No Gas Until Christmas

Last week we received a notice there was going to be a house meeting. We never attend knowing we will not understand, but our next door neighbor said we should. He explained based on the square meters of our apartment, we had great influence in the decision making. One agenda item was replacing gas pipes. It seems the BKV building across the street from us, the company responsible for all public transportation in the city, has discovered a gas leak in their basement. These pipes needed to be replaced. They continued under our building so all of us were affected.

What we did not realize was the timing or the impact. On Monday, Ron was up early to shower before his appointment with the anesthesiologist for his Tuesday surgery. When I went to shower, there was no hot water. I immediately blamed some downdraft blowing out the pilot light on the hot water heater, but then I noticed the light was blinking on the heater for the radiators. Bother were avoiding being relight.

No gas! Our neighbor came running over when he saw the whites of my eyes, chattering a mile a minute in Hungarian.  I must have looked like the proverbial deer in the headlights, but it did not stop him from continuing to ramble on. I started calling everyone I knew who could possibly translate. Of course, most people did not answer their phone, but thankfully, our friend András did.

What I learned was that the gas was being turned off that day, Monday. Men from the gas company would be coming to remove the gas meter. There will be no gas until December 23rd. This was not good news under any circumstances, but in December it does send a shiver down one’s spine.

As of Monday, we have no heat, no hot water for showering or washing clothes, and no stove for cooking. Due to my newly renewed culinary interests, we do have an electric crock pot. It will be a savior keeping us from having to eat out. Monday was our first night without heat; it was not too cold. We did fine.

Tuesday, we were up at 5:30am to get Ron to the hospital for his surgery. He was to be there by 7am the latest. Our kitchen sink has an electric water heater, so we were able to get hot water for his sponge bath. I could not go that route, so I took a freezing cold shower. Truly not an experience one wants to repeat.

Tuesday, we were up at 5:30am to get Ron to the hospital for his surgery. He was to be there by 7am the latest. Our kitchen sink has an electric water heater, so we were able to get hot water for his sponge bath. I could not go that route, so I took a freezing cold shower. Truly not an experience one wants to repeat.

After Ron was taken off to surgery at 7:45, I went home again. Our neighbor showed up again chattering like a magpie. Again, I called András. People from the gas company were going to be in and out all day. First two men came to take pictures of our meter and then remove it. A bit later, another man came with a new gas meter that is now sitting on the floor. Because I wanted to be at the hospital when Ron’s surgery was over; I gave our neighbor keys.

Back at home I found that one of the gas pipes had been cut off. Thankfully, it was in a closet where the meter lives, so didn’t matter. A different worker made an appearance to perform the soldering task on a cuff put on the new pipe. He tried to explain it may damage the outer wall. What I thought this meant was that they would have to break through the cabinet. It seemed the original pipe was too close to the side wall. When I yet again returned home, it was apparent it just created small burn marks in the paint, but it is low enough that our shoe stand will cover it.

Ron is various stages of grogginess as I went back and forth to the hospital. His doctor looks like a teenager, but is from Chicago, so English is no problem. His surgery went well, but they were keeping him overnight.

Today, Wednesday he was able to return home leaving a warm hospital for a cold apartment. He is not allowed to shower until the stitches are removed on December 24th. Merry Christmas! In the meantime, he has to administer a shot in the arm each night.

Dinner is in the crock pot cooking. Last night I survived the cold with a couple of extra layers of clothes so it should not be too bad. A hot meal makes all the difference. A second blanket does wonders as well. Friends have offered a shower, so I will take them up on the offer.

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The Cost of Healthcare

People wonder why healthcare is so expensive in the US. Ron had his 2nd cataract surgery here in Budapest, the second eye. He was so thrilled with the results from the first surgery. Now he only needs to wear glasses for reading. However, each time one of us is in the hospital (I have had a different type of surgery here), I cannot help but notice how much the doctors do for a fraction of the pay of American doctors and the roles of the nurse are extensive.

Compare an American Nurses station in the US with a typical one in Budapest.

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Open Wide, We Are Coming In

I have 2 missing back teeth on the top right of my mouth. I had decided to get implants. Hungary is known for their dentistry with tourists coming from far and wide for their skills and fair cost. After a consult and full mouth x-ray, I was informed that I would need a sinus lift. Due to bad genetics and 40+ years of smoking, my gums were declared a war zone. Getting a cleaning 4 times a year for the last 20 years had not helped this particular situation. As the dentist provided an abbreviated explanation of the procedure it seemed sensible. What was staggering, even by Hungarian standards was the cost. 592,490 Huf or 2,239 Euros at the time of the quote for start to finish work. Wowser, that would really take a bite out of the budget, but vanity prevailed. When all was said and done, there was space for one tooth on the other side that was wanting to be filled it. That would be another 1,100 Euros. This is when you put our back teeth on the back burner. Three Dog Night knows that One is the loneliest number anyway.

