A day at the doctor in Stavropol

I think the proper thing to do before I get to the doctor part of this is tell you about our trip home.

While in Montreal I had nursed a bad strept (or is it strep?) back to health, and just before I left Morristown to return home, it returned.

I staked my claim that it was bad, but there was no time anyway to go to the doctor.

We got to the airport a little late, and had to sort things out.

Basically, our travel agent (may no one use his services) has screwed us over. We had bought tickets to Moscow online (complicated story), and we payed him to get us tickets from Moscow to Mineralniy Voda, the closest normal airport.

He was doing three things at once, so he made it on the wrong date. Then, when we discovered this, he made us pay for all the changes as though it were our fault... and didn't even connect it to the New York-Moscow flight, meaning we would have to transfer all our 7 pieces of luggage from one terminal to the next in Moscow and recheck in (and pay overwheight again), all whilst lugging our two kids along.

At the airport we were the last to check in, and rushed through it. The ticket counter lady was really nice and friendly, and she organized that our luggage will go straight to Min Voda, which was a relief.

We had a new theory for Miriam. Usually she gets cranky and bad throughout the flight. This time we decided to let her be until she falls asleep, and not try to do it on our terms. It worked, and she fell asleep for the entire flight, a miracle of red-sea-splitting porportions.

Chaim also pretty much slept through the flight, which was good.

It was our year anniversary from going on shlichus, and our 3 year anniversary since we married. We exchanged gifts on the plane.

Finally, we landed in Moscow. We stood by the plane demanding our double stroller, since otherwise we'd be carrying the kids around. We ran to the domestic transfer desk (located all the way across the entire airport) with the kids, only to be told that we had to buy Chaim a ticket, since our TRAVEL AGENT in America forgot to do so.

So we had to clear customs, find a counter and get the ticket. We then exchanged terminals, went through security again, and with them announcing our name already over the loudspeaker, were told that the bought ticket wasn't registered in their system.

Luckily the lady at the desk got on our case, bumping in front of an entire lineup at the Aeroflot ticket counter, and we were the last people on the plane.

Naturally, all our seats were far away from each other, so they upgraded us to business class.

Peeking into first class, in Russia they ACTUALLY HAVE PAINTINGS ON THE WALLS of the plane! And people are literally sinking into couches and stuff.

It was like being on a flying Louvre.

We landed in Min Voda, only to find out that our luggage was still in Moscow.

We were told that we'd have to fly to Moscow to get it back, but then thankfully they were sent to Min Voda. In an hour we will iy"h pick it up. All our many pounds of meat, cheese and fish are probably ruined.

Meanwhile, when we got back, all of us were sick. We had endured a gruelling 4 hour ride on a 'gazelle' (mini-bus with no shocks), a trip that should normally take an hour and a half.

My strep had returned full swing, so we booked an appointment with the doctor in the medicine center, considered the3 classiest place in Stavropol, and only a block away.

We have connections there since the owner of the private center is a Jew. His daughter, who heads one huge department, is a good friend of Chayale's, as is his grand-daughter.

Anyway, I went to the doctor with my secretary, who would be needed for translation purposes.

The Stavropol center of medicine, which is the largest and most exclusive medicine center of the city, is run by a member of the community. His daughter heads one department, and his grand-daughter, a student who speaks sluent English, is a friend of Chayale's.

Therefore we are totally hooked up there, and in Russia, being connected means everything. Like you can find a janitor who can't go anywhere or do anything getting the best Vodka in the city for free because he knows the manager of the local store, or something like that.

Anyway, I will not describe the entire procedure of the super upper-class medicine center (which is about the equivalent of the Harlem Hospital emergency room in efficiency and classiness).

The doctors office was kind of large, with two doctors, one in front of a computer taking notes the entire time.

The one who dealt with me looked a little like an alien from a homemade video, being that she had a flashlight wrapped around her head with some silver foil thing. The flashlight, instead pointing toward my mouth like it does in America, rather shone toward her forehead where there was a massive silver reflector, so she can see inside my entire mouth (and probably my lungs and stomach too).

She started by asking me a bunch of questions. And by 'bunch' I mean like somewhere around the number 700. Meanwhile, the computer doctor was typing my answers furiously.

The questions included:

"Do you have elephantitis?"
"At what age exactly did you hit puberty?"
"Did you ever marry with a mammoth?"

The only questions they forgot were:

"Have you been to Chernobyl?"
and
"Did you pack these bags yourself and did you watch them at all times?"

When the interrogation finished, the check-up started. And boy was it primitive (but unfortunately without witch doctors).

First she checked my nose. She put a tiny gauze pad under my left nostril and asked me to hold my right nostril shut and breathe in and out from my left one.

She watched the fluttering gauze pad with interest, and the other lady furiously jotted down notes into the computer ("His right exhalement blew the gauze 15 nanometers further than the left one").

Then she checked my ears. Standard stuff. She peered through that black telescope doctors have and muttered stuff in Russian as the other lady assaulted the keyboard.

She then reached for the matches on the table (yes, among the doctor equipment on the table was a box of matches).

I quickly cracked a nervous joke about how I need my beard to be a Rabbi, and then watched as she lit one of those things that are put under hot food at simchas.

She then took a mirror, and stuck it to the end of a stick (how primitive can you get?), and HELD THE MIRROR OVER THE FIRE. As she turned it over and over atop the flame as though it were a hot dog, she asked me to open my mouth and stick out my tongue.

She was a slick one. As soon as my tongue popped out she grabbed it with her hand (protected from germs and shomer negiah issues by a gauze pad). Then she stuck the sizzling mirror into my throat. It burned so I tried to jump back, but she had a good grip on my tongue.

"I am never coming back," I thought at this point, but didn't say it, partially because I couldn't, since my tongue was being yanked.

Finally she finished checking my throat, and decided to test my hearing. And so (I kid you not) she went to the other side of the room and asked me to block one ear. Then she covered her mouth and started whispering words that I had to repeat back to her.

I don't mean to brag, but I got every single word correctly. And without boasting, let me say that I did 100% with both ears.

I half expected her to then walk into the next room and start whispering words, to test the decibel level of my ears, but thank G-d she didn't.

Then they printed out the subscription, and it had a total of NINE MEDICINES!!!!@#$%%$#@!!

One was for my 'ear problem' (go figure).

On the way to the apteka (pharmacy), we narrowed them down to 3.

Now I must never, ever get sick again.

Ever!