When it all goes horribly wrong....

Ok, so here you are sitting here in paradise, just living the dream and then one day, without warning,something happens you can't control. You suddenly get sick. Right, this is how it went....

Can I have a scan?
Why?
Because I can feel this big lump in my tummy.
What sort of scan?
I dunno - you know the one you have where you can spot a baby.
So you're pregnant?
No I'm not.
How do you know?
I know, trust me.
Have you taken a test? You do look a bit thick around the waist.
(I feel the waiting room patients strain slightly to hear more and see more)
No, but I am not pregnant ok. (And I grudgingly breathe in)
Ok, but you need to know the name of the scan.
Ok, it's an ultrasound.
All our scans are ultrasound. (in that you complete moron voice and I don't care even though you're sick)
Ok, show me your list of scans.......ok, it's trans-vaginal (I knew she just wanted me to say this in a tiny waiting room where everyone has absolutely nothing to do but listen to your desperate pleas for attention)
Yes, that's correct. (like I'm on this points system)
Well, can I book an appointment then please?
No, come back with a Dr's certificate.

At this point, I realised that sickness was not going to guarantee me a quick bypass around the system here and a first class ticket to communication excellence.

Ok, so then comes the insurance company. I get a form, get it completed and return it to the office. There, I get absolutely no sympathy, I guess they've seen it all before of course, so she just tells me she will submit it to Head Office, . This is on Tuesday, and I tell her I'm due to leave the country on Sunday. On Friday I return to the office and she tells me she's tried to jiggle (sic) it along but heard nothing so contact their office, in the country where surgery is taking place and oh, good luck.


So, I have surgery in 5 days, no insurance confirmation and an amount of EC$20K to pay on arrival at the hospital. I go to the bank, no far too easy that, can I get $20K out in one go - no way, have to give notice. Ok, no worries, I can pay by credit card. Here we go.

Hello, please tell me my credit card limit and balance?
$8,000 dollars is your limit and your balance is nil.
Ok, great. Can I give you $8,000 to put on my card.
What? (pronounced wur-arrr-ttt - sounds far more intimidating you know)
I want to go over my $8,000 limit to $16,000.
No, I am sorry we really don't advise you going above your limit, you might find it difficult to repay us.
No, I'm not, I am giving you in hard cash $8,000 and in return you are going to say I have $16,000 credit limit.
No, I'm sorry it is hard but you have to apply to increase your credit card limit.
But I'm not really you know, I am giving you $8,000 in real notes and I already have $8,000.
Well, on maybe one really important occasion you could go above your limit - what do you want to buy anyway?
I don't want to buy anything, I want to speak to your supervisor.
I'm sorry she will say the same thing as me and it's Friday afternoon and she is going home soon.


I put the phone down and cry.

So, off I go, overseas, to have surgery. I stay in hospital a week. During this time I am asked on two occasions, after surgery, if I would like to see my 25cm, 4 kilos in weight, lump. Now, if it was a baby, yes, but my very very large, very vertical scar, removal of various other organs too, reminds me there's no baby so I decline all offers, much to the nurse's obvious disappointment and observation that inferred I was the mad one as 'everyone' else saw theirs. I wonder, do you think they take a picture of it too?

So, finally I leave and I make it to the carpark, get in the car, and then, even on a Sunday, some jobsworth, clearly single, with no life outside his debt collecting job whatsoever, from Administration, has followed me.....and bangs on the window waving a big wad of paper. From experience I can tell this is the very itemised down to each cotton wood ball, invoice.

You need to pay before you leave - it's an exuberant (sic) amount. (He gesticulates in a breathless voice).
No, I'm not. (Suddenly, I feel empowered, here I am, can hardly walk, constant flashes of hot searing pain, family miles away, completely fed up and the insurance company, who are meant to make your life easy, have failed me). I'm back on Tuesday, I will settle it then. (I say in a don't mess with me voice)
Well sign something.
Ok, gimme something to sign.

So I sign my life away and we finally drive off.

Tuesday, comes and we're off to see the insurance company. Very nice chap and all that but absolutely nothing is resolved, they are questioning a pre-existing possibility. Clearly, I was definitely aware of my growing baby imitator many months before my insurance came into effect, not. So, during our chat, he advises me that the lady in charge of the insurance office in Dominica was very very excited about joining the company's Mediterranean cruise this year. This really wasn't the best bit of information to pass on to me but in my worn down by red tape state, I weakly retorted that I hoped that by actually paying my claim it wouldn't reduce their cocktail and canape intake. The VNC (keep up) found this so hilarious that he couldn't speak for a while. Funnily enough, neither could I.

Finally, I have my stitches out. But they don't come out. So I have a lot of drugs. Fab. They still don't come out. Then I have an injection right into my belly button, not so fab. Stitches come out. More drugs. I'm done.

