Tracking down the elusive medical test in Spain

Posted on October 16, 2018 by

Hooray! Today, after a 6.94 euro cab ride, my husband and I landed at a medical laboratory in Seville, Spain where I had a blood test. And the results were in the acceptable range.I needed this for my doctors back home to properly treat the blot clot I developed in August.

A few days after we arrived in Spain, I walked into a pharmacy and asked where I might take a blood test and get the results analyzed quickly.  “The only place is a hospital emergency room; otherwise, laboratories will take one to two weeks to do an analysis,” said one pharmacist.  Great.  Nothing I like more when on vacation than sitting for hours in an emergency room. Then, the first pharmacist checked with a second one who said he had heard of a pharmacy that offered blood tests with fast analyses. He looked up a name and number and wrote them on a post-it note.

Two days later, I called the number hoping for an English speaker on the other end of the line, but with no luck.  It’s not easy to talk about blood clots and anticoagulants in English, much less Spanish, but somehow my explanation was successful enough that the woman I spoke to could assure me her pharmacy didn’t do tests. Then, as an afterthought, she gave me another phone number, and that phone call led to a private lab – Rider Laboratory — that would perform the test.

At the lab, the receptionist and Dr. Rider were reluctant to show off their English skills, leaving me to bumble my way through the initial explanations.  My husband and I were an anomaly, a curiosity. I don’t think they see many vacationers there. But they drew my blood, and afterward Dr. Rider and I had a long conversation. He was curious about what state in the U.S. I was from. I spoke with some fluency, missing proper verb tenses, but able to blab away.  He spoke slowly, thinking before every word that came out and making no mistakes. Regardless of our different styles we understood each other completely.

As we left, Dr. Rider came into the reception area to look over the email address I had given them (last name Oxrieder). He pointed to his name on the wall.  “Like mine.  Are you German?”

My husband said yes and explained that we had heard that his family name was once Ochsenrider. Then I said that I too had an ancestor by the name of Rider who was from England. Dr. Rider ended by saying, “Maybe we are family,” and we all laughed.

I started this blog by saying how much we paid for taxi fare.  I mentioned that because of what we paid for my blood test: 6 euros, slightly less than the fare for a 20-minute cab ride. Later we noted that we had spent more time socializing with the doctor and his receptionist than we ever spent with our own doctors.

 

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Lost in the labyrinth of Seville

Posted on October 14, 2018 by

The Mushroom

If it weren’t for the mushroom (see photo), our word for what is known as the Metropol Parasol, we would be lost. It is our guidepost. We are staying in an apartment in an old part of Seville, Spain — not just a few years old but centuries old — in a warren of narrow streets accessible only on foot. Yesterday, while looking for the square where the off-site apartment manger to leave our trash — Plaza de Alfalfa — we discovered a shortcut to the mushroom, which was good to know but also in the opposite direction of the trash bins.

Five days ago, we arrived in Seville after dark.  The taxi driver let us off at the entrance to this street, called Calle Siete Revueltas.  “A la izquierda” he said.
“What do we do after we turn left?” I asked my husband, who shrugged.

I first learned the adjective “revuelto” in Mexico in the context of “huevos revueltos,” scrambled eggs.  In this case the street name means “seven turns,” but scrambled describes it just as well.

One nice thing about this neighborhood without cars is that it’s dead silent. Back home, we live near a freeway and we’re used to car traffic and planes flying overhead. I woke up the first night here and wondered what was wrong.

Within the streets of this maze and everywhere else we go, strangers are not safe…from us. Asking for directions of people just stepping out their front doors, resolutely crossing a plaza, or sitting quietly on a bench in a public square occupies much of our days. Today, on our own, we discovered several new shortcuts, successes which always give us moments of rejoicing.

many carriages and horses for                         tourists to  choose from

Our Spanish is improving quickly.  It has to, because few people seem excited to test their English out on us. I’m thankful that Spanish words buried deeply in some storage bin in my brain are popping out. Usually these words make sense to the hearer. However, today, a man I was talking to kept backing away. He was trying to sell me a ride through the city in his horse-drawn carriage. I told him I’d taken this ride  years ago, and it had rained (llover) during the entire ride, just poured down on us. A few hours later I realized that the word I used wasn’t quite what I intended to say. I was talking about water falling, but didn’t mean to say I was crying (llorar) during the carriage ride.

