Final Jeopardy…

January 28, 2008

So, for those of you who have been waiting with bated breath for my next post…here it is!!! I must apologize for the delay, I’ve been a tad under the weather since my last post. Aside from the back issues, I apparently contracted some stomach flu-bug that has left me in a constant state of nausea. And, NO, I’m not pregnant.

We left off at Sir Bob Geldof’s less than cleanly office. When I say “Dr. Pain” looked like Sir Geldof, that’s not to say he looks like him on a good day. And I’m not exactly sure what Bob looks like on good day considering he always looks like he’s walking around minus a quart or two of blood, but I digress. Let’s just say that if Bob had been out partying all night, possibly hadn’t showered in a few days, decided to throw on a wrinkled button down and corduroy pants, after smoking at least two packs of cigarettes, then…then…he resembled what might have looked like a very worn out Knight. “Dr. Pain” cracked every bone and joint in my 5’3 inch frame, and then proceeded to inform me that he hasn’t had a headache since 1998. WTF does that have to do with my back pain? I would gather from his disheveled attire, the dirt under his nails, and his “eau d’ ashtray” that he doesn’t have time to have a headache in between drags and torturing nuns! In my stunned haze, after having “Dr. Pain” throw down on me like I was in a WWF match, I agreed to make another appointment for the following day.

I awoke on Tuesday to further back pain and get this, severe nausea! This nausea was the kind of nausea that stops you from blinking because even that movement makes you wanna YAK! So, I cancelled my appt. with “Dr. Pain” and kindly told his secretary that, “I’ll call you if I plan on getting back in the ring for another throw down!” The nausea persisted as did some other plumbing problems, which combined with my “monthly bill” almost led me to write my own eulogy. When the nausea and plumbing issues hadn’t subsided by Wednesday evening, my totally awesome husband suggested that I get into see the doctor the following day. More than anything, I think he wanted to spare himself the torture of another night of watching me burp, breathe heavily, sigh, and then burp again. So, because I love him so much, and because I need to blink, I conceded and made an appointment.

Now, my GP rules the school. She was recommended to me by an Irish friend of mine, she’s trained under a doctor that’s worked in the States, she is young and her office is not in a family home marked “surgery”. All “thumbs up” in my book. She has also been incredibly kind and helpful with the last miscarriage I had back in October. She was attentive, and and helped me get in to see an OB/Specialist for some testing, etc. Which leads me to my current blog title, “Final Jeopardy.” For those of you who don’t know, here in Ireland everything takes a bit longer than it does in the States. Our washing machine broke, and it took one month for them to get a new motor. The reasoning, “we’re an island y’know?” Our car broke, and the mechanic called and asked me to call the dealer for the parts that he needed to fix the car. When I couldn’t pronounce the name of the part he wanted me to get…he decided he’d try to get the parts himself, and it took 2 weeks to get our car fixed. My husband needed a shirt mended that he’d ripped, I took it to the tailor and I was told I could pick it up in 15 days. I had a pap smear done in April, and I was told that it would take 6 months to get the results back. Does the theme song to Final Jeopardy now begin playing in your head?

So, Back in November, my GP had gotten the “OK” for me to make an appointment to see a doctor I had already become friendly with over at the Maternity hospital in Dublin, Dr. Mc”NotFunny”. When I had called, I was told that Dr. Mc”NotFunny” didn’t have availability till December 17th, which was over a month away. I took this all in stride considering it’s Ireland, and…it’s an island y’know? So, December 17th arrives, Dr. Mc”NotFunny” was none too thrilled to see my husband and I in her office when she’s certain that there is absolutely nothing wrong with me, but she’s willing to do the blood tests anyway. Her very serious face and staunch insistence that nothing is wrong with me, led my husband and I to giggle and make uncomfortable jokes in the midst of what was her certain disdain for our existence. We smile, thank her for her kindness time, and I get myself down there for my blood tests the following day. We met with the doctor at THE HOSPITAL and my blood was drawn at THE HOSPITAL. So, after the flobotomist has taken what seems like a “Big Gulp’s” worth of blood, she proceeds to tell me that my results will most likely be back in ONE MONTH! I was under the impression that the “lab” was at THE HOSPITAL because it’s, well…an f’ing HOSPITAL!!! It is apparently, but as the flobotomist so kindly reminded me, “it’s the holidays, so…” (enter the theme song for Final Jeopardy here.)

