Prison Chapel Koper May 17

Prison chapel Koper may 17
Originally uploaded by still just me.

Okay so here is the picture I promised from the prison chapel.This is the first time I've tried to post a photo so here goes nothing.


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Fill in the Blanks

Growing up my grandmother taught me a few words of Serbian but having my generation or my mother's generation learn to speak it was never a big priority for the oldsters. I am convinced that they wanted to be able to talk in front of us without worrying about prying little ears. My Baba never really learned any English. By the time she was a great grandmother I don't think she cared too much what small children had to say. It was sufficient that we understood "Go get my cane." Nevertheless I have been doing my damnedest to communicate in Slovenian. It's not Serbian but it is close enough. My most successful conversation went something like this:

Me: (standing next to the wine in a Slovenian supermarket) Prosim? Gospa?
Sweet little old lady: (eyes me quizzically but says nothing)
Me: (pressing on undeterred) Govorite Anglesko?
SLOL: (seeming to get my drift) Ne.
Me: (holding out a bottle of wine) Slovenja?
SLOL: (makes a reply containing sounds similar to "ja" and "slovenja")
Me: (very encouraged I really go out on a limb) Dobro?
SLOL: (motions I should show her the bottle)

A lovely pantomime follows in which she proceeds to identify both a good white wine and a good red wine for me to take home triumphantly as souvenirs of her lovely country. Having drank the red last night I say again to you Sweet Little Old Lady: Hvala Lepa.

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Speed Freak

So, to pick up where I left off. There I was red, swelling and using every brain cell at my disposal to keep from flaying myself. Soon I have a French psychiatrist taking my pulse and getting me a chair. Then I have a Slovenian doctor offering me an unknown (at least to me) antihistamine. I take a page from many of my patients and assume that if one is good, two would be better. Many of my patients would have snorted the stuff but I chose to just swallow them in an effort to retain what was left of my dignity. Next the tireless conference organizer appears to escort me to his car and through the charming alpine village to the local physician's office where they day's work has just been completed. The doctor is a jovial fellow around my age who takes my vital signs and speculates as to my normal color: fluorescent white as opposed to the shiny beet imitation currently on display. Without much fuss I am hooked up to an IV and given antihistamines, and steroids. These bring about some improvement but I am still essentially paralyzed with misery. Definitely not my usual charming self. I consent to ever so small a dose of adrenaline. Yikes! My formerly discreet tremor turns into a flamenco and my heart is trying to escape from between my sternum and second ribs. Whatever aspirations I may have still harbored to become a geeker, as my sister puts it, are forever dashed. I am at least very very pale.

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Green Man, Red Woman

Today I attended a talk in which I saw some of the educational materials about methadone treatment in China. They are off to a great start in a desperately needed program. The principle graphic was of a green liquid in a plastic cup but some of the literature had a super-hero figure who was all green. Without reading any of the language the message was quite clear that methadone treatement is a way to get your life back and be healthy. A message I agree with by the way. A little while later I presented my talk on buprenorphine treatment in primary care. I get a little nervous when a speak before a large audience so I was not surprised that I had a little stomache upset before hand and took a prevacid solu-tab that was in my cosmetics case. This helped my stomach but I still felt a little sick. I just treated it like stress. Drank some water, took some deep breaths. Part way through my talk I started to get a burning sensation on my skin. Then I started to itch like mad. I completed the talk and no one in the auditorium really noticed anything. A few perceptive souls in the front row noticed I was flushed but didn't think anything of it. I figured, well this is a new one. I hope this doesn't become a typical reaction for me. I sat for a few minutes while the next speaker began but I got NO better. I felt so compelled to scratch that I had to leave before I started an involuntary imitation of my dog with an itch. I went down to the bathroom in the lobby and took one look at myself and knew I was having an allergic reaction. What to do, what to do. I don't know the slovenian for help let alone for antihistamine. I went back to the conference as I'd seen one of the other doctors standing outside the auditorium but he was gone. I was about to go in and get him since I knew he was right near the door when a friend came out and said something complementary about my talk. I think I said "Thank you. I'm glad. I need help" Tomorrow you will hear about my trip to the local doctor's office.