I really need to get my Spanish straight tomorrow when I have to call a pharmacist to explain that I have a blood clot and need a blood test with an immediate analysis of results.  If this doesn’t work, it’s off to a hospital emergency room to ask for the same procedure, another potential scramble in this labyrinthine world. So far everyone I’ve asked for help has come through, except for two teenage girls who didn’t know where they were and even they tried.

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How not to pack

Posted on October 8, 2018 by

PACKED AT LAST

What to wear? What to wear? I’ve been packing a suitcase for nearly a week, which makes me well qualified to speak on the topic of how not to pack for travel. Today marks my fourth round of taking everything out of one suitcase, hanging one or two items of clothing back in the closest, removing one or two new things from said closet and repacking. I should mention that while I’m still repeating this shuffle, it’s not with the same suitcase I started with.

Ah, I loved that first suitcase I packed, compact, easy to wheel around, seemingly roomy enough for everything, and best of all, purple. After four days tucking, squeezing, and flattening my clothing with my hands, followed by jumping up and down to close that purple beauty, I transferred everything to suitcase two.

Why is it so hard to decide what to put in a suitcase?  Our more recent trips have taken place in cool climates among cultures that value the outdoors life. These lend themselves to easy packing decisions: one pair of clean jeans per week, a few sweaters, a coat and an umbrella.

Our upcoming destinations start hot and dry and end cold and wet, which makes planning more difficult. But I can’t blame my indecision entirely on the change in climates. I hold up this blouse to these pants, these pants to those shoes and this tank top to that pair of shorts and ask myself, will I be pegged immediately as coming from the U.S.?  The answer is almost always yes. I remind myself that these days clothing may not distinguish one traveler from another throughout much of the world. Who doesn’t wear jeans?

Maybe what’s more worthy of examining than whether my fashion sense matches anyone else’s is what our other suitcase contents say about us, either when we’re leaving home or returning. For example, I’m taking a Spanish language book to Spain, where you’d think I might happen upon something to read in that language. Last year, my husband and I bought brown Norwegian goat cheese (gjetost) to bring home, only to find it in our local grocery store. What I should remember when I’m packing is that the world is smaller than we realize, and I am bound to blend in with at least a few of the 11 million tourists who visit Andalusia each year or the 17 million who go to Amsterdam. And, hey, if I’m too cold in Amsterdam, I’ll take a wild guess that they sell sweaters there.

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How to stop watching TV

Posted on October 2, 2018 by

shot from a PBS documentary

In my last post, I mentioned wanting to eliminate TV watching as a way to pare down habits that interfere with accomplishing… not sure what, but accomplishing something.  At least it would offer a way to keep me out of a mindless stupor a few more hours a day. We already read at night, but surely there’s something else we can do.

My husband and I watched TV as a way to relax after work. Now that we’re not working, do we need this particular form of relaxation?  One evening a week ago, we didn’t turn the Tube on. The next evening I went to a meeting and he stayed home, and, again, didn’t turn it on.

Two consecutive nights: it felt like a record that needed breaking. I was thankful that we had recorded the last episodes of two series we’d been watching, and since we had to find out how they ended…well, you know what happened.

I decided to seek friends who might have solutions to breaking the TV watching habit. My informal survey proved that my friends are not normal.  Two of them have no television sets. In response to my question about how they spent their evenings, one said she did housework. A third friend said he watched sports, our local Public Broadcasting Service (PBS) channel and news on three stations.

“That’s a lot of news,” I said “especially these days. Do you have to drink after the news is over?”
“No,” he said, “I begin drinking before I watch.”

Watching three news programs as an evening pastime ranks right up there with housework: not an option. His choice of PBS, however, is a good one.  It does offer programs that help keep the synapses firing and is often our second choice, if not the first. Maybe if we limited ourselves to one channel?