I can fly home. Yay! I have to wear those very attractive elasticated DVT stockings. Thank goodness I had bought some jeans, sixth sense because I hardly ever wear jeans. So on go the tights and wow, my legs look like perfect staight pins - wow that's so cool. Then I hobble through x-ray. I forgot that these jeans have a built in/on buckle which sets the machine off. I get waved at for the once over hand machine and the officer lifts my t-shirt. Big mistake. Huge great scar staring at her. She nearly dies but has to say, of course, 'have you had surgery'. I want to say no and look down all surprised but I can't keep a straight face. Anyway, I'm whisked through, put in a wheelchair, onto the plane first, given a free drink. Great. When I disembark I reached up for my bag in the overhead locker though and forgot about my handiwork on my tummy again - passengers below me were put off their holiday cocktails for a while I'm sure.

So, I'm home, I'm recovering, I'm fine. The insurance company have agreed that I am not in fact pre-existing but they are not quite sure what I am. Clearly all the paperwork they send you when you are hooked in and signed up and paying large monthly amounts, corresponds to absolutely nothing that you may or may not be entitled to when you actually get sick.

The plus side is that I have this super flat stomach and of course if I get my DVT designer tights on I'd have these super slim pins too. The downside is that Victoria's Secret won't choose me for their next range - ok, for maybe more than just one reason.

Dedicated to all those who can't travel at the moment.......

Aerial Tram Ride Dominica

Cool, really cool. Just don't look down.

What's this flower then?

A Weekend In The Country - Mermaid's Secret, Dominica

So, here you go, enjoy and don't ask me what the flowers are. However, spot the coffee beans, limes, cocoa, nutmeg, pineapple, cashew nuts (really cool!) etc....It's getting booked up fast....now what are you waiting for?

Midnight Caller

Do you remember that show that had the sexy voice that always ended with 'Goodnight America wherever you are'? Well Patrick here in Dominica could give him a run for his money. So, here's the thing, local pyromaniac cuts down trees and starts a fire and then goes out. Since there's been no rain since I can't remember when, the fire is very happy and soon reaches heights of over 15 feet and carefully burns through leccy and cable tv wires. Anyway, up turns Blue Watch (who carefully connect up in Caribbean time) and soon the fire's out or is it........

Fast forward 9 hours and I'm home alone and off to bed and I can smell a lot of smoke. So I see from my balcony that the fire has reignited and is now in full swing. So, do I just ignore it or make a phone call to the neighbours and tell someone else, thus absolving myself of all responsibility....No, not so easy, Dominica is the go to bed early nation, no-one answers. (Now there's a comforting thought for a later even more urgent matter). I then wake up the Housekeeper who tells me this 7 digit number to ring for the fire brigade - what happened to good old 999? Anyway, here begins my midnight caller moment.

Good Evening, Roseau Fire Station.

Umm, you know the fire you came to today well it isn't really out.

What do you mean?

Well it's still on fire.

Go and check it for me.

What do you mean - go and check it? I can see it from here I am not going anywhere in my PJ's, with my kids in bed.

Well, what does it look like?

A fire, sort of fire-ish and red-ish and basically flame-ish.
(Clearly not on the first page of the regulation Fire Manual then)

How tall are the flames?

I can't really tell but sort of high-ish and worth checking-ish. (I'm loosing my nerve now). Anyway, I'm not asking you to 'der der der der der der' (fire engine sound ok) all the way up here, just maybe pop in your car and have a look......(I realise now I'm sounding girly and pitiful and should just give up)

Well maybe you could check it every hour or so for us?

WHAT?!

Well I could ring you or you could ring me and you could let me know how it is.

But I'm going to bed.....Anyway, I think I've done my duty so what's your name? (long pause - no-one likes this question unless they're in a bar I guess, maybe)

Well, what's your name? (Ah, checkmate)

(So, we both exchange names and both feel on an even keel now I guess)

Anyway, (I say purposefully), I'm off to bed and I just wanted you to know because I don't want my village to burn down....

Ok, but you ring me back when you want.

Umm, ok......

How much is that chicken in the freezer, the one with the .....

Well, there's this sort of wholesale place here but there again not really wholesale and their logo is 'we give birth to prices and others raise them'...and no it's not Mothercare. Anyway, my Mum is here and she is keen to get the full shopping experience and has overheard Merlyn (my wonderwoman help) saying we should buy our meat here so here I am forfeiting the equivalent to the M&S Foodhall (ok, never in a million years I know) to Lidl's long distant cousin.

So, here's the setting - 20 x 20ft room, strange tardis like cash desk to your left, huge freezer to your right, small table in the middle with slightly bloodied scales on and then a veritable line up of pen pushing staff on the left hand side. These guys well about 5 women and 1 guy are all very busy writing out invoices with lots of carbon paper and making no eye contact at all. Anyway, I have been here long enough now to not let the no eye contact ruse deter me. So, I grab a guy who's stacking up boxes and say 'Gimme a chicken'. Ok, I don't really say this but this is what I want to say but instead I say:-

Please can I have a couple of chickens?

Yes, what size?

I don't know (Dominican chickens are all one size, trust me). Just give me a couple please, I don't mind.

