He Had Me in Stitiches

After the surgery, I returned the following Monday for a bandage change. The doctor is so cute; as he was removing the old bandage, he kept saying "I'm sorry!" anticipating my pain at the tape being pulled off. He was actually so gentle, I did not even think I winced, but was reflective of his concern. The surgeon was doing the dressing change, not a nurse, not an intern. Last Friday, I returned again. Each meeting begins with idle chit-chat, but regardless of what I say, he responds with something to assure me that he is really listening. This go-around, he removed three stitches, dressed the bandage, and sent me on my way. Monday was the final removal of the last of the stitches. After they were out, he sprayed a "liquid bandage" on me to protect the scar. He said it will take six weeks for me to completely heal. I made a joke about my state of affairs, just off the cuff, so it really surprised me when he busted out laughing. Now I can shower. Sponge baths are fine in a pinch, but they are really god-awful over a week's time. Regardless how fastidious I tried to be, I thought I smelled myself with every little breeze, making me feel like a dirty pariah. As I left the exam room knowing I would be returning again this Friday, I turned to him to ask if he was going to be around forever. What I meant to ask was if he was a resident who would be finishing a rotation only to disappear. When I modified the question, he assured me he was a specialist with the department and would be around for some time. Relief washed over me...I hate ending these long term relationships.