Since friends were no help, I turned to the internet for advice, which, by the way, is another habit worth breaking, especially when it adds up to more daily screen time. What I learned about how to kick the TV habit was to begin by recording how many minutes we watch every day and then cut back. No need to go cold turkey, but watch for fewer minutes, then fewer days. Next, we can limit the number of shows we see, which means stopping before watching any more reruns of M*A*S*H* or Raymond or the Big Bang Theory.

The fall TV season has begun. With each new season, television has gotten darker and darker, airing shows mostly about  satanic cults, serial killers, or alien takeovers of our planet, none of which inspire or work well as sleep aids. Not only can we save time, but also avoid nightmares by ignoring the new fall lineup altogether.

I’m now feeling more confident that we can gain a few more hours a day by cutting back on television series.  I am taking a blood thinner that does not permit drinking, so more than one news program a day is not in the picture.

 

 

 

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Paring down

Posted on September 24, 2018 by

A sign of the times: a recent issue of “Cooking Light” magazine gives tips to improve readers’ ability to handle stress. These include 1) moving your focus away from undone tasks, 2) limiting your fretting to situations you can control, and 3) not aiming for perfection.

The article directs readers to several sources, which I checked out from my neighborhood library. The one I’ve skimmed is, “SHED Your Stuff, Change Your Life.” As I opened the book I thought, here we go again. Another useless guide to cleaning out my closets, useless because I never do anything the experts prescribe for getting organized.

But reading about shedding turned out better than I expected. Yes, the clutter focus is here. Author Julie Morgenstern lists ten  example of “physical burdens,” two of which I know I’ll be able to shed. “Excessive memorabilia” is the first on my list of contenders for tossing, old recipes is the second. And this morning, after trying to find something in my kitchen “junk drawer,” I decided that will come next.

What’s more interesting, is that the book also speaks to shedding “time burdens” and “habit burdens.” Both made me stop and think. Under the former, I admit that more often than not, when asked to volunteer, I may mouth the word “no” but no real sound leaves my lips. My problem is worse than just saying yes. Recently, I finished a volunteer project for an organization I belong to and within minutes came up with ideas for two more.  Luckily, I didn’t share them with anyone, so I’m safe…for now.

The list is shorter for habit burdens — for which I’m thankful — but eliminating some of the behaviors on it will require serious work. I’ll start with “mindless escapes,” which includes “TV, email, internet.” I imagine “internet” applies to Facebook, Instagram, and checking news websites daily to learn what new perils our national leaders are dragging us into. My husband and I started talking about giving up on TV. I’m investigating that option by interviewing friends who have made the break, while I still keep up my nightly TV watching schedule. Meanwhile, I’ll work on the other stress reducers in the Cooking Light article.  I’ll start with avoiding attempts to do things perfectly.  That should be easy.

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Who is the real you? Ask someone else

Posted on September 14, 2018 by

just a pretty picture

Recently, a newcomer appeared at my monthly lunch with former work friends: a daughter-in-law who was visiting from another state. In other words, a younger person.

While aging is not a focus of our conversations, when we meet the topic is always under the surface, and as one member of the group put it, “We have to get our organ recital” — meaning a report of injuries, surgeries and ailments — “out of the way before we can move on to our normal conversation.”

As the meal was ending, said daughter-in-law asked a question. “Now that you are all of, shall I say, a certain age, what do you see yourselves wanting to accomplish or do over the next 10 or more years ?” Pure brilliance on her part to find a way to engage in our conversation and ask a question that called for reflection.

I said something I’d been sharing with others for months: I’d like to let go, stop volunteering, do less, wind down. I’m not sure what I had in mind when I said wind down. Lie on the couch for the rest of my life? Definitely not. Lack of mobility after my ankle fracture is what gave me the blood clot.

Later, I thought about my answer. How badly did I want to stop doing the things I’m accustomed to doing and mostly enjoy. Have I been kidding myself? Have I succumbed to the Buddhist notion of dukkha, that is, never feeling completely satisfied with…any number of things one can find unsatisfying in life, even if it’s just the bad dinner you paid good money for at a restaurant last night.

