Doctor

I went through another right of passage: dealing with foreign doctors.

I had to do it in France when I had "la bronchite" (some pulmonary infection that left me up all night coughing and my neighbour pounding on her wall in an effort to get me to shut up). It was a painless experience, and I hoped this one would be no different.

I'll try to make this as non-graphic as possible for the male (and female) readers.

I needed to see a specialist. Cristi's girlfriend is studying medicine and she gave me the name of her doctor who works at a women-only health clinic. She told me that she was very nice, professional and spoke English. Perfect.

Luckily, she was able to take me last Thursday on short notice. The clinic was called Bega. I stupidly assumed that it was at the Bega mall (forgetting that everything in Timisoara is called "Bega", kind of like "Evangeline" in eastern Canada). After walking around the building two or three times, I decided to just get a taxi to the right address.

So I got to the clinic (which was far, far away from the shopping centre) and nervously walked in. No receptionist, no sign up sheet, no office hours, nothing. I had no idea what to do. Some man came over to say something to me. I gave him a nervous smile and said I didn't speak Romanian. Then he decided to start yelling at me. Ok, I'm trying to see a doctor, I don't need to be yelled at. I felt a few tears in my eyes. Then a young doctor came over and asked what the trouble was. I explained that I spoke English and I was trying to see a doctor. I gave him my doctor's business card and he called her cell phone. She came right away.

She brought me upstairs and asked if I needed to use the washroom. She said it was the only one available. Since this was a woman's health clinic, I assumed that it would be painted in peaches and pinks with nice flower prints.

Wrong.

This was the room where they did sperm collection for artificial insemination. The walls were plastered almost to the ceiling with graphic pornography. Do you know how hard it is to use the bathroom when you have limpid-eyed peroxide blonds showing you their asses staring at you?

Anyways, fast forward to today. I'm not sick or dying and I only have a simple infection. Relief, except for the cruel, inhumane Eastern European treatment I have to subject myself to for the next fourteen days.