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26 Hours

6:15 am Got up, showered, dressed and walked to the hospital to meet with the surgeon. I told Ron not to bother going with me. I assumed that they would not allow the surgery without the microbiology results, so there was no point in his joining me. I expected to be home again within the hour. 7:15 am As I walked up to the hospital, I ran into my surgeon outside. I told him about the problem with lab work. He asked if I had a print-out of the others. He said it was no problem, we could go ahead with the surgery. Again, mixed emotions. He took me upstairs and personally took me to the registration, so he could translate. Registration consisted of giving them my lab results and medical card. I was registered within three minutes. The surgeon then took me to my room, one of the newly remodeled ones with only three beds in it. One was occupied. He explained that he had to go on rounds and would be back for me. The nurse came in to ask if I had any allergies. The dietitian asked if I was on any special diet. They all did their best to communicate without much English. We did fine. The bed had no electric equipment for adjustments; just the head hand cranked up and down, but it was perfect so no adjustment was needed. We had our own bathroom with a shower in the room. It was beautifully tiled. 8:15 am My doctor came in and said they would be coming for me shortly. Minutes later, a young man came with a concave gurney that looks more like a hammock. He said "Undress!" followed by "NOW!" I got on the gurney and he wheeled me off down one hall, then another. There were so many twists and turns. Looking at the ceiling, I had flashbacks to movies like Coma for some reason. Within three minutes, he had me completely shaved. No foam, no soap, nothing to soften the hair, just swipe, swipe, swipe with the efficiency of a barber. 9:15 am This same young man takes me from the anterior room into the surgery suite, a much smaller room than I anticipated. He lifted me off of the gurney onto the surgical table. I was more concerned about his back than my nakedness. Draped in sheets, the doctor and nurses arrived and started rearranging sheets, blocking my view. The anesthetic was a local. Three needles into an area already hurting. The doctor explained what I would feel, when I should tell him the pain was unbearable, that I may feel pressure, and I may smell burning flesh when they cauterize blood vessels. This is one of the times when knowing self-hypnosis comes in handy. 10:15 am The surgery is over. The young man again lifts me off of the surgical table and puts me on the gurney. When we reach my room, he one more time, lifts me into bed. Then he put a large cloth bag under me while putting a kilo weight wrapped in a towel on my surgical area. PAIN!!! Within minutes, the nurse came in with a pitcher of tea and a cup. 11:15 am Ron found me though he had no idea where the hospital was or where I would be. I was groggy, I think from the trauma of it all. He left and planned on returning later. I fell asleep immediately. 12:15 pm My friend Laszlo came to visit. While he was here, they served lunch. A large bowl of soup was handed over to him to put on my bedside table. No covering on the soup, just a large bowl. The nurse handed me a spoon and a plate with two large pastries. Ron returned and the three of us talked for a while, but I was wiped out and Laszlo left us. I went down with Ron for a cigarette, but ran into my surgeon who told me I needed to be flat for the rest of the day. A new roommate arrived for the middle bed. 1:15 pm to 5:15 pm I slept, waking for minutes at a time, trying to read my book, but could only last about 10 minutes and then off to sleep again. The only interruption was the doctors doing rounds. The head doctor spoke English and asked me how I was feeling. My surgeon gave my history and explained the procedure to the rest of them. 5:15 pm The nurse arrived to hand each of us a thermometer. I start to put it in my mouth, but she motions it goes under my arm. Moments later, she places a plate on my table. I was thinking how wonderful it is that we get an afternoon snack. Actually, it was dinner. One roll, one scallion, two slices of lunch meat, and a cube of margarine, but no silverware. I ate it and went back to sleep. 6:15 pm My roommate from the middle bed went home. I am curious how he managed that so fast. The nurse returned for the thermometer. It was 37 degrees on the dot, but I have no idea what that is in Fahrenheit. 7:15 pm to 10:15 pm I could not stay awake. As much as I wanted to try to stay awake for fear of being up all night long, I could not do it. At 9:00 pm, the two night nurses came in to check on us. Both male, they pulled my covers down, rearranged the weight after telling me I had to take my sweat pants off. Ugh! My dinner dish is still by my bedside. I was wishing I had brought my phone to call Ron to bring more food; I was hungry. Instead, I drank the grapefruit juice he brought, the tea they gave me and one of the candy bars I had asked him to get for the nursing staff. In between everything, I continued to sleep. 11:15 pm I was awakened when the nurse brought in a new patient for the middle bed. Why he was arriving at this hour was beyond me. They set up an old fashioned IV pole. Once he was changed they started him on an IV. Since I was nearest the window, I had it open all night long for the cool air. Neither roomie seemed to mind. The comforters were quite thick and warm, but the fresh air felt great. Being on a busy street, it was noisy, but it did not seem to disturb any of us from sleeping. 12:15 am to 6:15 am As concerned as I was about sleeping, I slept the night through, waking up for moments at a time to try to process the weird dreams, but tiring of that quickly and falling off once again. 7:15 am This time I thought I was awake for good. The anticipation of my doctor coming to release me, was building. He does not normally work weekends, but was coming in for me. Just like in the USA... ha, ha, ha!!! Anxiety wears me out. I was back asleep within minutes, not waking until the nurse came in with thermometers again. 8:15 am My doctor came in, took me to the examination room, changed my bandage and gave me instructions. No walking until Monday at least when I see him again to take the drainage tube out. No shower unless I can keep the bandage dry. Stay flat on my back or sit only. Gravity is not my friend. When I came out, Ron was in the hallway looking for me. We took a taxi home. Overall impressions: The staff was magnanimous providing for a non-Hungarian speaker. Although antiquated by American standards, I felt safe, comfortable and well cared for during my short stay. I find it difficult to understand how so many thoughts can be crammed into thousands of dreams in this many hours.

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Kaszas comments...

Well Kaszas, my surgery is Friday at 7:30 am. I am doing the best I can to push it into the dark recesses of my conscious thoughts taking one day at a time. The one positive thing I can say about all of this is that here in Hungary, you actually get to spend time with the doctor. In the US, they are in and out so fast, they look like they have super hero capabilities with the speed that they are able to come in and out of a room. As for the blood work, I have a black and blue mark the size of Rhode Island. If I could light it, it would make a fabulous laser show. Kaszas has left a new comment on your post "Another Medical Adventure": ...and were you safe? Oh I feel sorry for you. Thank God I am not familiar with similar practises abroad so there is no basis for comparison on my side. However the process you described matches my experiences with lab work pretty much! Though I wonder what the English lesson would be replaced by in Hungarian...

