this morning we’ve come to the lounge of the centro medico nacional. alex is seeking a second opinion. her doctors in patilla want to remove her uterus. a hysterectomy is a big deal for all women, but it might be an even bigger deal for a latina. alex cried for days when she heard the diagnosis. some pills go down hard.

our appointment is for 11am. we arrive early. even with an appointment, its first come, first served. after 20 minutes alex is called away. when she returns she tells me we’re going to have another hour wait. good thing we got here early.

the lobby’s cool, clean, and freshly painted. theres a handsome print of the building’s exterior on the wall. it looks much nicer than the building itself.

none of the people who arrive look poor. one man listens to an apple ipod, another has a gold watch and $100 hiking shoes. alex tells me the poor all go to centro de salud, or caja de seguro social. most of the later are probably already dead.

once we finally get in to see the doctor i’m pleasantly surprised; she’s kind, professional.

“tranquila” she says to alex, after an exam. “tu eres delgada, bonita, y fibromas son normal para tu edad (alex is over 40), tienes bien salud.”

then she tells us what i’d already suspected, our doctor in patilla was recommending a dangerous, expensive, and unnecessary operation. she points out that alex’s fibromas are non-cancerous, and shrinking.

“no es mas grande?” i say.

“no.”

our doctor shows us the measurement on a ruler. the biggest fibroma is the size of a quarter. our patilla doctor “solo quiere plata” she says. to emphasize the point she makes a rubbing motion with her fingers, the universal i-want-your-money motion.

yo se. i’m simultaneously pissed, and relieved. alex can’t stop smiling.

so there you have it, a microcosm of the kind of medical care you’ll find in panama. go to the right doctor and the care is quite excellent. go to those cunts doctors in patilla and you’ll end up $5000 poorer and missing your uterus, go to the caja de seguro social and you could end up dead.

it’s your call.

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