You’ll have to pardon me for this post, but some things that happen in a hospital just aren’t delicate. I’ll try to remember as I write that this is a family-friendly site….
Pictured at the right is what appears to be a home-made contraption to serve as a truly portable toilet. You should be able to make out that it was crafted from a wheel chair by removing a section of the seat and welding onto the frame a support to hold a bucket that can be removed for cleaning. Enough said about that.
During my confinement I had the privilege of putting this device to good service, and I noticed that when I asked for it (using hand motions and mumbling Slovak words for toilet, saying I couldn’t walk, etc.), the nurse would call down the hall in a loud voice, “Gramafon!” Gramophone. Record-player. So it occurred to me that perhaps they called this thing “Gramafon.”
So the next time I needed its services, I tested my hypothesis by calling for the nurse and saying to her, “Potrebujem Gramafon” (I need the Gramafon). Lo and behold it appeared!
Now it became a mystery to me: why do they call this thing a gramophone? I kept trying to imagine an old Victrola, and determine a resemblance between it and the potty – to no avail. So when Juraj showed up one day I had him ask a nurse in Slovak for the story. She couldn’t say. A few days after that I asked the head nurse why it was called the gramophone, and she shrugged and said it wasn’t a CD. She didn’t know.
So let’s have a contest, shall we? Why don’t you make up some plausible explanation for how the Gramafon got its name, and write it in the comments section. If there are some respectable entries, perhaps we could then vote on a winning tale.
And remember, this is a family-friendly web page.
Below is a dull picture of Juraj trying to help me from the stretcher into my bed – the bed that would be my prison from Thanksgiving night till this afternoon (eight nights, and eight days).
One of the ways I measured time while there was by my Intravenous Therapy: (more…)
In this first room we are met by a neurologist who speaks English, a nurse, and perhaps an administrative assitant. Of course the doctor takes my medical history, and there are questions from the admin about how we will pay, and the nurse takes my vital signs. One of the vital signs is body temperature, and the nurse hands me a thermometer.
Now, those of you in the United States: what would you do with a thermometer if a nurse handed it to you? Stick it in your mouth, right? That’s exactly what I do. And it has an odd taste, but with all that’s happening I try to ignore it.
That’s when Juraj, looking embarassed, explains that in Slovakia it is not usually the custom to put the thermometer in the mouth.
Aha! So that’s what deodorant tastes like. The nurse laughs at me, and after she gets my temperature she washes the termometer – perhaps for the first time.
After the miraculous house call on 19 November, I lay on our living-room floor for four days. Well, I did get around some – now and then I struggled up onto the love-seat for a change of scenery. Counting up four days from the house call brings us to Thanksgiving evening. I have made a mess of all our plans for celebration, and the pain has not relinquished its grip on me. Fearing that we might run into the weekend without having seen a doctor, Paula phones Dr. Moro (the miracle man of the house call), who says (not altogether correctly, we find out later) that my only chance to see a neurologist in Trnava is that night, since all will be going to a conference the next day.
Based on that, we choose to have him send an ambulance, for I cannot even sit up, much less walk. (more…)
Thou that hast giv’n so much to me,
Give one thing more, a grateful heart.
See how thy beggar works on thee
By art.
He makes thy gifts occasion more,
And says, If he in this be crossed,
All thou hast giv’n him heretofore
Is lost.
But thou didst reckon, when at first
Thy word our hearts and hands did crave,
What it would come to at the worst
To save.
Perpetual knockings at thy door,
Tears sullying thy transparent rooms,
Gift upon gift, much would have more,
And comes.
This not withstanding, thou wenst on,
And didst allow us all our noise:
Nay thou hast made a sigh and groan
Thy joys.
Not that thou hast not still above
Much better tunes, than groans can make;
But that these country-airs thy love
Did take.
Wherefore I cry, and cry again;
And in no quiet canst thou be,
Till I a thankful heart obtain
Of thee:
Not thankful, when it pleaseth me;
As if thy blessings had spare days:
But such a heart, whose pulse may be
Thy praise.
George Herbert, 1633
Today my back took a turn for the worse, and we witnessed a miracle – which Paula caught on camera. No, I wasn’t healed. What happened was even more rare, at least in my experience. Take a look at the first picture, and let me explain:
You are looking at two doctors, a pediatrician and his internist wife. They are standing in our living room. This is not a social call – they have come to tend to me and my bad back. This is what was called in days of old a House Call. It was required because I was unable to move from the floor. Now look at Exhibit B:
I’m receiving a doctor’s consultation right there on my living room floor. He gave me a shot of a pain-killer, and a prescription for some muscle relaxers. They stayed about 25 minutes or so. How much would you expect to pay for such a thing – assuming you could get it? Before you answer, look below at the goodies they left on our kitchen table.
Yes, that’s the syringe, complete with needle. And the broken glass vial that the medicine was in.
We paid $20 for the visit, the shot, and the leftovers.
Ethan and Paula tried to do some shopping this morning and found the stores closed for a holiday. It turns out that 17 November is “Struggle for Freedom and Democracy Day,” when the Slovaks commemorate the student demonstration against Nazi occupation in 1939, and especially the demonstration in 1989 in Prague considered to mark the beginning of the Velvet Revolution.
And it was that Velvet Revolution that opened the door for us to start our adventure in Central Europe in 1990 – and eventually led us to our new home in Trnava.
One duty here that everyone shares is to help set up the rooms for different activities. That means moving furniture, and yesterday my turn at this duty ended quickly. I was sliding a couch sideways with a twisting motion and threw my back out, as they say. It happens to be the worst I have ever injured it – I am almost completely immobilized – so I would appreciate your prayers.
And if you have seen Brian Regan’s skit on the emergency room, you will understand what I mean when I say that my pain is level 8….
We are indeed foreigners in Slovakia - and it really is a different way to look at the world. It’s odd and uncomfortable to be an outsider. It grates against our deepest social longings for acceptance and inclusion. I think that when I take the time to reflect on our experience, I will have a deeper appreciation of the (often-forgotten) reality that we Christians are resident aliens in this world.
All these people were still living by faith when they died. They did not receive the things promised; they only saw them and welcomed them from a distance. And they admitted that they were aliens and strangers on earth. People who say such things show that they are looking for a country of their own. If they had been thinking of the country they had left, they would have had opportunity to return. Instead, they were longing for a better country—a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for he has prepared a city for them. [Hebrews 11:13-16, NIV]
As foreigners in Slovakia, we can find useful guides when we look for them. We still have to feel our way around, but the guides give a sense of direction, warn us of dangers, and provide the wisdom of those who have lived through what we are living through. We would be foolish to ignore them.
As foreigners in this world, we have a faithful guide. I would do well to use it….
We went looking for a car today and picked one out. It’s a Honda Jazz.
No, ours won’t be red. But they threw in a set of snow tires and alloy wheels for free, plus gave us a 5% discount. You are required to have snow tires on your car after a certain date here, and wheel covers are always stolen, so both of those goodies are quite valuable to us.
The deal has not been sealed yet – they will translate the document into English for us, and perhaps have them ready early next week.