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Another Medical Adventure

I had to go to the local doctor for blood work, a nose swab, and urine test for my surgery next week. I did attempt following my surgeon's instructions by going two weeks before hand, but the local doctor was on vacation until today. After sitting in the waiting room for a half-hour, the nurse told me to go in. I sat in the chair and the doctor was on the phone, so I did not speak so as to not disturb him. He kind of glanced my way, but did not acknowledge I was there. He hung up the phone, rubbed his eyes and held his hands over his face for a good five minutes. When he let them drop to the desk, he fully noticed I was there with a vague impression of actually seeing someone. I said "Good Morning", he repeated "Good Morning" in a monotone. I continued with "How are you?", to which he repeated "How are you?". For a minute, I thought we were doing English lessons. Then after a pregnant pause, he said "I thought I was alone. I did not know you were there." I always suspected I could turn invisible when in restaurants and wanting a waiter's attention, but it never worked in a doctor's office before. He looks over the sheet that the other doctor had given me, get a swab kit, does the swab and then hands me a test tube for the urine sample. BUT, I cannot do it there. I have to run home, catch it in mid-stream, then collect the rest in a bottle of my own choosing to bring to the lab at the hospital. The clincher was that I had to have it to the lab by 9:30 am, but as he was talking it was already 9:10 am. I had to break into his further instructions on how to find the hospital, saying I have been there a zillion times, in order to finish this amazing race I was now a contestant in. Ran home, did the sample, ran out and made it to the hospital by 9:29 am, but did not know where to take the sample. I found this little old lady that looked like she should have retired thirty years earlier, but was still wearing a uniform of sorts. She was kind enough to walk me over. It was the same place I had to get the blood work done, but the receptionist was anything but receptive. After a long spiel in Hungarian which I tried interrupting to tell her it was all lost on me, she finally went for an English speaker. The phlebotomist had me sit in front of her with my arm dangling. After disinfecting, she stabbed me like a serial killer with the needle. The cotton she gave me to hold over my wound filled with rich red blood in minutes. I had to go to the bathroom. Holding the paper she gave me in my mouth, I struggled to see what I was doing, while blood poured down my arm. From here, I had to turn in the nose swab, but forgetting it was in my bag, I was sent down to the Ear, Nose, and Throat doctor, where I dropped my medical card into the door slot and waited to be called. Then remembering I had the swab, I gave it to the nurse who told me to bring it upstairs, but in my anxiety, I said they sent me here. She had the doctor fill out another form and sent me back upstairs to return it for the lab to process. Some results will be ready tomorrow, but the nose swab needs to culture for five days. I hope that is not five working days or it will not be ready for my surgery on Friday. Cultures don't take the weekend off, so I guess I am safe.

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Anxiety + Relief = Mixed Emotions

My final doctor visit today to get cleared for surgery. Because I could pick my own date, I chose September 11th out of the air. There was a bit of strategy involved, but not much. We have a friend coming to visit that we have not seen for over ten years; it would be shameful to disrupt her stay with a hospital visit. She is a nurse manager, so she may have found it novel. Anyway, she leaves on the 3rd. I wanted a Friday to recuperate over the weekend, so I could go back to school on the following Tuesday. I begged the doctor to let me go home the same day, but hospital "law" (his word) is an overnighter. Now that I have a date, there is plenty of time to alternate between repression and consuming fear.