A recent experience added to my uncertainty about the assertion that I was going to change my life.  I’ve been getting physical therapy for my injured ankle. After seeing the therapist, he assigned me to a particular PT assistant I saw years before.  I assumed he wouldn’t remember me, but he surprised me by acting like we were old friends. On my second visit, he said, “I’m assuming you did the maximum number of sets for these exercises.”

“Why do you say that?” He was right, but I wanted to know if it was a lucky guess.

“Because I know you. You go for the max.”

This made me want to read his old notes about me, but it also told me that if I really wanted to slow down, it was going to take a lot of work. A complete personality change is not the metamorphosis I’d expect at this stage in life, as in defying nature and converting from a butterfly to a cocoon.

I’ve seen many recommendations lately to spend time thinking and meditating about who you are at the core. This advice is usually for younger people. At my age we’re supposed to know who we are. But if we’re not sure, maybe we should just ask the people who know us, not only long-time friends but those we only see for 30 minutes at a time for a few weeks or months.

 

Posted in aging, changes after retirement, intergenerational, personal reflections | Tagged , , | 6 Comments

Happiness around the world

Posted on August 29, 2018 by

Happiness on warm day in Copenhagen

Lately, when I’m not in doctor’s offices or the emergency room, I’ve had a bit of time on my hands, some of which I’ve put to reading. (All these medical adventures relate to small fractures on my ankle and a blood clot resulting from them.) And some of my reading has been in Spanish.  I studied Spanish in school as a teenager, in Mexico as an adult, and years later had to re-learn it for my job.

Now, as my husband and I prepare for a future trip to Seville, Spain, I’m lucky to have met two Mexican friends on the job who can help. One is hauling books, DVD’s and magazines to our house weekly, only a few of which have we actually looked at. (As retirees, we don’t feel the same pressure to study as we did as students.)

I latched on to “National Geographic en Español,” November 2017, which fits my reading level and went directly to a piece on what Denmark, Costa Rica, and Singapore have to teach us about happiness.

What is happiness?  The article suggests that it can mean different things to different people and may have varied definitions depending on the culture.

Denmark always seems to land high on the lists of happiest countries.  When we visited there last summer, our Danish guide told us that all that happiness comes from its residents taking more antidepressants than those living in any other country.  We hoped it was a joke and from this article it seems that it was.

What the National Geographic tells us makes Danes happy is that they are well-cared for from cradle to grave in terms of health, education, work, and community.  They pay a large part of their income for this, but believe it’s worth it for what they receive in return. Apartment cooperatives are popular and most adults belong to a club. The last line was what brought me to a halt. Clubs?  But then I remembered that one criticism about people in the U.S. is that we stopped joining clubs, were too busy to socialize, and know our neighbors less.  (Bowling Alone)

Happiness in Costa Rica does not depend on financial wealth, but on a strong government healthcare system, a high level of literacy, a strong sense of community geared toward helping each other out, and great deal of socializing.

Singapore’s story is different.  Most people live in skyscraper apartments built by the government. Beyond that, it is a meritocracy where happiness and success come from studying hard in school, working hard, and living according to traditional — mostly Chinese — values.

In the U.S., about half the people say that money can buy happiness and the rest think it can’t.

From Money magazine: “Wealthier people are happier than poor people. Wealthier countries are happier than poor countries. As countries get ­richer, they get happier. The relationship between income and happiness is extremely strong.” I suppose a magazine with this title wouldn’t suggest otherwise.

Something I read in a newspaper a few weeks ago, that may have been based on research from 2010, said even if people are not earning a great deal of money, they’re happier if they know they are making more than someone else. In other words, if you don’t earn much, but your colleagues earn less, you will feel happier.  If you earn a billion and you hang out with people who earn $2 billion, you are less happy. Somehow we can’t get away from comparisons.

