Sunday, May 29, 2011

At this rate I am never going to get an electric scooter

As most of you know, I am turning 50 in less than two months. In anticipation of this milestone I have thought long and hard about what would be a suitable gift from my family. Several months ago I came up with a great idea. A hybrid scooter -- so that I could "scoot" around and do my errands without the hassle of our van and with the speed of something superior to my feet.

I immediately fell in love with my plan.

But every time I mentioned this to my children, my husband would call out from wherever he was: "Forget it, you are not getting a scooter because you are too clumsy. You will kill yourself." And with that my kids would scatter, with me running behind them saying: "Oh don't listen to your father. I want a scooter."

Well, yesterday he won by default when I inadvertently committed scooter suicide. Yes, I was walking home from a lovely morning at my friend's house when I miscalculated a crack in the curb, lost my balance and fell into the street, arms first.

I checked my throbbing arm when I got up and, while it was definitely sore, it seemed suitably functional. So I went home and entertained 16 people for lunch. It wasn't until several hours later that I realized the pain was increasing rather than subsiding, and that I probably had to address the matter.

After several hours in the hospital late last night, let me just say this: you are not truly Israeli until you have been out there with the dregs of society. And if you have never met the DOS it is probably because you weren't looking in the right places. Tip: they are at local hospitals late at night. Millions of them. And before you go off thinking that I am referring to the creepy clientele, let me assure you that many of the DOS work in the hospital.

Let me relay one quick scenario before I wrap up:

The Scene: me and my husband standing at the admissions desk in emergency outpatients services. I have had an xray but I am still in excrutiating pain waiting to get the results and possibly get a cast. There are several medical professionals mulling around so I ask if it is possible to get any help or attention. Several of them look at me and then turn away.

Finally Nurse Ratched approaches the desk and I say in a mixture of pain and desperation: "I've been standing here in pain, is it possible to get help?"

See looks at me, quickly assesses the situation and says: "No."

Apparently she also doesn't think I should get a scooter.

1 comment:

  1. Ellen Christine SmithNovember 14, 2011 at 11:18 PM

    Had no idea it was that bad. My husband's people on his father side are from Greece and they say the same thing; when traveling to Greece, there is only one solution to good, competent medical care: leave the country as soon as possible! :-)

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