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Jibs and Jabs

I returned to the doctor again today. During that thirty minutes I waited for the doctor, when I was really trying to concentrate on my Joanne Harris book, The Evil Seed, I could not help but observe the staff. After spending twenty years in a medical setting, I am still intrigued by how things are done in different places. As I am sitting there, a man arrives with a metal cart with large covered metal bowls of various sizes. It was unclear whether this was the staff's breakfast, the patient's lunch or organ transplant delivery. Here one never knows. So, he pushes his cart to the side of the nurses' station, where two women, presumably nurses push up a cart of their own. Cart races down the hall? Exchange carts? Not that either. The three of them took everything off of the one cart and put it on the second cart, allowing the man to take his own cart back to where he came from. Now I was sitting right next to them. The carts were identical. Unless you had a the Hubble telescope, no one could tell them apart. Cart envy? Who knows? After waiting thirty minutes, the doctor comes up to me like he is going to share a big secret. He asked me to come back on Thursday, baecause he had to return to the operating theater. Hey as long as it is not me in the operating theater, I am fine with that. Then I got to thinking, will it be me in there soon? Will there be a bunch of interns and residents staring at me from a bird's eye view? That thought made me a bit nervous until I realized I will never see any of them again...hopefully. Though this seeing the doctor every two weeks has become a habit. We may have to continue this long after the surgery.

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More Humor

Yes, I have better things I could be doing, but I just returned from the dentist and am having a meltdown. Yesterday was a yet another medical doctor appointment. Fast and efficient, but another Rx to have filled and two more weeks of waiting. It is tough getting older. I am waiting for my new computer to be delivered today with Windows Home Server. All five of our computers will be hooked up to the server and then I will load over 700 movies over time onto it. Then guests can watch movies on their laptop in their room. Now for the humor. Note: I have no idea where these originated, so am not purposefully infringing on anyone's copyright.

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Doctor Appointment - Going Solo

Back to the doctor again today, this was my first solo trip. My knight in medical armor, Laszlo went to the US, leaving me for fend for myself. Knowing this from the last trip, I committed building markers to memory to find my way back, but something went amiss. Knowing I could take a different bus than I had been, which stop was not quite clear. The street the hospital was on just happens to be smack dab in between two stops, so either way was a walk. Success, found the street, found the pharmacy (visual marker), found the guards shack (visual marker), found the bufe (snack bar - visual marker). I was sailing high. No problemo! Walked around the jutting out building, found the building in the back and raced up the stairs. Yahoo! We did not take the elevator the last time because it was not working, but I chanced it this time. Two choices, pressed 1. Get off to enter the wings, but all I see is Cardiology. Run down the stairs, Psychiatry. Perhaps later, but not now. Down the stairs again, ground floor, construction only, nothing else, not even workmen. Perhaps I missed a sign, so up the stairs again. First floor, no. Second floor, same thing. The signs never changed since I was there last. Surely they had time in those five minutes to change things around. We know how sneaky people can be in heatlhcare. Feeling panic at being late for my appointment of 'come any time between 9 and 10 am', I ran out of the building almost assaulting a women in white, with hopes she was a nurse or someone in the know. She did not speak English. I had my doctor's name on my mobile phone calendar, so I showed her. After a smile with a nod of the head, she had me follow her. She took me quite a ways in a different direction, but all of the time, I am thinking she is making a mistake. Then she calls to this elderly man who is wearing shorts and old sandals. She then gestures for me to follow him. He was jabbering to himself before being called upon to be my escort. Perhaps, I was to escort him to the psych unit since I can now find it by myself. Being a trusting soul, I go with him now knowing what a homeless person's puppy feel like. Suddenly, I recognized the building, though it looked similar to the one I had left minutes before. Finally, I could stop reciting fractured Shakespere, Laszlo, Laszlo, where art thou Laszlo? Mr. Mumbles was attempting to use the elevator, but I knew it would take until my next appointment to show up, so I ran up the stairs yet again. I may need that cardiac unit after all. Finally, I found the place I needed to be, took a seat, and waved at the doctor when I saw him, just like I said I would do. I had to sign in with the nurse at the desk who was very forgiving that we could not communicate. The doctor came by and said he would see me in five minutes. He actually did. I was examined, given two more prescriptions and was out in less than an hour. July 21st, we will try this again. I hope my visiual clues are intact for then.

