If you get injured in Italy I really hope it is not serious especially if you don’t speak Italian. Alessandro says even if you are Italian your chances aren’t good. I hurt my foot/ankle and it was a chore. I had to go see a doctor at a medical center. To get to the office I had to walk up a steep, narrow flight of stairs (keep in mind that I hurt my foot). He spoke a lot of Italian to Alessandro barely touched my foot wrote a prescription and sent me to get an x-ray. It’s almost like going to the Student Health Services at Miami – scary. Then we had to find out where the hospital was. We had to take a bus and then walk around in what seemed like the middle of nowhere. Finally found the hospital then had to walk around outside to another entrance. It was very strange compared to American hospitals (and trust me I’ve seen my fair share) the nurses were not very friendly and the reception area was closed.
After finally getting to the reception area I had to register with a nurse who spoke no English (again thank god for Alessandro) who was confused by my id because of my middle initial. An Italian man once told me, “Italians were too poor to afford middle names, only Americans have enough money.” After finally figuring that out we had to wait for what seemed like an eternity. Ok so it was only 2 and a half hours but it felt long. Alessandro bought me a bottle of frizzante (despite my aversion at the beginning I’ve really grown to like it) and took a siesta. So here I was stuck in a waiting room injured in a room full of people I can’t understand waiting for a nurse with an accent so thick that couldn’t understand her if she called my own name which is what I was waiting for.
The waiting room was almost exactly like an American waiting room except for the vending machines. I have never seen a vending machine without pop in it. There was the standard junk food – chips, cookies, and candy, but the only drinks where water and fruit juice. And people wonder why Americans are so overweight…
Finally after 2 and a half hours they called my name (which I only understood because of Alessandro) and I went to see a doctor for two seconds who asked me to take my shoe off, point to where it hurt, put my shoe back on, and go to another waiting room. This one was not air conditioned, but much more lively. The locals in the room were complaining about the wait and talking about the injuries. They seemed to be pretty happy for the amount of limping going on in there. After awhile I started to talk to Alessandro and we compared notes about life in Italy vs. life in the US. We actually had a lot in common for living thousands of miles apart – both our moms were teachers, we both love the Beatles, and we both think McDonald’s in gross. Minus the whole mafia obsession thing, which who knows after talking to him, I might have to look into it. I would love to be able to talk to more locals like that. I love learning that kind of stuff.
After another hour and a half I got x-rays and then more x-rays. Then it felt like they were kicking everyone out and just rushed through the list of patients, handed them their x-rays, and gave them
a prescription. I may never actually know what I did to myself (although I’m guessing sprained ankle and I think I heard sprained foot). All I got was Italian, Italian, Italian, “No cast,” Italian, Italian, Italian, “Tutor,” Italian, “Air cast” some more Italian and then we were gone.
So now I’m stuck in this stupid air cast for the next 15 or so days (I tried to talk Alessandro into forgetting the whole thing and ignoring the cast, but he wasn’t having it, humph…). Not necessarily my idea of a great vacation, but it has been about a year since I got an x-ray so apparently I was overdue.
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