So I woke up today still feeling queezy. So I made an executive decision to not go to school. Instead I would rest some more and by the afternoon, I should have kicked back into reset mode. And too, I’m a grown ass man, I can make decisions on my own. I informed my host mom of this decision and she said to get up and go to the doctor. Okay.
So after making the appropriate phone calls to the insurance company, TLG and my head teacher, I packed up and headed to the hospital. This trip was a lot easier as I remembered from last time. It was the same doctor and all. So I guess its safe to say my doctor’s name is Nino.
Doctors are in the same family as a detective. They have to figure out what’s wrong with you by not having seen your ailments usually, or having felt the pain themselves. So with a game of twenty questions they have to figure out what to do with you or what to give you to make you feel better. And sometimes, an error could make the patient feel worse. Add to that the patient’s margin of error in telling them exactly what the problem is or exaggerating their level of actual pain. (I have a VERY low threshold of pain.) Now take ALL of that, and throw in a major language barrier. Respect.
So just so we are on the same page. Saturday night through early Sunday morning was hellacious. I didn’t think I was going to make it. Insane bowel movement, the chills, fever, my body ached all over. Sunday was descent, but because I was drugged up, I think. Sunday was mild compared to Saturday night, but I had barely eaten all that day. But maybe I was simply getting better. What I was most concerned with was the ever-present fear of the water. Maybe it finally contaminated me! Well, that was why I was keen on going to the hospital. If it’s a virus or parasite or monster or whatever from the water, the quicker we start a medical regiment, the better.
I was ushered in to see the doctor pretty quickly. I don’t understand the ‘line’, but there were chairs lining the hall with people sitting in them and standing around. I don’t know if they had been seen or waiting to be seen, or what. In the actual doctor’s office, there are desks pushed up to each other. One was my doctor’s, and the other belonged to what I imagined is her secretary. Also in the room there is a mobile tray with medical stuff on it, syringes, etc., a sink and a medical table.
Then she began with the questions. She had what I found out was an English word cheat sheet:
“Does it hurt?”
“When did it start?”
“What did you eat?”
As said in a previous post, I think this was all started with the double hit of beans and vodka, and I told her as such. They were taken aback and reacted as such. “Cha-cha!?! CHA-CH!?!…. hmm.”
She then said I probably needed a infusion of saline solution (I gathered this from another #43 member who had it done to them.) Okay. But before we were to go up, another doctor came down and told me to lay down on the table. She then asked if were she pressed on y abdomen hurt. This is where I think I gave erroneous information. Because when she pressed, it hurt… kinda… but I don’t think it was associated with my illness. Or maybe it was. Or maybe I reacted to thinking it was going to hurt… but it really didn’t. That procedure was kind of hit and miss.
Whatever they found, it was enough to go to the next room. I followed my doctors to a more fancy room upstairs. She told me to wait in the hall. While waiting amidst all the staring, I saw a familiar face. A good friend of my bebia was there! We greeted each other, but she thinks I know way more Georgian than I really do. I think it finally dawned on her that I had no idea what she was saying, so she simply ducked back into one of the hospital rooms. She didn’t stay in there long, and when she returned, she asked me to follow. I thought this was going to be the familiar game of ‘show the American around’, or ‘introduce the American to all my friends!’ but instead sitting in the room having her blood pressure checked was my bebia!
First it was happiness to see her- a familiar face. That quickly turned into concern, “What the hell is she doing here? Is she okay?” She assured me that everything was fine. And turned the conversation to me. So when she was finished they told me to get on the table. As I was doing so, Nino, my doctor figured out I lived with this lady and made introductions. Nino started telling the other specialist, who I assume this was his room what was wrong with me. When she got to the beans and cha-cha part, my bebia, who was still in the room gestured and spoke up as to say, “Whoa, whoa, whoa, he didn’t get sick off MY Lobio.! Ya’ll better do some more research or something!”
Then the doctor asked me to pull my pants down to examine my belly like the other doctor did. But this one wanted me to pull them down that was… compromising. I tried to tell him, “No! My bebia is standing right there. I’m a grown ass man!” But that didn’t work. Doctor’s always win.
He did some pressing, and got the same results, I think as the first lady. They then sent me to the hallway to take my temperature. From this point on my bebia and her friend were with me like glue. The thermometer had a favorable reading from what I gather. So back downstairs for Dr. Nino to fill out the prescription. Again, this time was better because now the doctor could tell my bebia first hand what dosages I needed.
I noticed that my bebia and her friend knew a lot of medical staff. I need to find out why that is. Either they are sickly a lot, used to work there, or just know a lot of people in town. So off we went to the pharmacy, then home. I kind of hoped we would leave separately, although I wanted them with me at the pharmacy because we were on the opposite side of town from where we lived. And these ladies moved slow. Another reason I wanted to walk back alone was to get some more toilet paper, bottled water, and for those of you who know me, my cure all in anytime of crisis or illness; a cold refreshing Coca-Cola. I knew I wasn’t going to get the toilet paper and bottled water, because I didn’t want to risk offending them.
We finally got to the pharmacy got the pills, then my grandma’s friend stopped at a store to pick up something. I told my bebia, I was going in to get a Coke. She said “NO!” No? I’m a grown ass man. I can buy and drink what I want to buy and drink. She continued, “No Coca-Cola! No soda! You are on a diet!” Okay.
Got home, and got some paper to take down instructions. I have three types of drugs; two pill forms and a nasty liquid. They also gave me some nasty herbal tea mix. But I ain’t drinking that stuff. I’m supposed to take this stuff for pushing a month!
Then bebia cooked my lunch for the foreseeable future. Boiled potatoes, bread, cheese and hot tea. Day, after day… after day. And to top it off, she mixed the nasty tea stuff for me and put it on the table and said, “Sheni Coca-cola (Your Coca-Cola)!’ Hardy-Har-Har.
But I felt in the clear of the bad days of the illness. So to celebrate I took a long hot shower. When I got out, the host mom, Eka, calls me to ask, “Did you just take a shower?” “Uhh… yes”, I smiled in reply. Then she Starts yelling at me, “Why! You can catch a fever! You are still sick! What are you thinking! Oh my God! No shower!”
Part of me wanted to respond, “Hold up lady! I’m a grown ass man! I can take a shower anytime I want to! Catch up to the 21st century medical facts! Its absurb to think ill get sick from taking a shower! That’s a myth!” But the part that won control of my mouth was the 13 year old version of myself confronted by the daunting verbal assaults of my mom back home. Coupled with rants from my host dad coming up yelling at me, too to, “Stop standing around, get upstairs and dry off!” I could only reply, “Okay.”
For dinner, they had this delicious looking chicken and rice dish with what looked like peas and carrots. I had boiled potatoes, bread, cheese, and hot tea. My host dad joked me by asking, “Do you want some of this? SORRY, But you are on a diet! Mmmmm…..Delicious! Where is your Coca-Cola?” Funny guy.
I think I’m going to be okay.
“Doctor, doctor, give me the news
I got a bad case of lovin’ you
No pill’s gonna cure my ill
I got a bad case of lovin’ you
Bad Case Of Loving You, Robert Palmer