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Slovenian Prisons

Prisons are not typical tourist destinations yet I have visited two in the last two days. The first was a new prison opened only last year. It looked like it had been furnished by Ikea. I am told that neither the inmates or the guards liked the new prison at first. The new single person cells felt isolating and the pristine newness seemed sterile. I was surprised to see mirrors, and a glass shelf in each bathroom. The scissors in the library also jumped out at me. Today we visited an old prison. My hosts expressed some shame over it because the building is old and run down and it is at 180% capacity (something like 280 instead of 130). It did not feel so bad, as prisons go. There were up to 5 inmates per room with two bunks and a single bed. They had rather a nice library which is either well supplied or under used. There is also a nice clinic in each prison. The new prison has a very tasteful and simple chapel equipped for all types and stripes of religious service. I took a picture of this but cannot post it yet. Prisoners here can work and keep the money they earn. They are allowed to keep cash on them for purchases at the commissary. Their phone calls are not monitored and their mail and packages both in-coming and out-going are not opened. The guards cannot do cavity searches. Inmates who behave well can go home up to two weekends a month and can complete their sentences early. Inmates who are addicted to opiates receive methadone if they want it.

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The Magic Word

Every language seems to have one really useful word. In French I´d say it is ˝bonjour.˝ It is very multi-purpose. If a waiter says it to you it means ˝what do you want?˝ and if you don´t answer he will probably go away and not come back for a long long time. If you enter a shop and fail to say ˝bonjour˝to the room in general you will only grudgingly be served. It is the necessary first step to all social and commercial interactions without which you might as well go home. In Italian the word is ˝prego.˝ Again it is an all purpose ˝May I help you?˝ ˝Thank you˝and ˝You´re welcome.˝ You can conceivably get by in Italy knowing only this word. In my short study of Slovenian to date the magic word here is ˝prosim.˝ It gets you the attention of shop clerks, helpful looking strangers and waiters alike. It excuses your transgressions. It thanks and it says ˝you´re welcome˝ too. I am completely at a loss for the magic word in English. Is there one? Any suggestions?

Playmobile

If Playmobile created a country it would be Slovenia. It looks like their primary source of inspiration as it is. This magnifies somewhat my feeling of being a giant baby since I do not speak a word of the language unless you count smiling. Today I am working on ˝dober dan˝ which is good day and ˝hvala lepa˝ which is thank you. Just now I tried goverite angleško? but maybe that should have been an a on the end. I´ll have to double check. Anyway she felt sorry enough for me to let me use the internet at this hotel even though I´m not a guest here. Fortunately most younger people speak English pretty well although the old folks do not. I am becoming aware however that some of these supposed English speakers are faking it. There is an epidemic of faking English at my hotel but then they also seem to be faking most of their knowlege of the vicinity as well. Tomorrow my official conference duties begin so no more sleeping in and reading for me.

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Out on a Day Pass

We have lift off. I have successfully escaped from my office. Two 100 hour weeks later. 99% of patient phone calls have been addressed. Sweetie and Zed will hold down the fort in my absence. I have not been this burnt out since those summer months of residency when I served back to back June and July on the inpatient service. This was in the bad old days before the resident work hour reform started. Two days off in four weeks was standard. On-call overnight or until 11pm at least every third night followed by a full day of work no matter what. July was made worse by the arrival of newly minted MD's to begin residency training. They would sink or swim in the hospital so I had the added responsibility of loosing as few interns as possible while keeping them from taking any patients with them if they went under. One summer for an entire month I watched Stuart Little on the VCR every single night. My current reading list is book three of the Harry Potter Series, Redwall, and The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. I also have Phyllis Diller's bio and several issues of the New Yorker with me for reading. I never noticed how often you need the letters B and G until now as the keyboard I'm using here in the Atlanta airport is missing these letters. Stay tuned for further adventures...

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My Little Patch of Green

Not only did Dogzilla get groomed this weekend but the lawn got a trimming. Lawn might be a slightly grand word for what we have. It is definitely a city yard. It is entirely imprisoned by walls, buildings and fences. It is not even big enough for a tree really. It does have some green plant life growing in it. I'm reluctant to call it grass although some of it is indeed grass. Last year we borrowed a push mower once to cut it but it was hard to get up enough momentum before you had to turn around. Finally we just let it grow until it fell over on itself. We joked about trimming it with a pair of scissors or the clippers we use on the dog but finally we bought it its own grooming implement: a weed-wacker. The final product is remarkably similar to Dogzilla's hair cut.

Mr. Pitiful

My day off runs from Saturday afternoon until Sunday evening. I usually get one or two patient phone calls but if I count those then I don't get a day off at all and that is not an acceptable concept. Lots of non-work life gets packed into that one "day." Number one this weekend was some spa care for Dogzilla. My Beloved handled the bathing part while I napped but woke me for the clipping. Dogzilla was really quite tolerant of the whole experience except where his feet were concerned. He's been having issues about his back feet in particular lately and growls when they are touched. We've been working on this by touching his feet and rewarding him for not growling. The run in with the clippers was less therapeutic and involved physical restraint and the stern voice. Unfortunately it was unseasonably cold over the weekend which made him shiver. With his coat looking like he was attacked by moths and his legs a little on the spindly side he looked particularly pitiful.

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