Cut to my current visit to the Doctor last week where it is decided that this nausea might need to be be checked out further. So, if I could get a stool sample to her by either today or tomorrow, she could have the results back in 48 hours! I’m sorry, WHA? 48 hours? “Is the lab on site?” I ask? “Of course not”, she says, “we send it out.” Sitting stiffly in a chair, clenching my teeth through the back pain and doing my best to avoid blinking, I sat and just took in words that I could not believe had just been said. “48 hours?” I said again. The lovely Doctor just looked at me and laughed in acknowledgement. “I know, nothing in Ireland takes 48 hours.” With this I took the stool sample vile, my prescription for Valium, and walked out into the sunlight with my mouth agape, still stunned. It’ll take the Irish 30 days to fix my washer, 6 months to process my pap smear, one month to test my blood, but they’ll analyze my feces in just two days!? What does this all mean???? I guess it all boils down to…

Those Irish sure know their Crap! (enter the theme song for Final Jeopardy here….)


3 Responses to “Final Jeopardy…”

  1. Greg Bulmash Says:

    If it’s Final Jeopardy, you need to phrase the answer in the form of a question. The clue is “Crap” and the answer is “What do the Irish really know?”

    Sorry you’re feeling so awful. If it’s any consolation, my dog will be 10 in August. That’s really old for a dog, and she’s none too happy about it. Sometimes she looks up into my eyes and I could swear she, begging me to kill her… or get her a dog biscuit. I get confused.

    If Ulf gets confused like that, be careful when you ask him to get you a peanut butter sandwich. Okay?

  2. Lisa MB Says:


    I’m going to have to fly to Ireland and set every damn “service” and “doctor” on fire.

    Please. “We’re an island, you know…” And? Do you order car parts and the test results analysis by throwing a message in a bottle out in the sea? One of the biggest f!@#$ing economies in the world is practically within spitting distance of you, Dublin. Last time I checked, England was on an island too — and if I can get English scones at my grocery store every damn week, Dublin should be able to get car parts in a day or two.

    Oh wait. They make you wait to get necessities because the manufacturers drop barrels of parts and goods into the Irish Sea, and the Irish have to swim out and push the floating barrels back inland with their noses. Like harbor seals.

  3. me Says:

    Ok, first and foremost… Y’no, your further description of Dr. Pain…ummm…. I don’t know… maybe I just have that whole “Band Aid”/Boomtown Rats That was the 80’s kinda thing going on, but… I kinda dug the whole rumpled shirt and cords thing you described him as having going on…. The dirt under the fingernails… well, I just draw the line there, but the ashtray thing doesn’t really do anything to someone who has no sense of smell, right? non-smoker or not, doesn’t faze me.

    Secondly, — OK, given that Ireland knows their crap… and the test only took 48 hours [hail to the crap lab techs!] — you did IT once again…. We should start calling you Lady AGAC [not to be confused with the AFLAK duck!] == as in the Lady who Actually Gives A Crap! MOST IMPORTANTLY — what up with your crap? What did the doctor say?

    Our cat, who is 16 years old this March [WTF!?] – but looks like the spry wee button of the kitty he was back in MA, often looks at me and begins to ramble on and on in the most unusual voice [it must be his scottish dialect-ish meow thing, not sure] — but I am pretty sure that he is psyched to be alive and around for all meals. And… he is the biggest fan of the Cat Nip box and pillow that I purchased for him at Petco. Catnip makes that cat’s world go round… what can I say?

    ALSO, as I have often thought and said…. You’re funny! I mean really funny. AND… quite the blogger!
    I can always count on your mind to produce something I will enjoy/ It never ceases to amaze me. Well done on you. In deed. [i also like saying “in deed”, but don’t let that diminish my message… “well done on you!”

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