Scribbling #26: The Endoscopy

I've been having a few problems with my stomach and digestive system over the past few months, which I pretty much attributed to stress, but after having a bad couple of weeks where my dodgy belly felt absolutely rotten inside, I decided to consult the doctor.

The system of consulting here is not as haphazard as it is in the UK, where basically you see your General Practitioner (GP), then he makes an appointment at the hospital so the doctor there can tell you exactly the same thing as your GP just did, then make another appointment for the procedure to actually be carried out.  Here in Slovakia, you get the 'shuffling' system, whereby you get shuffled from doctor to doctor like some sort of infernal pack of cards, to which end you shuffle your feet just outside the door of the required medical practitioner.  Waiting.  And waiting a bit more. And then some more waiting on top of that.  Until you wonder what it all could possibly mean...

Anyway.

So after making an appointment at the gastro-whatsit doctor, which was the third doctor I saw that day, I quickly found out that this would involve something called an endoscopy, whereby the medical staff would proceed to insert a Discovery Channel camera crew down my throat, where they can find hidden treasures such as the last burger I had in McDonalds before I substituted all burger concoctions for salads instead.  The target date was when I had night shift, so this would mean that I would work for eight hours without eating or drinking anything at all.  Fun stuff, as you can tell.

The doctor was nice enough and spoke English, and so Mrs. C was gently ushered away into the waiting room outside with some encouraging words from the nurse.  These lovely sentences produced the lines which were later translated as 'This is a really unpleasant procedure, so its best that you are not here.  Goodbye, we'll call you later.'

Mrs. C was not invited to this party.

After putting my bag and coat away onto the customary coat rack, they asked me to open my mouth so that they could administer some local anesthetic.  Happily, it did not taste much of anything, although my mouth did feel a little bit weird...

After this, I got told to be lie down on the bed on one side, asked me to open my mouth again, put in an almost-plastic-dummy(translation: soother/pacifier)  with a hole in the middle, and got told to breathe a lot.  The first thought that I had about the tube that the doctor waved around in front of me was: Wow, that's rather thick.  Thinking about it and having someone try to shove it down your throat are two different things, so this is pretty much what happened:

Doc:  And no we just gently put this in...

JC: groooaaarWWROOOAARRRrrrr!!

My leg at this point went up involuntarily and my whole body tensed.  All of it.  Every single skin cell was taut to absolute 'run away, run away' readiness.  My chest section heaved and tried to find something to throw up.  Didn't happen.

Doc: Ok, that didn't quite work.

And then he gave me a lecture.

Doc: Just remember to breathe, that I've done this job for over twenty years now and have had many, many, patients.  Everything is going to be fine.

JC:  Yeah, I *cough* know. *cough* Sorry.

Doc: Okay, here we go again...

JC: Ooomh-huuuh...

Doc:  Okay, good...

At this point, my entire body heaved all at once, causing me to stop breathing and trying to choke on the camera crew.

Doc:  Okay, one more time, remember to breathe.. and try to swallow every now and again.  The tube is always moving, so you always need some swallowing.

JC: *cough* *belch* Sorry. *cough* Okay, again.

Doc: Once more...

JC: Hoooowaaarrrghhhh...

Doc:  Ok, I'm in the stomach!

JC:  WeeeRRRaaarrrGGG...

Doc: Okay, there's no... no ulcer...

JC: WWWRRRRRaaaaaaaaaaa...

At this point, I'm hitting the table with my fist like a WWF wrestler that is refusing to give up because of some gag reflex.  At least, I hoped that I was giving that impression since I was drooling all over the side of the table by now.

Doc: And now I just need to quickly get...

JC:  NnnnnRRRRRRGGHHHHHHH.....

And the doctor inserted a small wire into the tube in order to get some, as Mrs. C later called it, 'stomach juice'.

JC:  WRRRRRRRGHHHHHHGaaaaaaahoooo.....

Doc: There, all done.

JC:  hoooo, boy...

Doc:  You're a good patient, usually by now you'd have tried to grab at the tube and pull it out yourself.

JC:  Really...?

Doc:  Well, we'll just finish up...

And so we did, with me having to stop giggling every now and again after re-living what had just happened, and also that we made another appointment to see what had happened to the inside of me.

And then Mrs. C bought me Subway.  Yay!