Scrimping and saving it took me forever before I could make an appointment. That was scrimping and saving my courage, the money happened to be secondary at the time. It was time. I was told I would only need a day to recover, pushing me to book the appointment on a Thursday. It would not be until Tuesday before I had to be in the classroom again. As the time crept closer, I had trepidations about all of this. It was not the money as much as this little voice telling me not to do it. The internal dialogue continued for 3 days, causing me concern about being a multiple personality with more than one voice weighing in, all within my head. Deciding it was only dental fear, I pushed all of us forward.

For the upteenth time, they 'had' to take a full mouth panoramic x-ray at an additional 5,000 Huf. In the chair after 3 shots of Novocaine, the doctor gives me a form to fill out with the TRUTH about this procedure, which is actually surgery. This is where you learn that 2% of the population has had a heart attack, seizures, urges to dress like a cheerleader, do animal impressions while in church, and other side effects even more severe. Also, you cannot blow your nose for 2 weeks and you can only sneeze with your mouth and eyes open. Good grief, I have a perpetual runny nose, had a CT scan for it, but have not been back to the ENT to have the results interpreted. I sneeze daily like some people take vitamins. After dinner I have to sneeze a minimum of 3 times, sometimes more.  Just for the fun of it, I have tried doing it with my eyes open, but have not succeeded yet. I started getting nervous. 

They draped me in sterile covers, warning me not to raise my hands above them. Don't move! Don't move is my signal for a nose itch. Yet I cannot move my hands from under wraps to scratch it. The mental war forget there was a temporary peace treaty signed; the fighting started once again. The tray of instruments were spread on tables in front of me. Both the dentist and the assistant started wrapping various hoses in plastic sterile covers. The preparation was wearing me down. It was our last dog knowing he was going to be castrated, but no one put him under while they prepared for the surgery. Strangely, it even stirred up pain in my crotch as well.

Once they all dived into my mouth, a wave of claustrophobia set in. The covers were too much and made me overheated. Three people toothcliming with my jaw trying to dislocate like a snakes to accommodate all of them only caused a flood of cold sweat, nausea, and a feeling that syncope was sure to follow. Gurgling did not get anyone's attention, so I did my best fish out of water impression, which did prompt the dentist to tell me to hold still. 

Mentally, I am shouting "STOP, STUPID", but what is coming from my mouth was stoffgh stofffid. Not enough for the reaction I was hoping for, so I continued making sounds hoping that Superman, Spiderman, or Harry Potter would burst through the window to save me from this torture. Finally, he allowed me to sit up to explain myself, but still had to stay bundled in my sterile cocoon. No sympathy, no comfort, just orders to relax and sit back. This continued until I escalated to "I am going to regurgitate." He said "I don't understand." One would think this is a required vocabulary word in English for Dentists 101. I should have checked his transcript and report card before climbing into the chair.

We did this routine twice, before I bolted for the bathroom, finally getting everyone's full attention. I thought that by spending 15 minutes locked in the WC would convince all involved this was not a good idea after all. When I finally emerged like a shy turtle from its shell, he was ready to pick up where he left off. My soaked clothes were no visual clue and he was able to ignore my trembling as well. The only progress he made was to cut my gums and then say "We are going to drill now." I am thinking all of those noises I have been hearing so far and you have not even drilled yet? Crap, I have heard less noise when wrecking balls take down buildings. Two liters of fluid pored out of my body at once. My clothes were already soaked; it was going to take hours to drip dry. Every ounce of blood left my upper body finding refuge somewhere other than my face and neck.

After more jumping, thrashing, bouncing, pouncing up and down all while emitting sounds like a trapped animal, he finally admitted that this was not a good idea for today. I am thinking this is not a good idea in your lifetime. Cripes, I had more exercise in that chair than I do when I go to Pilates. Now that I think about it the last time I had all of that action was a positive experience  when I was in my twenties with this hot, hot.... oh, never mind. 

It has been over eighteen years since I have had a panic attack. That was prompted by my then partner dying. This one knocked me aside the head with a beam. I had to stay in the chair for twenty minutes before my land legs returned all the while floating in and out of consciousness. That inner voice kept shouting, "Get out of the chair before he starts charging you hotel rates." Even without the surgery, I could see the Huf racking up on the register. When finally feeling stable to stand, he said "You were really white. I haven't seen anyone that white before." If my mouth were not sore, I would have said that that alone should have been a clue to stop, you jackass. 

He said I would need to return in a week to have the stitches removed for the gums he cut. Then I would need to schedule with an anesthetist, but that would include having lab work done ahead of time. I didn't ask, but am certain that would involve another 1,000 Euros or more. I paid for today's services: 18,000 for supplies and made an appointment for the next week to have the stitches removed. This would tap me for 6,000 Huf more.