The National Geographic has a world map covered with smiling and frowning faces, based on how happy its citizens say they are.  I don’t want to live among the frowners (think some countries with names that end in ‘stan.’) Better to live in one of the happiest countries. But Denmark’s days are short and dark much of the year. Unlike Costa Ricans, I’m enough of an introvert to want quiet time alone, and from my putting off Spanish language lessons it’s clear I don’t want to study hard or work hard, which eliminates Singapore.  I guess I’ll just have to keep reading about happier countries for now.

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Not another lifestyle blog

Posted on August 10, 2018 by

Lifestyle tips for cat owners: cover all your furniture with towels and blankets

Lifestyle. A topic that’s been on my mind since I saw a piece from The Washington Post on “global lifestyle trends.”

Until I read the article and researched the number of blogs devoted to this topic — 1.4 million and counting — I was oblivious to the lifestyle experts who were spreading their diffuse knowledge of fashion, home decor, health, travel and living into the hearts and minds of, well…just about everyone.

I googled “most inane lifestyle blogs” and got one described as “a blog and catalog both for and by people who have never had to know or care how much things cost.”  Here are descriptions  of blogs I found on my own. I should warn you that every one of them is “awesome.” First, is one that “shares awesome content around realness, lifestyle and recipes.” The second offers a “ton of practical advice to enhance your life,” and the third, “highly informational content around style, lifestyle and beauty.”

But we have sources other than blogs for ways to improve our lifestyles, namely books. Take the current Scandinavian invasion of lifestyle trend setters, who much like their Viking ancestors are out to conquer Europe, the Americas and Asia with their ideas for health, happiness and comfort.

Here’s a quick rundown of Nordic lifestyle choices that are unpronounceable for English-speaking mouths. I took these from a July 1, advertising section stuffed into the “Seattle Times” newspaper.

Hygge:  (Hooga) Think warm and cozy, settling in by the fire with a cup of hot chocolate, a blanket and a good book. But I can’t think that, not today anyway, when it’s 90 degrees outside. I regret that I don’t know what advice the Danes have for us in summer, but winter will be here before we know it.
Lagom: ( LAH-gum) The Swedish version of Hygge. My on-line dictionary translates lagom as “moderate.” One writer called it the new hygge, which shows how out of step with the times I am, talking about hygge when it’s already been overtaken by lagom. (I’m laughing at the new IKEA catalog, which, within in its 286 immoderate pages of attractive Swedish stuff to enhance our lives, cites research that having too much stuff is a cause of stress.)
Frilufgsliv: (Free-loofts-live) The Norwegians have their own lifestyle trend, which is to get outside, exercise and enjoy nature. I’ve read that they are avid cross-country skiers and from what I’ve seen of the country, there’s plenty of nature there to enjoy, albeit very cold nature.
Kalsarikannit (Cal-sar-y-cuhn-eet).  Also known as “Pants-drunk.” One writer describes it as drinking alcohol in your underwear while staying home. It’s a Finnish writer’s humorous response to the lifestyle trends of the other Nordic countries. Pants-drunk sounds cheaper than the other lifestyles described above, is easy to pronounce, and doesn’t require new clothing or perhaps any clothing. I suspect it’s done alone so you wouldn’t even need to clean your house to enjoy this lifestyle.

I have no lifestyle advice and do not plan to become a lifestyle blogger.  We older folks just need advice on how to stay alive.

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What’s wrong with sloth?

Posted on August 1, 2018 by

When I was a kid, my favorite activity — which resembled inactivity — was lying on the couch and reading.

My parents weren’t as thrilled as I was about a physical output that consisted of moving my eyes across a page and using one hand to turn it. “Don’t you think you should go outside for a while? You can’t keep your nose in a book all day.” Hah!

In those days, the main reason girls went outside was to get fresh air and a little exercise. You could list the names of girls’ sports on the back of a matchbook cover and have room leftover. My physical achievements included tether ball, trampoline, baton twirling (and marching), swimming and tennis. The one reason I didn’t become a complete layabout was that when I needed to go somewhere, school for example, I had to walk.