Scribbling #25: One Year On...

Well, plus a bit more.  Maybe sooner or later at least three of my blog titles will actually be vaguely accurate, if not strictly true.

So yes... I have more or less officially lived in Slovakia for just over one year! Huzzah, I'm still alive and not gone insane yet!  Over the course of the year I've kept this blog (with the overwhelming number of posts of about two a month which means that yes, I do have a life) and shared a fair number of new things about living abroad.  I'm also excited about the days ahead of us, as they will be firmly rooted in our village just outside Sala, with our proceedings being all over Slovakia and a bit more of Central Europe.

This, of course, means lists of things to do.  I like lists.  They keep the world somewhat orderly, no matter how much chaos seems to be around us.  Mrs. C likes giving lists, because then things can actually be done without me being sidetracked too much, such as procrastinating on Facebook or even just staring into space with a happy expression.  I can then be feeling manly about said list, especially if there are manly things to do, such as manly lifting or manly DIY jobs around the house.

I don't have to translate DIY, do I?  Really? Wiki it.

Anyway, here's a top 5 list of things that were hard to deal with in my first year:

1. Language: Seems obvious, doesn't it really?  According to some website somewhere that I've forgotten the name of, the Slovak language is about the fourth hardest in the world, coming after Basque, Hungarian and Russian.  Japanese was weirdly at number ten.  I don't think English was on the list at all, since it is relatively easy to learn.  Even native Slovaks that have to do the Slovak language exams find it hard, since there are rules within rules about grammar and word order.  You think it would be like sitting your English exam?  You don't know, you just don't...

2.  Happy people: Slovakia is not the most joyous place in the world, or the most trusting.  Not surprising, since the little country has been invaded about a bazzilion times in the past thousand years since it has 'strategic' value within Europe.  Communism was added into the mix for some years, creating a dour society that has been hard to shake off since there were so many things during that time that were enforced, banned, or just plain not talked about.  So trust is an issue.  Add to that today's customer service and well...

3.  Silly drivers: No corner is too blind, no hill is too steep and if you think anyone is going to keep to the speed limit at all times everywhere, then you're having a laugh.  If you are being followed or happen to be behind a car with the registration plate beginning with BA or NZ, then beware! The person behind the wheel has an 83% chance of being an idiot.  The other 17% are lovely, lovely people, but they are outgunned at the moment.  It really is time to redress the balance.  But without speed cameras.

4.  Culture shock:  Sometimes it all just gets too much.  The language, the stupid bereaucratic system that permeates documentation, the Post Office... All of these can just send you numb.  There was one point when I came home and didn't want to speak to Mrs. C for some time, mostly due to a whole bunch of stuff that happened all at once.  Egging me on the next day and geting me to do stuff did not work.  I was shut down, on standby, out of order.  Please leave a cup of tea and a biscuit and come back the next day.  Mrs. C did what most women do and decided to tell this/complained to another young lady, this time Mrs. P.  Feedback from this conversation was again not helpful.  It's like this - either the person has to let it all out by talking to people, or the person goes to the mental Batcave and shuts himself in for a while and dusts off the metaphorical cobwebs.  I know that I am the latter and not the former, that is for sure.

5.  Life learning: As with point 4, you learn how to deal with a number of things.  The amount of stress put on a resident non-speaker is high, as you feel totally useless in doing anything and that you're always, always leaning on another person to help you out at all times.  This would not happen at all in the UK, as I would be dependent on myself for getting the car fixed, getting a plumber in to look at the pipes, be able to talk about the weekend to a colleague at work.  And since I'm working and present life is a constant challenge of having any time for anything, then checking that off my list for next year would be a massive tick.  At the moment, I'm only having one lesson per week for Slovak, if that.  This is not enough.  Neither is two and neither is three.  But on the other hand, lessons are expensive, so this can't be done.  Intensive courses are available, for a large fee.  But friends and colleagues talk, and you learn a little bit at a time and you find that even though you still can't construct a sentence worth much in the eyes of a Slovak language exam, at least you knew more than you did yesterday.  The trick is to remember that and not get frustrated.  Taking every day as a lesson is a positive choice and as many know, a positive choice and attitude is an act of will.

There is light at the end of the tunnel.  And it's not someone holding a flamethrower.