ROTOROOTERS AND OTHER PLUMBING ISSUES

Please take note that the parking issue should be explored before heading off to a big city hospital for any reason.
Sunday evening 2230; bag out, jammies, and robe in bag, meds sorted and in smaller bag with toothbrush and paste in smaller bag; knee pillow in big bag with two books. Bag of holding; wallet in, tests and paperwork for rotorooter in, cell phones in, other neccessary junk in.
Monday morning 0545; After Dem Der got me awake at 0445, and after coffee and a quick run through e mails, we were in the car and headed out of town. We ran into a huge traffic jam in Acre, and got to the area where Dem Der wanted to be left off for a test he had in a different hospital (more of that later). As the traffic was so bad, I decided to let him off closer to Rambam and take advantage of the roundabout to get headed in the right direction for my hospital. I got there at 0830, (half an hour after I was supposed be inside already) but there was absolutely no place to park in a 6 block radius. I called the hospital and told them about my parking issues, and continued circling the hospital like a vulture looking for a place close enough for me to get there by wheely. At 0915 a wheely spot opened up and I grabbed it, got the wheely parts out, put it together, hung the overnight bag on the wheely's handles and headed downhill towards the hospital, backwards. A very nice lady asked if she could help me, so I told her where I was heading and she very kindly rolled me right to where I needed to go. I was only an hour and a half late, but they were very nice about it as the parking issues aren't new to them.
The next hurdle was checking in. I handed all the papers to the clerk for her to go over and she offered to go downstairs to the main admitting office and do it for me. You'd figure the ward clerk would know which form she needed to take, but, no, she came back and told me to go down and handed me the wrong paper. Down I went and was told it wasn't the right paper. Good grief. I'd called to find out if my clinic had gotten the correct one and they said "yes", so what's going on? I mentioned that to admitting clerk and told her the number on the correct paper, so she called the ward clerk who eventually showed up with right one. Being glad that it was now sorted I didn't bother looking at the stickers to make sure they got my name right. Back upstairs I found out that they got it wrong, so there was more waiting around until the correct stickers were sent up.
It's now after 1000, but I'm admitted. The anaesthesiologist found me and informed me that I didn't bring all of the correct blood tests he's asked for, so had to stick me again after he put the IV thingy in, and started an antibiotic drip. At that point, I just laid back and read while waiting to be hauled off to the operating room. The 'bed driver' arrived and put the IV bags on the bed, and started pushing me towards the OR, but the nurse saw that my blood was backing up into the tubing and had a go at him about not putting the bags on a pole. My comment was "Great, now my own blood is trying to get away from me" That broke the tension between her and the bed driver who had been asked by me to show his bed drivers license and insurance certificate. With bags firmly on the pole, it was off to the OR where I was parked for a last minute check or two. Then, just as I was about to get up and go home, they rolled me in, and there were the rotorooter doc and the anaesthesiologist who was ready with a needle. He shoved it into the IV tube after they put a huge strap around me explaining that might have to tilt the table and don't want me to fall off. Never mind what I said to that. We were all still giggling when he put the shot in. The next thing I remember was being very surprised that I woke up. I do have a vague memory of them moving me back to my bed, and taking me to recovery where I stayed for what seemed like forever but was only two hours. The recovery nurse kept telling me to breath more deeply and the monitor over my head that I couldn't see kept making strange beepings. Whoever put the tube in my throat was brutal: it's still a little sore.
I must have slept fairly well because the morning temp, BP and whatever else they torture you with at 0630 only woke me up enough to ask to go pee. The vascular doc does his rounds very early and he told me with great pride that the operation went very well and he wants me to get on with my usual daily schedule, and that I could go home in the morning. Cool, except that meant no scarper! I plonked myself in the wheely and headed off for a cup of proper coffee from the coffee shop and out to the ambulance entrance for the coffee and a couple of cigarettes. After that, I went exploring and rolled around most of the hospital before heading back to my room for lunch. I was still on my preop fast because I skipped breakfast. I can't remember what lunch was but I scarfed it right down. There was another American in my room and she informed me that the hospital had won a prize for having the best hospital food in the country. She was on her way home which left me with one Morrocan and a Russian, neither of whom spoke a word of Hebrew. They both made lots of noise, so I lost myself in a book in between cat naps. After supper, I headed back to the ambulance entrance and smoked until it was time to go back up and try to watch the news in the TV area. Another decent night of sleep, and it was time to go home. After they took the drain out, and put on a new improved smaller dressing, I skipped breakfast again, got coffee downstairs, and sat with the coffee and a couple of cigarettes until I thought maybe I could make it up the hill back to the car. I was almost all the way up when yet another nice lady helped me up the last bit. Got the wheely in the car with the help of a guy who had just parked near me, and off I went to find a petrol station where I put my last 70 shekels in (looking for parking used up a whole lot of fuel) and I got home in fairly good time. Dem Der came out with the other wheely to roll me in and I stopped by the computer to check mail and generally let myself be seen.
I had a fine sleep for once and woke up at around 0800, had coffee, did email and headed out on Harley to try and collect some of the money owed me. My first stop was at the clinic to get the pressure sore looked at and to make sure they'd take out the staples which would save me another trip back to Haifa on Sunday. When I realized Lavana was a nonstarter, and that she wouldn't be able to pay any of what she owes me, I decided to go down to my pals Moshe and Ronit's store in the hopes they'd loan 100 shekels until Monday, when one of the debts will be paid. I got into their store and stopped to reverse Harley but he wouldn't budge so I called Yefim who came right away and took a ride on him, brought him back and pronounced him well. I left Ronit and Moshe after thanking them for the shelter and dosh and went to the other store I needed where Harley did the same trick. Again I called Yefim who came running and this time we found the problem. It has to do with the lever that gives extra control of the magneto and sometimes jumps to wrong place. So, back to town to get cigarettes, and home again, to write this.
I'm so glad it's over and done, and more that a little thankful that it was a success.
Dem Der drove me well and truly wild the whole way to Haifa about not wanting to be late for his test as if my operation was secondary to his test. Um, the only reason he got a ride one way was because I had the rotorooter for crying out loud, and I had to give him 50 shekels of the 100 I had so he'd be able to get back. While I was waiting to be taken to the OR he kept calling and bugging me with stupid stuff, like that Peg peed in the house twice ("So clean it up") and other such nonsense. I finally told him to stop calling. I wanted a little peace and quiet before having my neck cut open, and all this crap was of no interest at the moment and there was not a thing I could I do about any of it from a hospital bed. Duhn. One good thing came of it, though, I'm not giving him so much as another 10 agorot. And yes, he asked for 3 shekels this morning and I said no. That's it. He can stay here until his new flat is sorted, but that's it.