It is three minutes to
8 in the evening and I have just returned from an eventful visit to the doctor.
Mother's doctor. Yet again, I played the ever-important role of the translator
(Mother's ability in Spanish still only extends to a small variety of fruit).
Over the last three
days it has become ridiculously cold here. So, wrapped up suitably, we walk to
the clinic. This clinic was the final choice. The winner, if you will, from
10 other clinics in town that were not up
to Mother's standards after spending an afternoon interviewing the
receptionists of each one. So, here we are at the clinic. Mother no longer attempts to communicate and instead
just points at me. We register and are directed downstairs to the Optician
department.
"Downstairs? What
- in the basement?!" Mother expresses her worries quite freely.
I usher her into the
elevator.
We are in the waiting
room for a few minutes before Mother inhales and dramatically rises her wrist
to see her watch.
"Three minutes
past. Three minutes late! I'm paying for this service, you know. And if you
think I'm waiting for all this lot to go before me, you've got another thing
coming! I shall be writing to the CEO of Catalonian health service and
complaining! We can't be having ---"
At this moment, a tall
lanky man comes into the waiting room and calls out Mother's name.
Upon entering, Mother
directs me (with her pointy finger) to communicate the fact that she is unable
to learn any Spanish at all and will not be able to understand anything and
will be relying on me, yet again, to translate all the medical jargon.
"Tell the man ---
wait, ask him what his name is first --- and then tell the man I've got three
problems. The first one is that a mosquito attacked me last week and I was left
with a very damaged eye. There's probably something really wrong with it. It
bit my eyebrow! It was all inflamed --- tell him, darling. Tell the doctor
while I'm telling you --- go on --- and the second problem is that my left eye
is in SO MUCH pain every June and July and I don't know why but it streams and
STREAMS and I can't bear it! Tell him --- have you told him, darling?! That's
the most important thing, make sure you tell him! Now, the third problem is my
eyes in general, darling. They're
deteriorating. There's probably something seriously wrong with them. I might be
going blind. Things are getting worse every day. You remember me telling you
all about it this morning, don't you darling? Well - tell the doctor."
I attempt to relay the
first issue to the doctor and just as I finish briefing him, he spins around
and talks to Mother in Spanish.
"Wait! No - no!
Wait, there's more. You didn't tell him all THREE, did you?" Mother is
leaning around Dr to speak to me; "Excuse me, Dr, there are MORE PROBLEMS.
More."
The doctor has pulled
out those scary glasses Opticians have that hold multiple, interchangeable
lenses. He proceeds to place them onto Mother's nose.
"OUCH!!!! No!!! I
don't need these bloody glasses! I know how far I can see! OUCH! They're
hurting, darling! Tell the man!! They're squashing my nose! Nope..."
Mother takes them straight off, much to Dr's astonishment.
I relay Mother's
message. Mildly.
Dr places them back
on.
"OWWwWwww.....
God, they don't fit me properly! They haven't been adjusted especially for me.
This is bloody useless - we'll be leaving in a minute! If he doesn't listen to
my other health problems, we'll be walking out, darling!"
The Dr asks me to ask
Mother to read the letters appearing on the wall and Mother does surprisingly
well.
Dr then removes the glasses
and I manage to slip in the details of the other two eye problems. He and I
then discuss further between ourselves whilst Mother's head is poking around
the side of the equipment trying to understand the conversation.
"Tell him I want
a photograph of my eye!"
I do. He tells me she
doesn't need one.
"YES I DO! I am
not paying for this kind of service! I AM THE CUSTOMER! I am right!"
I ignore her and
translate the doctor's instructions to place her head on a part of the
apparatus.
"DO. NOT. MOVE. QUIET.
QUIET. DO. NOT. MOVE. QUIET. QUIET."
Ah. So the doctor
speaks English. Perfect.
I don't know why Spanish people do this - but I
am assuming it is a cheap thrill; watching a foreigner aggressively rant away,
thinking they cannot be understood.
Anyway. I don't think
Mother recognises the fact that he speaks English because she continues
mumbling at me whilst the doctor examines her eyes.
"I won't be
coming back to this one, you know. I don't like it. This is nonsense. Look at
all this equipment. It's ANTIQUATED! Darling, this won't do. This is old! Oh my
God... I put my head on that thing... he didn't even clean it! Ask him if he
sanitised it!!"
I do not.
Dr grabs some eye
drops and gushes them into Mother's eyes before I could finish blinking.
He does provide some
sort of explanation for her 'problems', which I translate as best as I can ---
although bear in mind that 60% of the words he used were medical jargon, in
which I am not fluent. Either in English or Spanish. I do, however, pick up the
fact that he thinks Mother's 'June / July allergy problem' is nothing to worry
about if it's only happening for two months of the year. This infuriates Mother
more than I anticipated.
"IT IS SOMETHING
TO WORRY ABOUT BECAUSE I AM WORRIED ABOUT IT OH MY GOD!"
I reassure Mother that
everything else is fine and there's nothing to worry about. This is not the
answer she wanted, apparently.
"Nope. No. Tell
him he is WRONG. Wrong-o. Not right." Mother shakes her head and wags her
finger dramatically. "He is not right! I know my EYES! I don't need to
know about what bloody glasses to wear! He is not qualified - is he? Ask him
what qualifications he has because he certainly has not fixed my problems!!!
This is an outrage. I will be talking to that lady upstairs and complaining.
Just you wait and see."
The doctor looks at
me, confused. I make up something short and also start up a conversation about
something totally irrelevant to diffuse the awkward situation.
I am successful in the
diffusion and we leave on quite good terms. Shaking hands etc. It turns out
that the doctor does not really speak English very well. Only those few choice
words. Probably a blessing.
Arriving upstairs,
back at the reception, Mother took it upon herself to loudly educate the clinic
in their employment of a useless doctor. The staffs' apologies earned
themselves very little with Mother - as she insisted to be re-assigned to a
different doctor. This was done in a matter of seconds, actually, as Mother was
invited to speak with a very jolly 'Jose' (oh hey, what an unusual name) - who
happened to be wearing a flamboyant cravat. Naturally, they got on supremely
well (despite the language barrier) and they nearly cheek-kissed when saying
goodbye.
Mother has instructed
the receptionists to allocate Jose as her personal doctor for all future appointments,
regardless of the appropriate medical category.
xoxo