I had Ron call to tell them I left the country. I went to my local dentist whom I trust to remove the stitches. He charged me 1,000 Huf. That empty space only shows when I smile. Guess I will have to do less of that from now on.

Related articles

• Beware Picking Your Dentist (evelyngarone.wordpress.com)
• What the benefit of the sneeze (wiki.answers.com)
• Dentists give patients Botox beauty boost (theage.com.au)

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Life Musings

It has felt like there has not been much happening, yet it is not true when I reflect back. Besides working diligently on trying to get my book finished, little things change daily causing me to edit and rewrite what I have already written. When I called the Dohany Synagogue for a guest, the number I had was changed. When I called the new number offered, that was disconnected. Finally, I had to track down the new-new number. Ron and I were invited to a US Embassy reception, hosted by the Regional English Language Officer. We went for a relatively short time. The room was suffocatingly hot and although many were from IATEFL, I knew few of them. We did meet the new English Language Fellow (ELF), who is working with Roma college students and their English skills. It made me wonder if I could get any of my students to volunteer time to assist them as well. Something to ponder. It would intertwine nicely with my Race and Ethnicity class. It they had turned on the A/C, which they do have in the building, we may has stayed longer. After interviewing a medical tourism company run by an American-Hungarian M.D., I have decided to have laser surgery for vision correction. Later this month, I will go for a two hour exam to determine if I am eligible and if so, will have the surgery the next day. The surgery takes 15-20 minutes, but they tell you to block out two hours. Once the surgery is over, my next medical project is an evaluation of my teeth. My whole mouth has been non-stop annoying pain, sometimes throbbing, while other times just painful enough to make me aware of it. Our regular dentist is great, but he is not a cosmetic dentist. Both he and my dentist from CA both muse that even if I am a model patient who flosses abundantly and brushes as prescribed, I am the victim of three generations of really poor teeth genes. Fortunately, Hungary is known for its dentistry, with substantially reduced cost. That is life in the big city for now.

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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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Pre-OP Surgery

In order to prepare for my surgery, I had to pick up my lab results, though I was not certain where. The local district doctor told me he would have them, but at the hospital I was told to get them there. I had my private student write out in Hungarian "Where do I pick up my lab results?" listing the three. When I went to the hospital, they had the blood and urine test results and gave me a print-out, but said that the microbiology results would be at the local doctor's office. I went directly to his office, but he does not start until 4:00 pm on Thursdays, yet I was fourth in line. He did not have my microbiology results, but had the nurse call the lab. She had to make four phone calls, but no one seemed to know where they were. Then the doctor made some calls with the same results. He explained that they normally courier them to his office when they are ready, but he was having the clerk at the lab look through to see if they could find them, then I would have to go pick them up. They were not ready. The doctor was not sure if the surgeon would do the surgery without it, so I would have to go at 7:30 am tomorrow and ask the surgeon what to do. Part of me is hoping he will not do it and part of me wants to get it over with and not have it looming over my head. What I had completely forgotten about was that this was the weekend that my 'foster-sister' and her husband were coming to visit. Bad timing!

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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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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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Persistent Caller, Surgery, Persistent Caller Again

After close to eight years here, our phone has rung only a handful of times with legitimate calls. When telemarketers call, all we have to do is interrupt their spiel by saying "Do you speak English?" They either hang up or have the courtesy to say no, before hanging up. When we return to the States and for those living there, you should learn some short phrase in an obscure language to use this trick. Yesterday, I felt like a switch board operator with the number of calls that came in. "Have you got a room?" was asked by a minimum of six callers to the land line, two e-mail requests, and the guy who tracked me on my mobile. For the curious, he showed up at 9:00 am as I had requested.

An American from CA, Randy is about my age and rather a hottie. Seems he got off of the train in Budapest and was bombarded by the throngs of people offering a place to stay. He chose one not having any plans and then thought better of it after he was escorted to their domicile. It was the guy from the home stay who allowed him to use his mobile to call me, but charged the poor guy 3,000 Huf for the 3 phone calls. Randy paid it not knowing better. Our professional photographer guest was leaving the room at 10:30, but I had an acupuncture appointment for 10:00 and then a medical appointment right after. Poor Randy would not be able to get in the room until I returned early afternoon. He was complaining about being exhausted, not sleeping well the night before, so I offered him a siesta on the sofa while he waited, gave him keys, and he left. There was a minor mishap on the way to the doctor. The acupuncturist was unusually fast today so I set off to meet Laszlo who had to go to my doctor appointment with me to translate. We had to run to to catch the doctor his hours were over, but when I left the acupuncturist, I realized I had forgotten the address of the hospital at home. Trying to call Laszlo was futile; my mobile battery was dead.

