Wishing that all your internals get sorted soonest, although I fear you, like xxx and, I suspect, myself, may not be able to keep your appointments this week. Shortly after posting my article about the Oy Vey Club, I began receiving a series of ‘oy vey’ responses from fans near and far. And then I received the message above from a friend who lives below – down the hill from where we are. He was simply reminding me of the unpleasant possibility that things might get worse before they got better. Well, all we can do is try.

How to spend four hours at the health clinic

Bright and early Monday morning, Barbara and I headed to our mall, which was eerily quiet, most of the stores having been ordered shut because of ‘the situation.’ But modern medicine carries on, and Maccabi was open for business. Let’s start our morning at the office. We had received the result of the blood tests done at the hospital, and we needed to get them entered into ‘the system.’ What this means is that technology in health care has reached a certain degree of sophistication and gone no further – as in, there are different information systems, and they don’t talk to each other without a little help from our friends. We got the results we needed on our computer, printed them out, and brought them to our clinic for them to scan and enter into their system. At least they’re not being stored in file cabinets alphabetically by patient’s name or some such, the way they used to be. While we’re here, is there a doctor who can take a glance at these results and decide if there’s something amiss and I need antibiotics. The young Dr. Kartman (spelling?) was the guy. A week ago, my white blood cell count was slightly elevated, so another blood test was in order, duly taken by a lab assistant, along with a urine sample – a sterile one at that, involving the assistance of a nurse. (Don’t ask.) While we were at the nurses’ station, could they inspect my catheter and do whatever adjustments were necessary? – prompting Yehudit to write out some prescriptions for the pharmacy. Most of the stuff we needed was routine: gauze pads and the like, but what about a second spare catheter bag? That doesn’t look right; that one is much too big; that one doesn’t have a spigot. They had lots of choices, but none of them was what I need. (Frantic discussions between the pharmacy and the nurses’ station; Rachel was reputed to know the different model numbers, but she wasn’t around. Never mind; I have a spare; we’ll figure it out later.)

However, we were supposed to get a phone call from ‘my urologist.’ We had lots of questions to ask, as in, what happens next? But he didn’t call. We had to go back to the office and find out what was the matter. There was some SNAFU in the system, which Chaya tried to unravel the old-fashioned way – by calling him. (He’ll call you back later.) Between the urologist who wasn’t there and the catheter bags which didn’t quite fit, it was after 1PM when we finally staggered out. At least Aroma had reopened with a very limited menu. But that menu included coffee, so we could at least sit and decompress. Usually the place is chock full of people that time of day, but I assume word hadn’t gotten out.

Later that afternoon, our urologist, called ‘Dr. Charm’ by those who have used his services, did call Barbara back. (I would be remiss if I failed to mention how much of the translating, negotiating, explaining, appointment making, and advocating for me has been done by the Love of My Life.) We are to go to the urology clinic at Hadassah-Ein Kerem for all follow-up, although I would need another ultrasound first. Mr. Charm, MD is graciously (?) bowing out from any further involvement in my affairs at this time, leaving the interesting question of how long I can safely keep the catheter attached to my person unresolved.

Even so, it was not a bad day at the office, as we accomplished some of what we needed. But that was all local. I think what our friend was alluding to were the difficulties we would all face when we would try to go farther afield. Only one way to find out…We’ll see what happens on Tues.

No big deal…

It would be nice if I knew when the buses were actually going to show up, but even if they come when they’re supposed to, there’s no way I can make it to my appointment on time. Talk about a triple whammy of problems… 1) Because we’re in a war, the GPS that tracks the location of the buses is not working, so you can’t be sure when the bus you need is going to arrive; 2) Because we’re in a war and lots of people aren’t going anywhere, there are fewer buses being sent out, possibly because there are fewer drivers available; 3) Because of reasons too tedious to recount, much of the light rail is out of service until the middle of August, and we’re forced to rely on shuttle buses. So even if we are able to get into Jerusalem, it’s a problem getting around.

I returned to our apartment and asked Barbara to call Assuta and tell them that I couldn’t get there on time. Should I show up whenever I can, or should we reschedule? It turned out that, because of the war, I would only be able to do one of the two requested tests; so what would be the point? It’s just a routine examination, anyway; so no big deal if we do it next month or whenever things get straightened out – which might be a while.

Wed., Barbara was scheduled for a follow-up appointment with her orthopedist, and both of us were scheduled to get our bones pushed and prodded by our chiropractor. Needless to say, these appointments were cancelled, leaving us medically bereft. Were we going to waste a day? No we were not! Let’s head to Maccabi and see what kind of mischief we could stir up. If we needed a pretext for our visit, we had one. Barbara had made me one more appointment with somebody, and we needed a hitchayvut (the assurance that the provider will get reimbursed by our clinic). Plus I had a phone appointment scheduled with Adam Albert our regular doctor. Why don’t we hang around and see him in person. We still needed some medical type to assure us that it would be safe to leave my catheter in place until my appointment with a urologist in August. And maybe he could figure out the model number of the bag now firmly attached to my leg. And he could. It wasn’t as if he remembered everything he learned in medical school eighteen years ago about urology. But he was up to date in finding out stuff on the internet from his colleagues in Google and A.I. No problem about keeping the catheter in until August, and here’s what seems to be the right bag for you, which information we took to the pharmacy, hoping against hope. We just got in a shipment. Sometimes things work out.

This is Israel, remember…

We had certainly earned the right to enjoy a cup of coffee and a pastry at Aroma. The word was out that they were open for business, so now there were many more customers than a day or two before. However, in theory, the place was only open for take-away orders, and all the chairs were stacked neatly on top of the tables, not to be used. Would that stop any self-respecting group of Israelis? Not in this life! Take down the chairs, sit, and relax. (Whenever the customers left, one of the skeleton staff cleaned up and replaced the chairs on top of the table, to be taken down by the next group.)

You know, a few months ago, when our ‘hobby’ was fixing up our apartment, we spent a lot of time – especially at the beginning when we didn’t have a functioning kitchen – having coffee, even meals, at Aroma. Now that our ‘hobby’ is keeping me alive and well, we’re back here again. The coffee is still so-so, but it’s a place to go.  

I’m still waiting to hear from the Oy Vey Club about my application for membership. I understand that they have a ‘kvetch-of-the-day’ award that they hand out from time to time, and, you never know, I might be eligible. Quite a few people I know have contacted me to compare notes about our respective health issues, so I know I’m not the only one. There will be more tests, more appointments, more decisions to be made. And more articles to be written about my life as a medical consumer. So, as I say, stay tuned. It will all work out in the end – at least in theory.