My life long friend told me recently that I need to write more stories, because I tend to have a lot of good ones. I'm kind of flattered that she's so amused by my stories, and I confess the past few months, for better or for worse, have given me some great material for the blog. I'm rusty with my writing though, so I hope it's not too painful of a read!
I'll start with Ben's and mine recent medical debacles. On Tuesday, December 14, I had an appointment scheduled for an outpatient surgery at a hospital in Vienna, which is a four hour drive away. I had already had two very unpleasant and fruitless visits to an American OB/GYN at Aviano Air Base, Italy and a local OB/GYN here in Ljubljana; both doctors recommended surgery. However, there are no private hospitals in Slovenia, just public options. And when it comes to anything more complicated than receiving basic care, embassy families are typically sent to Austria, which has private hospitals and overall better care.
Traveling to another foreign country to undergo surgery was a stressful prospect in and of itself. I coordinated with Tricare and Zehra, the nurse at the embassy, several weeks in advance to make sure everything was planned and in order. There was loads of paperwork and organizing to be done. I was authorized a "medical attendant" to come with me, naturally that was to be Ben. We would be gone two days and one night, so I arranged for a hotel near the hospital and for the girls' Spanish tutor to babysit. Unfortunately, she cancelled last minute because her dad had a stroke in Spain and she was returning home. Sadly, he passed away a couple weeks later. So, in desperation, I asked the parents of each of my children's school friends if they could come home from school with them on Monday, spend the night, and go to school with them the next day. All of the friends' parents were super willing and helpful. Yay for awesome people! Cozy stayed with Marielle, James with Dante, and Em with Celeste. Caroline was at a ski trip at Kranjska Gora with her class for the week.
Despite my anxiety about the procedure, I was looking forward to this trip as a little "getaway" with Ben. We rarely have time to ourselves to do anything special. Austria had been locked down since mid-November because of a spike in Covid cases, but the Christmas markets were slated to re-open December 13! The plan was to leave Monday morning, the 13th, arrive in the afternoon and hit the Christmas markets before my early morning procedure the following morning.
Before leaving that morning, Ben said he needed to attend an office call with the Slovenian forces commander on a military base not far from Ljubljana. So in the meantime, I ran a few last minute errands parking the car at the embassy. As I was returning around 10:00 am, I saw Ben drive up in his work vehicle and he signaled for me to come over. He was sitting in the driver's seat in his uniform saying I was never going to believe this, but he sprained his ankle slipping on ice as he stepped off a curb into the street on his way to the meeting. He said he was in a lot of pain, and that he was going to need to get it looked at. I later found out that he limped into that meeting with the general and sat through it for an hour before coming back to the embassy! He hobbled into the embassy, changed his clothes, went down to the med unit, got some crutches, and headed to the ER with a driver from the motor-pool. I went home to do last minute preparations and waited to hear from him, fearing our carefully planned trip was in jeopardy. It was a long wait for him to be seen. They x-rayed his ankle and pronounced it broken. He called around 2:00 to relate the bad news, and I scrambled to think of our next move. Do I cancel my appointment? Do I go up by myself? Do I ask my friend Maliha to come with? Does Ben come up anyway? I was so disappointed, but I told Ben he didn't need to come, that it made most sense for me to call Maliha. But Ben, being the ever "can-do" guy said, "Let's just go. I'll be fine." Looking back, man, we were dumb. I had no idea how much pain he was in or how serious his injury was.
So, I drove to the ER and picked him up around 3:30... by now we were several hours off target of our departure time. His leg was wrapped in a big white heavy plaster cast. It looked awfully uncomfortable. He sat in the back seat with his leg elevated on the middle consul. Looking back, I can't believe I allowed for this to happen. It was dark most of the drive and it took us quite awhile to get up there, mostly because my visibility was bad due to winter conditions and a crummy windshield wiper, adding to the irritation of the whole ordeal.
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| Our "romantic getaway" Note the nasty windshield |
We got in around 8:15 and drove directly to St. Stephen's Cathedral in the heart of the city. We easily found street parking. I had been to this same lively square ten years before with my family, my mom, and my sister Mary. This time the atmosphere was so much more muted and toned down. There were just a few people attending the market, the streets were quiet as cafes and restaurants were still closed. Ben rested in the cathedral, propping his foot up on one of the pews. He did get to hear a beautiful choir rehearse, so that was cool. I found a few ornaments to buy, but the stalls closed at 9 pm. We headed to our hotel near the hospital and got settled in. Poor Ben was so uncomfortable.
