Wednesday, March 18, 2009
My wife doesn’t hear well. It’s not just that she doesn’t listen or that she ignores me. She does that too, but the problem was not only on the software side. The hardware was malfunctioning too. So she had to have some surgery on (or rather in) her left ear. And what better day to plan a surgical treatment than on Friday the 13th?
'You must be mad', you would say. Well, you see, we are not the kind of people that suffer from superstitious beliefs. For us, Friday the 13th is like any other day. Nothing to worry about. But then again, you would be absolutely right.
Mother in law agreed to take care of Wolf for a couple of days, so I would have my hands free and enough time to drive up and down to the hospital. That was important because for some reason Mrs.B’s type of surgery was only available at the other side of the country – in Tongeren to be precise, just follow the signs pointing to ‘Edge of the World’ and then turn left.
But on the eve of the 13th, MIL’s toy boy called to say that MIL had a bad accident with her bike. She was still alive, but both her underarms were in bandages, she was missing about five square meters of skin and she would have to stay in hospital herself until after the weekend. So no babysitter. Some people have no consideration for others.
So that Friday, we dropped Wolf at the childminder’s and set off for the Edge of the World (Tongeren). Mrs.B took the precaution of printing one of those road maps from the internet. However, I was convinced from the start that her indications were rubbish and because I know my way around everywhere on the globe and because I know best and because women can’t navigate, I deviated from the plan.
This led to a slight degree of tension in the car. But everything turned out fine, because I was right. As I always am, I might add. Don’t tell me how to drive to the Edge of the World!
Not only did we arrive in time, we had oodles of time because we had to wait, and then had to wait some more. Mrs.B had a nice room, with a very nice view. She was also the only adult in the paediatric ward, because she insisted on having a private room. And the only way they could give her one was by throwing a child out of the window. But if she felt guilty about that, she didn’t show it.
Mrs.B had to change into one of those nice hospital gowns, you know, with the open back. They just invite a man to hanky-panky, but she wouldn’t have any of that. Then the nice nurse came back and planted a huge needle in her bum. Then they rolled her out.
Instead of pacing nervously in the room until my loved one returned, I took the occasion to visit the town, have a copious diner and do some shopping. Then I returned to nervously pace in the room until my loved one appeared again, her left ear hidden under a cushion of bandages.
The surgery went without a hitch, although it will take a while before Mrs.B’s hearing fully returns. She still was feeling knocked out, but the next day she was feeling so well that she could return home earlier than expected. Which was a good thing, because after living one day on my own, I urgently needed someone to put me straight again.