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Hungarian Medical - The New Drama Series

Walking into the 'hospital' was an intellectual experience; the emotions did not kick in because I am so talented with repression, refusing to accept that this is my future. We had to walk up the stairs to the second floor, because the sole elevator was not working. Those in wheelchairs must have a real joy ride going down the stairwell. For one brief minute, the nurses station looked almost familiar. The women, presumably nurses were wearing white uniforms being busy, but not looking like they were doing much of anything productive at first glance. Then I noticed that they were cooking lunch in the little back room. I thought it was their lunch until they filled the top of a cart and delivered bowls to the rooms of patients. As we were sitting there waiting for the surgeon to call me, I started checking off the violations that the US Joint Commission on the Accreditation of Healthcare Organizations (JCAHO) would find here. The nurses and doctors were all wearing open toe shoes, with socks, but open toe still. The food was prepared on the floor with no door and exposed as it was transported down the hall. Mental note: Do not eat while here. With anxiety building, I waited for the doctor to call my name, though it was difficult to tell whether the men in the green scrubs were doctors or orderlies. Then a bastardized pronunciation of my name was called out by this young man who introduced himself. He speaks English. Bingo! I won the jackpot. He is young and I can communicate with him. The tension eased as fast as a racehorse stung by a bee. After another brief exam, he explained that prior to surgery, I have to rid myself of an infection that he found. After giving me two prescriptions, we made another appointment for July 2nd and then surgery will be arranged for the end of July. Laszlo kept telling me how lucky I am. I hit the jackpot.

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Round and Round the Mulberry Bush

Not the Mulberry bush exactly, but round and round the medical system tuckers me to a frazzled piece of limp hemp rope. Laszlo, my latest nomination for canonization again escorted me to the doctor to arrange for my pending surgery, taking a day off to do it. Deja vu, we were there at 10am only to find the herds already there were like those at a close-out sale at a Gucci store. One woman told him she had been waiting for over an hour and a half. Couldn't she just round it off to two hours for simplicity? Ron joined us this time for the fun and games to lend support, but jetlag still has him in the vice, so he petered out early. Considering we were waiting for the urologist, this made perfect sense. We had to wait for the magic window to open when the nurse accepts the medical cards and writes your name in her book. When she appears at the open door, she is as off limits as the safety zone of home base in a game of tag. When she does open the window, I think of the groundhog seeing its shadow; there will be six months more of waiting in line. Finally, it was our turn. We spent ten minutes with the doctor while the nurse printed out another ream of forms. There was no interaction with the doctor, the nurse was the star today. With our load of recycled trees, I learned that this doctor was not, I repeat, was not performing my surgery. We had to go to yet another doctor at the hospital who would perform the surgery. Using my last ounce of mental reserve, I followed Laszlo as he led the way to the hospital to find the deparment we needed. The only thing that keeps me sane is repeating mentally, "This is going to make a great blog entry." I will continue this in the next post.