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| St. Stephen's Cathedral. Isn't it beautiful? Do you see Ben on his crutches? |
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| Quiet Streets |
The next morning we headed to the hospital that was just down the street. I went to registration, and they told me they had not received the guarantee of payment from Tricare, so that was a bit of an ordeal to straighten out. Then finally I went in to see the doctor that was to perform the procedure. I expected everything to be prepared and ready to go. On the contrary, she asked me why I was there and what she could do for me. She had no idea that I needed a surgical procedure. I was baffled. Tricare and Zehra had assured me everything was communicated and arranged. The doctor was also flummoxed and scrambled to accommodate me. Luckily she was able to schedule the OR for that afternoon. She told me to come back at noon for all the pre-op paperwork. She also asked me if I had a PCR Test. In that moment I thought she asked if I had a PCT test, which despite the acronym being very similar, is quite different. PCT in Slovenia means proof of recovery, vaccine, or a negative test. I'm vaccinted. I'm asked for my PCT certificate several times a day, including twice already at the hospital. PCR, on the other hand, is a specific kind of covid test that can take hours to receive a result. The hospital protocol was that a negative PCR test was mandatory in order to enter the OR. My proof of vaccination, or PCT, was not adequate. I did not understand this at the time, and it would come back to bite me big time that afternoon.
We had a couple of hours to kill before being due back at the hospital, so we drove down to the Rathaus, (which was an adventure in and of itself) where there was supposed to be a wonderful Christmas market. We met up with Ben's Swiss counterpart who is posted in Vienna, Urs, and his wife Nadine. They were so nice and pleasant to spend an hour with. Ben rested on a bench with Urs while I shopped with Nadine. She showed me the stalls and the variety of handcraft goods that are made in Austria. The countless stalls were amazingly decorated and overflowing with wonderful food and beautiful hand-crafted goods. Unfortunately, I was fasting because of my procedure, but I scooped up some great ornaments. I vowed to come back after the surgery to spend more time shopping.
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| The atmosphere and markets were just magical. And crowds very small. |
Upon our return to the hospital around noon, I went back to registration to fill out more forms, and they asked me for my PCR test. Understanding PCT I showed them my vaccine certificate that I show multiple times a day everywhere I go. No, they clarified, PCR, not PCT. PCR? I don't have a PCR test! I have a proof of vaccination. What would I need a PCR test for? They explained it was mandatory to enter the OR and that they would have to cancel my appointment without one. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. My eyes were hot with tears as I explained all the hassle we had gone through to get up there, including my husband with a broken ankle. I asked if I could get a PCR test right then at the hospital, and they said it takes a day to get the results. A rapid antigen test wouldn't do. I asked to speak to the doctor, she came over and reiterated what the nurse had told me. She said, "I thought you had a PCR test. That's what you said this morning!" I thought you meant PCT, not PCR! I called Tricare, so irate with the whole experience and how they had set me up for failure. All they could do was apologize profusely. I was borderline angry with the doctor as I asked her how I wasn't notified of these requirements and how she was unaware of my procedure I thought was planned. I was confused as to where the blame should fall... the doctor, Zehra, or Tricare. After sifting through it all, the blame was ultimately to be placed at Tricare's feet. They took over the case from Zehra and then didn't communicate properly with the doctor what kind of procedure I needed done, and since the doctor didn't know I needed surgery, she hadn't told Tricare about the PCR requirement. We talked to the doctor about rescheduling for the following day, but I was concerned about getting back to our kids plus Ben was so uncomfortable. It turned out the OR was booked the rest of the week anyway, it wasn't an option.
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| Long-suffering Ben waiting for me to be admitted to the OR |
So, very deflated we made our way back home, but not without stopping first at the Rathaus Christmas for some seriously needed retail therapy. Ben stayed in the car and I returned to all the stalls I had eyed earlier and unleashed with a fury, finding some great Christmas treasures. We drove home again in the dark, again with crappy vision because of the damn windshield wiper. I was tired from doing all the driving too. Ben ended up driving for about an hour.