I ran home, charged it for ten minutes, while using the time to clean the room for Randy and change the sheets. I did not have Laszlo's number anywhere, but on my mobile. When finally getting through, he met me at the bus stop, but said he called the doctor's office. Since it was Friday, the doctor may be leaving early, though his hours were only until 1:00 pm as it was.

When we arrived, a young woman came in after us, but said the doctor was not taking any new patients. She was trying to pull a tricky one over on us to shorten the line. Within fifteen minutes, I been told to strip in front of the doctor, two nurses, and Laszlo, without the aid of a screen, a curtain, a wall, or an amour plate. The doctor proceeded to do a sonogram of my parts, first guncking them up with sonogram lube, telling me to wipe myself off like I did the spilling, and continued on to another area. I did get a souvenir photo. By they way, it is going to be a boy.

Most parts cleared inspection and some did not. I have to have surgery, not my favorite word in the English language. Having Googled all possible combinations, I knew that I should expect this. What I did not expect was that what is an out-patient surgery in the US, will keep me hospitalized here for overnight or for two days. Procedures are important. I need to get all of my labs done a week ahead and then surgery can be scheduled. This whole thing will have to wait for Ron to return, but I can plan the lab work toward the end of his vacation. Ron goes on vacation to the States, I go on vacation to the hospital. Is this equality? When I was a medical social worker, I used to have a female patient who used to call her hospitalizations a "poor woman's vacation". Actually, this is most likely my penance for Ron's having to spend nine days at my father's house moving our things.

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US Americans Win the Award

Before you get too excited, this is not a fashionable award any US American should be proud of. If read the posts, you may remember the American husband and wife couple who booked both rooms, came here for a cup of tea the day before to 'find us', spent two hours talking, and then the next morning called to cancel both rooms since we did not have air conditioning. No accommodation under 5 stars has a/c with one exception that I know of and the 4 star hotel that does, rents the air conditioner for an additional 15 Euros a day. Well, something similar happened again. We had a very lovely couple, husband and wife stay here for two nights while they were getting their college aged son situated into his exchange program apartment. They had a friend meeting them here and she booked a room with us. Unfortunately, when she wanted to arrive, we did not have an opening, so I suggested another place for her first two nights and then if she chose, she could move over here. She pelted me with questions and I informed her more than once that her friends would be moving to a self-catering apartment for the rest of their stay on the same day she was to come over to our place. She said she understood, but we still exchanged 12 e-mails back and forth. She came over both mornings her friends were here to have coffee with them and meet up for the day. They raved about how much they liked it here, how comfortable we made it for them and how much they enjoyed their stay. This happened both when we were around as well as when they assumed we were out of ear shot. The morning the friend was to come over, we expected her to have luggage in hand, but she was walking light. She had her coffee, conversation with all of us, and then announced she decided to stay where she is at. In the same breath, she also told us she had her room changed twice in as many number of days. The first room the bed was uncomfortable, the second was too noisy. She was thinking of a third move, but not out of the hotel she was at. She acted surprised to find her friends were moving to an apartment, which was part of our e-mail discussions. As she was listing her complaints about her current living quarters, she said it was closer to the apartment where her friends were staying. She did ask what our policy was for such situations. Up until recently, we did not have a policy, but with US Americans, our fellow country people, being the greatest disappointments of all of our guests, we may have to come up with one. She offered to pay for the first night and we gracefully accepted. After all, she had booked for four nights and we had refused more than one request for those dates. The couple who stayed here, left their baggage until it was time to check into their apartment, so they could tour the city. When they returned, sans the friend, they shared how flabbergasted and appalled they were at their friends' behavior. Last year, there was another husband and wife couple from the US who canceled at the very last minute. Just before they were ready to leave, the wife decided to have elective surgery. Now if you are going on vacation, it is planned out, why would you ELECT to have surgery at the same time? What boggled my mind was that they admitted the fact when canceling. If it were me, I would have omitted the elective part out of the equation. To add insult to injury, they e-mailed me a couple of weeks ago, reminding me of the cancellation and asked if we had a room available in November. When I wrote and said we did, asking if they wanted a booking, they wrote back and said they were just checking. They would get back to me. Insert a Primal scream here! Is this some game? Let's annoy the innkeeper. To be fair, in the years we have been running our B and B, we had one Italian couple who had a motor vehicle accident on the way to the airport causing a no show. They did write to apologize when they were released from the hospital. There was a Dutch couple who went to check in at the airport and found their passports missing from their luggage after taking the train to Amsterdam and called from the airport after being denied boarding. We had one Bulgarian man who booked us through an agency and never showed. He never responded to our e-mails or those of the agency. Though these are just some examples, US Americans win the award for the most last minute cancellations throughout our years of business.

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