Back home in the good-ol' US of A the hospital closest to me was quite nice. Bricks and a big tube walkway - a whole wing was dedicated to one of America's most beloved talk show hosts. I won't say which for the sake of his privacy, but if Vanna turns the letters RSTLNE and we pick PKA it would spell PAT SA_AK.
Could be anyone.
This guy looks like he knows who I am talking about.
Hell, I don't expect to see that at Pat Sajak's hospital. Thanks for nothing, Pat.
I would like to buy a vowel and some lube, Pat.
I Googled the directions to the hospital, and it had some pictures. Why yes, I would like to see where I will be going when I eventually am hit by a speeding car whilst in my living room. The pictures took a little while to un-pixelate or focus or whatever the kids are saying nowadays. But before me stood something I didn't expect. Something I wasn't quite ready to see. This is what I saw:
NO! I DON'T WANT TO GO TO THE HOSPIT...Holy shit. Do they rent rooms here?
I saw what looked like something I would expect to see at a all-included resort clubhouse. I was actually a tad surprised it didn't have a jukebox and a pool bar. Disappointed now, it is a golden marketing opportunity I think they are sleeping on. Maybe one day.
One day.
But look at this place! I know pictures can make a place look great just by messing with the angles and all that, (that is why all my selfies must be taken in 60 watt lighting with a head tilt of 11 degrees starboard and about 6-8 degrees up. That's my Blue Steel). So I checked through a few more images and it looked pretty good. I was recommended a doctor from the UK and went off to my introductory appointment with high hopes, but prepared for this shot having been taken before it was hit by a meteor.
Contrary to the original picture - this is what actually awaited me....
WHERE ARE THE PALM TREES, DOC!?
Oh...there they are. Sweet. You can operate now.
This place was awesome! I parked in the staff lot BECAUSE GOOGLE MAPS IS A DIRTY, DIRTY WHORE AND I SHOULDN'T HAVE LISTENED TO HER but it was all good. My appointment was at 6:30 pm. At night. This doctors office is open til 7 pm for convenience, ARE YOU LISTENING OTHER DOCTOR PLACES!? CONVENIENCE. I made my way to the front door and was greeted by a group of ladies leaving the office. They seemed happy enough. In I walk and go up to reception. The lobby is clean and comfortable. It is easy to navigate. I may move in to this place.
I was in line behind an Indian fellow who was going on and on about a surgery he had 5 months ago and wanted to get work days covered. It was a glorious argument, complete with pictures of the surgery on his phone and showing them the scar on his side. Apart from the pure sex this guy was emitting, I expected to see the people behind the counter be short with him. He was relentless in his wild shotgun style "spray and pray" approach to an argument...an argument, mind you, no one else was having. The people behind the desk were calm and smiling, they listened to him when he talked and reassured him they did not want to see that damn photo of his surgery again...
Wait a second...how the hell did he get a photo of his surgery? What hospital let his buddy in so they could get a great shot for Instagram? Sounds like the kind of place that isn't this place to me.
Laser eye surgery as performed a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away. You can also let your buddy take a pic of the procedure so you can show people that don't give a fuck.
The gentleman was appeased enough to wander off into the already set sun, (have I mentioned the heat here?), and I filled out my new patient form, (FORM. NOT FORMS) and was told to walk over to accounts - a solid 15 feet away - and make sure the costs were covered. Now, I didn't have my card - it got lost in the mail...twice so far. I will explain about the mail system here in an upcoming blog entitled "Where the fuck is my shit?"
Until the rest of the world catches up with American mailbox technology, the mail will continue to be delivered slowly...wait, it is shit in the US also? Oh. Well here is a mailbox with tits.
Carry on.
So I didn't have my card, the accounts lady was incredibly friendly for having been there for 10 hours and told me it would all be okay. Perfect! She also gave me the forms and said she would fill them out for me. Bingo! My favorite kind of form is the one I don't have to fill out. I walked back to the lobby - I had been here 6 or 7 minutes by this point - and was called to go into the back waiting room. Nice chairs, nicer couches. Plenty to read and once again, very clean. I don't know how comfortable the chairs were as I wasn't back there long enough to sit. I was greeted by the doctor, who had just finished with the upset Indian guy with surgery selfies, and given a welcoming handshake and smile.
I won't get into the details of the visit, but I can say that he was friendly and polite, went past due diligence and gave me not only what I wanted, but a more comprehensive idea about how to proceed with things than I got from any doctor I can recall. I left the hospital feeling very happy about where I was, how I was, and my plan for the future.
I feel like I haven't complained enough so let me tell you about my fantasy football team. WHO FINISHES 100 POINTS BELOW THE PREDICTED SCORE. WHO? DAMN LOSERS, THAT'S WHO. SERIOUSLY? BALTIMORE THREW UP AMAZING NUMBERS? WHAT HELLSCAPE HAVE I WANDERED INTO WITH THIS DEAD MULE OF A TEAM!?
Cam Newton
Whew. That's better.
At the end of the day I couldn't be happier with how I was treated here in Bahrain - I am aware there are people that have awful experiences and that have gone to places that aren't so great. Well, fuck them. This blog is about me.
**Update, while writing this the lady from accounts called and told me about my insurance issue and how best to handle it. If I have any questions she gave me her office extension and said I can stop by and she will help me. What a horrible place.
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