So, he opens the freezer which has about a foot of frost in it and then a jumbled collection of EVERYTHING - fish, chicken, hams, feet - ok trotters, and lots of things I definitely can't recognise. Anyway, I don't know whether to be helpful and prod around with him or just hold the top of the freezer up. I opt for the latter because I don't want to spot an eye or a nostril. I should actually be vegetarian - in fact if Eric (of Red Rock Haven fame) could cook for me everyday I would be, albeit I'd always make him do chocolate pancakes. Anyway, after lots of digging around, helpful man says:-

Only got one.

That's fine, one will do. How much is it?

I'll have to weigh it.

So, lots of weighing and shouting to one of the girls on the far left side. Is it me or is frozen chicken a lot heavier than fresh. Anyway, it's 25 bucks so I say fine and try and take it. Oh no, I can't do that. I have to go and get the invoice from Lady A. So, I stand there patiently waiting for the carbon copies to be suitably pressed and then I hear the most (ok, along with 'do you understand?') annoying expression here 'Let me tell you'. So, making no eye contact (I'm learning) I ignore this. However, this is followed by perfectly manicured tapping nails on the desk and a slightly louder 'Let me tell you, you can't buy one chicken'. You know what, I didn't even want to buy one chicken, I wanted to get my usual $18 dollar chicken in IGA and queue up and pay for it and leave and have a quiet life. So, now I'm apologising for buying one chicken when all that's in the freezer is ONE CHICKEN. So I look pathetically grateful and hand her my money. No, way too easy, she doesn't take money. So I look to the obvious cash desk that's all enclosed with a glass counter. No, way too easy too. Instead, more tapping and gesticulating from the man three along who has clearly lost his vocal cords. I give him the invoice and the money and of course there is no change. So, I edge towards my chicken which is now nicely defrosting on the crusty scales and am about to pick it up when money man finds his voice 'You must have a bag and take your invoice first'. So I skulk back to get my invoice and then back to the scales. Helpful man finds a bag but won't hand it over until I give him the invoice. Finally, I grab my $25, certainly not wholesale price chicken and leave. Never again. Well so I thought, as Mum pipes up tonight 'I saw a big bag of prawns in there you know, I think we should get them tomorrow'. Umm, well maybe more than one prawn in the bag qualifies for wholesale....maybe.

Parking Ticket

So, I got my first parking ticket this week. Well, it was only a matter of time - I park too close to corners and sort of breathe in as I am nudging my car as close to the one in front as possible. Then I feel a bit guilty so I sit in my car for a bit to double check that cars can get around the corner that I may have just parked a tad too close too.

So later on I get back to the car and have made someone who is most certainly not a policeman very happy who is there waiting to give me my ticket in case it had blown away from under the wipers. Maybe he's on commission. So he is expecting a big scene and I give him a big smile and admit that when your time's up your time's up. He didn't really understand that comment funnily enough.

Off to the Magistrate's Court I go as why wait the 14 days. Expecting some long slow painful process I am pleasantly surprised when I open the door to the Cashier's Office and no-one is there. The room is something out of Dickens - stacked full of ledgers and papers and everything slightly tilted and wonky and you know at a glance that once something enters this room, it will never ever be found again.

Hello, I've come to pay this'. (passing over my ticket)

'Why?' She says which completly throws me. Why? Well I don't know really really why but I guess it's because I should and it's the right thing to do.

'Umm, because I parked too close to the edge'.

'No, why do you want to pay it today? When did you get it?' She then spots that I got it at 11.20am and now it's 11.30am and she starts sort of shaking every part of her body and then says....

'You don't have to pay it you know, it hasn't been submitted. Why don't you come back in a few weeks time and check again?'

'Check what?' I say, knowing that nothing can ever be double checked in this place again. It would be the ultimate miracle if my A5 sized original ticket ever surfaced again let alone got matched with the possibly submitted one.

'I think I'd just like to pay it now please'.

'As you liking (sic) but I have to tell you now that you really don't have to'.

'Well, I guess it's going to a good cause isn't it?'
(Maybe filling a pothole or two).

Now, she looks at me as if I've gone loopy loo.

'A good cause?'

I realise that there's no point going down this line of conversation afterall so I hand over my $100 and wait for my $25 back.

'Well, I don't want to have to pay $500 in a few weeks time if my papers are all miraculously matched up', I say and she knows she is not going to stop some strange woman insisting on her taking $100 however hard she tries to desist her.

'I don't have change - well I have $20 and $5'.

'Well, I gave you $100 and the change should be $25 so $20 + $5 is right', I gently explain.

'No, the $5 is mine, so you owe me $5'.

'Ok, don't worry, you can just give me $20 and you can keep your $5 no problem'.

'No, I have to give you the right change'.

'Well, when do you want me to bring your $5 back then?' (Will this turn into some increased fixed penalty too if I wait too long I wonder)

'In a few weeks time, will be fine (being the operative word)......Good Day'



Is it me or is my fine now really $80?.