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Lab Rat in Medical Maze

My friend Laszlo was kind enough to assist me with getting the lab work I needed to have done prior to surgery, so we met at 10:00 this morning to beat the rush. Appointments are unheard of, so imagine this scene. There is a pack of starving dogs, though regardless of their hunger, the alpha dog order biological trait is still ingrained in their nature. Suddenly, without warning, a fat juicy steak appears. Inherent instincts be damned, they all charge for the meat fighting off competitors with all means possible. When we arrive at the hospital, we have to return to the doctor's office to get the referrals for labs. Why he could not give them to me when I went the first time is anybody's guess. Outside the office is long bench, reminiscent of the bench outside of the principal's office in my elementary school. Sitting in order of our arrival, we are fourth in line. People are chummy and chatting amicably. Then the ominous music starts playing in our heads, something is about to happen...the door suddenly opens with the nurse making her first appearance of the morning. Vroom, the four waiting without any warning turns into a mob of twenty and the nurse is attacked from all sides deciphering all claims of "I was here first". An hour and half later, we get to see the doctor who really does not need to see me at all, but the nurse has to fill in empty fields on the computer to print out a half dozen pages or lab requests. The other nurse gives me to test tubes to fill with bodily fluids that need returning to some other place. I am told not to touch the tops of either. First task, find a men's room to carry out the task, but the one I find is a fraction the size of an airline toilet. Alone, I am trying to juggle two tubes, one with a blue cap, another cap less. Twisting the blue top does not produce any results, but pulling it off does, allowing the powder inside to fill the air like fairy dust. Opps! Logic led me to filling the capped one first, capping it and sticking it in my pocket while filling the second. This worked fine until I was finished and then tried to get myself back together in a presentable fashion. I had my shirt hanging out, so left my fly open until the tubes where turned in, to surreptitiously finish my project. Next was getting my blood drawn. For this we had to go to a different building, a block down the street. Waiting fifteen minutes was not a major problem, but when she started pulling out tubes with different color caps, I started worrying. Red, Orange, Yellow, Green, Blue, Violet, and Grey. Was she drawing blood for labs or devising new torture for the rainbow aficionados? Seven tubes did not satisfy her, she still needed to prick my finger for yet a few more drops of life sustenance. After all of this, she handed me two of the tubes, with cap colors that I would never have chosen given the chance, to bring to yet another lab to be left for analysis. From here, we had to find the EKG lab, another thirty minute wait. It has been years since I have had one, so was confused when the tech put these large hair clip type things on my ankles and arms, but the gooey, sticky juice on my chest with leech like sucking devices. She told Laszlo that the results looked good. It seems all of those times I thought I was having a heart attack was just anxiety. The pile of papers the doctor's nurse gave us was finally dwindling down, but there was more fun and games to follow. Off to radiology for a chest x-ray with thirty more minutes of waiting, fifteen more to make sure the film was a good one, and we were good to go to the next test. I had to have a nose swab. We had to find the ENT (Ear, Nose and Throat) doctors. As the clock was approaching 12:00, too bad, they are closed now until 2:00, so we went for lunch. By 1:45, we were back and in line, not that it mattered much, but we missed their calling my name three times. They pronounced it Yam-mesh (James) Ree-on (Ryan). Neither one of us caught it, but a lovely young woman sitting next to us happened to see my paperwork and drew our attention to the fact. I was able to see a female doctor who has a certificate in English on her wall showing she was honored by the Lion's Club as a Lioness of Distinction within the Pride for her work with the deaf and blind.

After poking in my nose with expanding tweezers spreading each nostril to look like Carl Malden's appendage, she took a cotton swab that had to be a foot long and mined inside each hole until my brain started tickling. My throat was easy, but the ears, oh the ears, now here is a problem. She asked if I wanted my ears cleaned while I was there. Sure, an added service is like getting your car serviced and being asked if you want a free wash and wax while you are there.

The nurse took me to a sink, where she filled a syringe the circumference of a cola bottle with warm water and shot it in my ear. I thought for sure I would spout water out of my mouth like a fountain. She held a tray catching the debris that flushed out, which was kind of funny, since it did sound in my head like a sink draining. The sounds Laszlo was making were not pretty, arousing my curiosity. It seems my ears were as dirty as an archeological dig site. What came out looked like a non-filtered super long cigarillo.

Four hours later, we were finished with our medical adventure. I have to return in two days to get my blood test results, but all of the others will go directly to the doctor. Why I have to carry around bring my EKG report and retrieve the blood labs myself is a mystery that will go unexplained. Once this is accomplished, it is back to the doctor’s office to schedule an appointment for surgery. The life of an ex-pat is never filled with dull moments or experiences.

