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.