When the American Medical System Failed Us, We Turned to Mexico
My wife had a brain aneurysm rupture on November 31, 2015. Mariana, then 45, clasped her neck while eating dinner and started sweating uncontrollably. Her eyes rolled back in a seizure, and I called 911, begging them to hurry because my wife appeared to be dying.
That night, paramedics took her to a small Roanoke hospital, where she suffered another seizure. At first, the ER doctors looked indifferent and then alarmed, with four medics circling her bed. They put a handheld respirator down her throat and rushed her for a CAT scan. My wife quickly was transferred to a bigger hospital but was beginning to lose consciousness. Two hours had passed, and pressure was building in her brain. One doctor decided that a hole needed to be drilled into Mariana’s skull to relieve the pressure. He asked for authorization, and I gave it. “You have to understand, this is a marathon, not a sprint,” he said.