But fitness?  What was that? In contrast, these days you must abide by a rigorous exercise routine to avoid being shunned. I never heard the word fitness when I was growing up, except — wait! it just came back to me — except when twice a year all elementary school children had to take the Presidential Physical Fitness Test, a dreaded experience of mortification via timed sit-ups, push-ups, pull-ups, races and other tortures. While boys had one test designed just for them, which I can’t remember, girls had to walk the balance beam, the only test I didn’t completely fail. Gym teachers making scores public added to the humiliation, and then there were the few winners who got to show off their special badges and show them off they did. As soon as the first round of these exercises from hell had passed no one spoke of fitness again until time came for the next tests.

In adulthood I have periods of sloth and high activity. Lately I have been in the moderate physical activity mode taking a course three times a week at my local Y… until I missed the last step of my staircase, landed on my heel and turned one foot into the size and shape of a hoagie sandwich.

During the injury recovery period, I have returned to my earlier habit of lying on the couch and reading a book, except that these days I’ve added a nap to that regime. I’m surprised that although my foot hardly hurts, within a few days I’ve moved directly into hibernation mode. I’m behaving more and more like my cat, who might paraphrase the feline in a recent “New Yorker” cartoon summing up his end-of-life regrets: I wish I had napped more.

 

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Giving crutches the boot

Posted on July 26, 2018 by

my current modes of transportation

Today’s horoscope sealed my commitment to return to blogging after another long hiatus.  It said, “Maintain reassuring physical health and fitness routines. Steadily build energy and strength.” If only…

For the past month, I’d been doing exactly what the horoscope writer was recommending today: walking, lifting weights, working on balance and more. Then I got stupid.

I was returning from a walk when a neighbor who is moving invited me in to look at a few items she hadn’t yet found a home for.  I came away with a pot and a collage, which motivated me to redecorate the entrance to my house. I moved the entry rug upstairs to swap it out for another rug.  Coming down the stairs and holding the new rug in front of me I got to the bottom step and decided I had reached the ground floor.  I was only one step off, but sticking out my foot and unexpectedly landing six inches below where I intended to land caused quite a jolt.

In terms of damage, it could have been much worse. I chipped two small bones in my foot and twisted my ankle. The cure so far is to keep weight off the foot, no walking or driving for four to six weeks.  The other part of the cure is to navigate on crutches.

What sick person invented crutches?

An internet search lead me to “5 reasons why crutches are the worst.”  Only one of the writer’s five reasons is worth mentioning, namely, stairs.  I have no idea how to use crutches to get up stairs.  Arriving home from the hospital I stared and stared at my stairs (yes, that’s one problem with English spelling) and then sat down and pulled myself up each step, bottom first.

In another on-line diatribe on crutches, stairs made the top of the list.  The only other issue I could relate to was, “Giving up on physical hobbies…hello daytime TV and your couch.” My couch has been extraordinarily active the past few days while I have not. I don’t watch daytime TV, but I’ll soon empty at least one row of books on my bookshelf. By the end of four weeks at my current reading speed I’ll not remember a single title I read, but my bookcase will look a lot tidier.

The big issue that none of these writers is willing to bring out in the open is that crutches cause weight gain. After not moving for say, an hour or two, and with no appointments, dates with friends and exercise classes on my calendar, I require a snack.  The first one of the day — midmorning — is the healthy one: fruit, nonfat yogurt, raw carrots. It’s the only healthy one. Later in the day the edible item closest to the couch is fair game, tortilla chips, chocolate, graham crackers. Already my waistbands are tighter. On the other hand, the leg that lives in the boot that gets no exercise will soon resemble Hansel and Gretel’s fingers, though that wasn’t the body part I was most interested in slimming down.

After a day on crutches, I was lucky to borrow a scooter from a friend. It solves some problems, but won’t help with the weight.

I’m fortunate to have a husband who has taken over every household responsibility including cooking, and brings me whatever I ask for.  Here’s hoping he doesn’t need crutches in the next few weeks, though if neither of us cooked, the waistlines should diminish.

A return to blogging won’t help the weight either, but while I’m daydreaming on the couch, new topics might come to mind, thus forcing me to move to the computer, which is in a different direction from the refrigerator.

 

Posted in exercise, health, personal reflections | Tagged , , | 15 Comments