Story Saturday

The pain was immediate and entirely convincing.  I had only bent down to pet my cat, but as the pain shot through my spine, I lunged for my bed.  After twenty minutes of total immobility I called to my roommate and asked him to hand me my computer so I could call my sister.  My closest friends reference my roommate as my other cat.  It's nothing he has done wrong, nor is it the way I treat him - it's simply our communication patterns.  He doesn't speak any English and my Ukrainian is hit or miss on my best days.  When we don't understand each other, Vittya simply walks away and finds something more interesting, like a ball of string or a laser point on the wall.

After I called him back and tried again, this time in Ukrainian, I explained that I was in a lot of pain.  Vittya's Ukrainian instincts kicked in and immediately he offered me a dozen wives tale remedies.  He called his mother who had the other 27 he could write down.  I called my other cat back into the room again and this time he handed me my computer so I could call my sister, the doctor.

I don't know why I'll never trust wives tales.  Maybe I feel that for medical advice to be real, you have to really fight to get it out of your doctor.
 
Rebecca sighs in a loud, prolonged way anytime I begin a medical question.  I wonder what it would look like if I did the same each time I was asked to pray at a family function.  I can imagine Debbie rolling her eyes at being asked to pick out a note on a piano.  This time, I'm clearly on the edge of tears and Rebecca finds it in her heart to render a diagnosis.  "It's not cancer."  This is really progress in getting a diagnosis from her, and I calm down enough for her to explain what probably happened.

Vittya came back with an additional 47 folk-remedies from his grandmother; and I sent him out to go fetch some tylenol and an ice-pack.  He cocks his head to the side, and I try the sentence again in Ukrainian.  I'm amazed at how slowly my brain works when I'm in pain.

After three tries with the Ukrainian word for ice-pack, I phone a Ukrainian friend to translate.

I thank Rebecca and she prods me to move my toes - a feat that I am still capable of - and she tells me that I'll be fine and to stop being a baby.  Exactly what I had hoped to hear from her.

Vittya offers to begin calling his aunts for more remedies, but I just thank him for the ice-pack and try to get some rest.  His confused look tells me that probably after I rest I will be able to speak in Ukrainian again.

(to be continued ...)