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Doctor, Doctor Give Me a Cure

Yesterday, after procrastinating for a long time, I tried to see the doctor. Okay, my brother is not the only procrastinator, but in my defense, I only do it where medical issues are concerned. I would rather not know and be taken by surprise than to know and suffer the treatment. Perhaps not the most intelligent thing to do, but... My other defense is that it took the university five months to straighten out my health insurance coverage giving me plenty of time to be an excused procrastinator. When they finally had it in place, it was the busy season at school, with lots of classes, thesis student to herd, and life was just too busy. To see a doctor, we go to our district clinic, which is just around the corner. The doctor is in 4 hours a day, but different hours Monday to Friday. When I finally pushed myself into going, I found that the English speaking doctor had left Hungary for London and a better paying job. This added a new twist, I needed to bring an interpreter along. Not wanting to discuss my personal issues with a student, I had to arrange a mutual time with our friend Laszlo. When we went to the clinic, it was the wrong set of four hours. The doctor had office hours from 8 to 12 on Mondays. We also discovered that the district is broken down further and although there are about ten doctors at this clinic, you have to go to the one to which your street is assigned. We now have this little old lady doctor. I am not showing her anything on this body. When the other doctor asked Laszlo why it took so long if this problem has been on-going, my first reaction included fear of showing up. However, afterward, it occured to me that what I forgot to include is the fact that I did not have a working health insurance from early November when I went in for a flu shot until the end of March. To complicate matters, I have to arrange an interpreter. The English speaking doctor was far from fluent making it uncertain how much I could explain clearly and thoroughly. We are trying again on Friday, but this time we will go to the specialty clinic. I had better have a good book handy and the book in Laszlo's hand had better be an English/Hungarian medical terms dictionary.

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Needles and Death

I have been victimized by Vasomotor Rhinitis after my first few years of living in California, though it took years to diagnose, partly due to my aversion to doctors. By the sixth year of suffering, it behooved me to make use of the medical insurance for which I was paying dearly. As with any HMO, you see the the doctor for such a brief moment, heaven help you if you ever had to identify him in a line up, you would be hard pressed to do so. Therefore, I have been prescribed every sinus medication known to modern pharmaceuticals.

After a few years, I noticed a correlation. The almond trees bloomed, I became as stuffed up as a toilet in a college fraternity hazing scheme. Come February, I did not even need visuals; the nose knew. Finally, my primary M.D. was shamed into losing some of his residual profits by succumbing to a referral to an allergist. After the most basic allergy test, it was determined I did not suffer from allergies, but they did not test for flower blossoms, let alone for almond flower. That would have required prior approval from the insurance company and no one aside from me thought it was necessary.

With yet a new prescription in hand, I was sent off, screaming that I was leaving the country and could not get it refilled once it was gone. As the allergist strolled off into the sunset of his hallway, he shouted back without turning his head "Use any over the counter med you can find."

Do you know that Sudafed, one of the only meds that works for me is now controlled? In Australia, I had to convince a pharmacist why I needed it. Here I need a Rx from the doctor. Do I look like I need money by making illegal drugs with it? Isn't my lack of a voice enough to convince you?

Plan B: Go to an Acupuncturist. I had been to one in CA for a hiatal hernia and it worked before I opted for the surgery the medical doctor offered instead. Through my massage therapist, I found a Chinese doctor who makes a habit of needling people. Yesterday, was my second appointment.

The day was lovely and rather than take the tram to the metro for two stops, I decided to walk along the narrow sidewalk along the tracks. From one tram stop to the other was a reasonably short distance so I continued onward. As I was walking, I noticed a number of police to the right of the sidewalk up ahead. There was a man with a camera snapping pictures like some tourist, but there was nothing of eye appeal apparent. As I edged closer, the word 'police' was visible on the photographers T-shirt. Then I looked down at the object of his attention. There was a corpse there. After sixteen years as a medical social worker, who spent much of it in the trauma unit, scenes like do not affect me. It was obvious that it was a dead person as they draped the body with a black plastic bag, with the feet sticking out. Newish, clean white sneakers, white gym type socks pulled up to mid-calf with those long shorts everyone wears now. When I was a kid, we called them 'clam diggers'. Anyway, the impression was that this was a male, most likely not a homeless person or if so, one who had access to a laundry. The rest is a mystery for now.

