Why YES, it indeed DOES hurt when you viciously poke me there.

Day 52

Wednesday

Some how December snuck up on me. By my calculations November never actually flew by, but like a leaf turning colors overnight it suddenly was a new month. And with the new season came new problems.

Before 6th grade A the teacher pulled me aside to warn me of the new student joining the school. She cautioned me to keep my distance because the girl was reputed to be violent. I nodded in a worried manner and we went on with class, the girl raising no trouble. (Probably because we pulled in an extra aid just to monitor the class). Afterwards during the break the teacher disclosed more details about the violent new student. Apparently at her last school she had poisoned the water of her classmates and teacher with bleach. (And I thought, Jesus Christ, I’m just the assistant teacher, I don’t want to die doing this job!!!! My benefits aren’t good enough to cover fatal injuries.) Quite a ripple in the day.

Sneaking through rain drops I scampered off to teacher my darling 5 year olds English after school. Natalia, the angel and the smart one, as always was on point, lecturing Sergio on all that he had missed by being absent on Monday. Sergio, the blond bad boy, took little of her chatter, mocking both Natalia and I, only blushing when I put him on the spot and demanded that if he had so much to say he might as well sing the English Alphabet for us if he wanted to be dramatic. He got to G and mumbled sounds looking at his feet like they might pick up the tune and carry on for his failing tongue.

Earlier I had the opportunity to air my complaints with the Spanish bureaucracy, specifically the Office of the Foreigner and the Police HQ. I figured, hell, I haven’t visited the hospital, let’s go see how the ER works, and see if it’s worse than in the USA. A funny little pain had popped up in my left foot since I fell off my stairs at my flat (if you didn’t know, wet flip flops on marble steps do NOT have traction. Yes you will slip, and no you can’t just walk carefully). So a week later that little pain was making me sweat with pain. Hobbling over to the ER at 8pm the man at the front desk said to me that it was a private clinic and not just anyone could ask to see a doctor (such people skills, I’m sure he must have years of experience in the public sector). “Ya, yo sé” (uh, yeah, I know) I glibly responded and whipped out my insurance card that was my golden ticket into the clinic. He smirked and took my card and my information and gave me a number, which I’m sure he shuffled to the VERY BOTTOM of the list and told me to go wait in the waiting room and listen for my number. Grrrrrrreat. The thing about being in pain is it makes any amount of time seem like a lifetime. 2.5 hours later I was sure it was 6am and they’d forgotten about me. But no, as they called me back to the Doctor’s office (1 of 4 doctors there for consultation) I saw the minute hand hanging languidly at 30 after 10pm. I slumped into the chair at the doctor’s desk while she gabbed on the phone about a little girl who accidentally swallowed all her mom’s hypertension pills (so much for privacy, eh?) and had to come to the hospital to make her throw it all up. When the doctor hung up she looked up at me through heavily eye lined eyes (purple) and said, “dime” (tell me!) Stuttering the response I had been crafting for the past 2 hours I told her how my foot was killing me and I feared a broken bone. She gave it a quick look over and said, “Hmm, swollen. Are you pregnant? No, good, let’s do an x-ray.” She pulled a wheel chair around, told me to sit and tossed my backpack into my lap as I grabbed my boot off the chair before she wheeled me out to the x-ray room. Left like an old woman in the retirement home I dawdled in the x-ray room waiting for the technician to come (really a finely run machine this hospital is). When the tech came she took a moment to say hi to her dad and little brother who had just randomly decided to stop by after dinner at 10:45pm to say hi. Then she told me to sit on the table, put my foot on the x-ray film and bam bam took two pictures before I had time to holler at her, ARE YOU CRAZY??? YOU JUST ZAPPED ME WITH A ZILLION PARTICLES OF RADIATION!! FORGET ABOUT A BROKEN FOOT, NOW I’M GOING TO DIE OF RADIATION POISONING!! YOU NEED TO BE BEHIND A WALL TO PROTECT YOURSELF AND I NEED ONE OF THOSE RADIATION REPELLANT GUARDS WE HAVE IN THE USA! DID YOU REALLY JUST DO THAT? Yes she did. And wheeled me back out to the waiting room, rolling me into a chair and then turning me so my back faced the TV and I enjoyed the entrancing view of the beige wall instead. What tact those hospital people have. So 20 minutes later the doc after having apparently seriously considering my x-rays decided it wasn’t broken, but might break if I wasn’t careful. She had an old man do a pretty shoddy job of wrapping my foot and gave me this advice: take ibuprofen, don’t take the wrap off for a week, and don’t walk on it. And go buy crutches. With that she wheeled me out to the waiting room with a fat wrapped foot that wouldn’t fit into my boot and asked who I came with. “Soy sola” (I’m alone) I snapped, peeved at my long night and incompetent care. She looked at me like I was crazy asking, “How will you get home?” I told her I’ve managed on my own for the past 2 months, I’m sure I’ll figure something out for 1 more night. Last I checked taxis ran all night. That hurdle really isn’t so big and bad as you might think Doc. So dropping me at the door with a wrapped foot and my boot in hand, I hopped out into the night, flailing my thumb at the row of taxis while another finger was itching to jump up and let the hospital know what I really thought of it. But it was midnight and I was too tired to put up a fight. I decided the next time I go to the hospital I’ll make sure to have a bleeding gash so they’d take me immediately and get me set. No more 4 hour waits and hodge podge wrap jobs.

Seems life wanted to throw me a curve ball. Well, I’m up to bat and I might strike out, but I’ll see the game to its end.

(As I write this retrospectively, I had no idea what I was in for).

Wishing you mobility and wholeness.

And radiation free days.