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.