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Shots and Stamps

The local grocery store, Kaiser, in cooperation with some other stores are giving out stamps for every 1,ooo Huf you spend. For those of us old enough to remember the GREEN Stamps issued when you shopped way back when, it is a similar perk. However, these stamps are only redeemable for silverware and matching serving pieces that match. For 20 stamps, you can get a 5 piece place setting of silverware for 2,980 Huf, but if you fill your card with 50 stamps, the cost is reduced to 990 Huf. The way Ron shops daily, we filled a card within a couple of weeks, not that we need the silverware, but in case someone else can use the filled cards, we continue to collect them. Yesterday, we went to the house doctor for our flu shots. The clinic opened at 4pm, but Ron misread the sign and we arrived at 2pm. The doctor was not in, but the nurse was kind enough to wave us in and give us the shots. For the two of us with our insurance, it cost us 1,890 Huf for both of us. As we were leaving, the nurse came running grumbling something we were clueless about. It was not until we looked at her outstretched hand that we realized that our clinic gives out stamps also. Three more stamps for our future silverware collection.

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X-Rays

I had finally broken down and went for X-rays of my back and hip. I was concerned about what they may find, so procrastinated as long as I could. The radiologist has his lab set up in an apartment in a regular apartment building. Nothing medical surprises me any longer, but I could not grasp how they were able to get all of this cumbersomely awkward equipment up four flights and then into the door. He was a kind and professional man who spoke reasonable English and took 7 x-rays, redoing two when he did not like the results of the quality. He said he would give me a written report to take to my doctor. I could hear a typewriter clicking away in the back: a manual typewriter, not a computer, not an electric typewriter. All of the x-rays were 10,000 Huf, about $50.00. His suggestion was to go to the district doctor and get a referral to an orthopedist. Ron pushed me into doing this today, because I have been putting it off. The district doctor speaks good English, so I found out that I have a herniated disk and degeneration of cartilage in my hip joint. He has me on three medications, two for short term and one for six months, which is supposed to regenerate the cartilage in the hip joint. I am such a poor pill taker; this will be a challenge.

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Eye Surgery One of These Days

If you read my blog, you may remember that I was a guinea pig for a Hungarian eye surgeon who was studying double vision. She offered me surgery to correct my double vision when she returned from her pregnancy leave which to be in September. Not wanting to rush her, I waited until October to send her an e-mail. She responded promptly and gave me the number for the receptionist to call for an appointment.

Today, I went to my appointment at 4:50 pm, but I arrived at 4:30. I went to the waiting area where I was the last time for the experimental visit. The exam room door was ajar, but I did not want to be intrusive and waited reading my book. The absence of a reception area was not helpful in determining what to do. When four people eventually left the exam room and I no longer heard voices, I knocked on the door and entered. Sitting at a computer was another female doctor. I cautiously stated that I had an appointment with Dr. Doumas for 4:50, not knowing if she spoke English or not. She responded “I don’t think she is here yet, but please wait.” Being grateful that the insurance would cover this without any expense to me, I sat patiently and waited.

At 5:40, the doctor who originally told me to sit, came out of the office and with surprise asked if I was sure I had an appointment. She then went in to call Dr. Doumas. When she had her on her mobile phone, she came out and handed me the phone. Dr. Doumas said she was waiting for me, but that her office is in the 2^nd district on the Buda side. She explained that she thought for sure the receptionist would have told me this. Well if she had, I certainly would not be waiting in the eye clinic at the medical school in the 9^th district. We made another appointment for next Monday and she is going to e-mail me the address.

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