The “Best Health System in the World” Part 1: Appointments

Okay, I agree that once you see a doctor here in the United States, you probably WILL get the best service available. My little rant here is aimed at the system and the long, grueling process you must go through to see the doctor.

This morning I had a very chilling (and I don’t mean that in a good sense) experience when I called up the hospital to make an appointment for my roommate. That’s fine, I suppose, but I really shouldn’t have had to do it in the first place; Russ had an appointment scheduled for June 6, but they called him up the day before the appointment to tell him the appointment was postponed and that they would call him for a new appointment – they never called back. What made the experience so horrifying is the date for when the visit was set: October 29. Now, had HE been the one to cancel the appointment, I might not have fidgeted so much, but honestly! they were the perpetrators.

Last year, in July, Russ set up an appointment for an ophthalmologist because he has some serious visual problems; the soonest he could get an appointment was for August 13, 2013 – more than a year away. He has yet to get an orthopedic appointment for his back problems. sigh…

Regarding ophthalmology appointments: I had an appointment for 10:00 am with the ophthalmologist last June; I finally left at 7:30, without ever having seen the doctor. I made a new appointment for 3 days later, which had a much better result—I left after about 3-1/2 hours later with an appointment for a year later; all was well.

However, I might say that my recent personal experiences might top even the abovementioned experiences. I had a 7:00 pm appointment with my primary doctor on April 9. The hospital even called to remind me of the appointment. I arrived 5 minutes early and waited until someone came to the desk (I have no idea where they were…). When someone came in 15 minutes later, I was informed that Dr. P had left early. WHAT?! I was more than just a little ticked because I needed to have new prescriptions for my various meds and a paper filled out so I could start having my insulin again, but at least they gave me a Metrocard and a new appointment for the following morning at 9:00.

I got up somewhat earlier on a very rainy morning and caught a 7:45 bus (I take two buses to get to the hospital); when I was 10 minutes away from the hospital, I received a phone call from the hospital saying Dr. P would not be in that day. WHAT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!???????????? I wasn’t furious; I was extremely very much more than furious—I was deadly. People that hadn’t planned on getting off the bus at the next stop got off anyway. And I went to the hospital anyway, and was in line at 8:55. There was no way I could NOT get at least my prescriptions, so I informed them that I was less than pleased; bad move, I guess, because I finally got out of there at 4:00 (a 7 hour wait) with, however, my prescriptions and an appointment for June 21. No insulin request, though.

The really offensive thing was the letter I received about a week later informing me that I had missed my appointment and that I needed to make a new one. I was also perplexed, to say the least.

The appointment on the 21st went very well indeed, even though Dr. P kept asking why I hadn’t done requested exams that I had actually done on the set dates; this definitely tied for being the shortest visit I’d ever had—it only lasted 3-1/2 hours, and was more the exception than the norm. They also set up an appointment with the dermatologist for a rather worrisome skin problem; the date: March 4, 2014. geez!  My question is this: why do doctors feel that our time is less important than theirs? Were patients to be paid for the time they spend in doctors’ waiting rooms, according to the money they lose waiting, do you think waiting times might be somewhat shorter? I’d love to hear your opinion on the subject.

After Sexual Violence: a Story of Hope*

Sexual assault can be a devastating experience that can destroy our very lifestyle, but the emotional pain can be overcome with patience and time.

The evening of September 15, 2002 was without a doubt the most terrifying evening of my life: it was the evening I saw my life pass before my eyes as I faced the man whose intentions were of the basest type – sexual assault and possibly even worse.

Follow Your First Instincts

I’ll admit that I completely left myself open. I was stranded in a tiny Sicilian village named Leonforte on my way to Nicosia – where I was supposed to meet my daughter – after participating in a faculty meeting in Siracusa. Unfortunately, the bus driver neglected to mention hat he would only be going as far as Leonforte, instead of all the way to Nicosia. I was furious, especially since the only pay phone in the “town” was in a bar, and my home phone was busy and my daughter’s cell phone couldn’t be reached.

The only customers were a nice–looking young couple who offered to give me a ride to Nicosia if I paid for the gas. I was unsure – they had been drinking – and I was worried that he might have an accident. With the clarity of hindsight, I could see that the bartender was trying to warn me against it, but I was tired and had absolutely no desire to spend the night on a park bench in an unknown town.

I began to realize I was in trouble about 5 minutes into the ride, when he stuck his right arm over the seat and started caressing my leg and told me he wanted to have sex with me. I scooted as far away as I could, which wasn’t far enough, and then pushed his hand away. After the third time, I had the presence of mind to scratch him.

That, and a lot of fast talking, probably saved me from serious harm. I didn’t pass unscathed emotionally, but I learned a few valuable lessons during the recovery process that I’d like to share.

Report the Incident to the Police

So many men and women refuse to go the police for a variety of reasons, including embarrassment and fear of not being believed. That is so, so wrong! The police need to know, because if they don’t, they can’t stop the offender. As in my case, the offender is very often a repeat offender; not reporting him or her could lead to more victims, something that could have been avoided had the report been made.

Press charges once an identification has been made and the offender has been apprehended. Maurizio had already been identified several times, but when the time came to press charges, the girls gave in to peer pressure and Maurizio was released. I was the first woman to actually take him to court; I won my case and Maurizio now has criminal charges on his record.

Don’t Blame Yourself

A lot of people are going to blame the victim, so you don’t need to do it, too. Thoughts like “if I had only…” are NOT going to help you. Regardless of what you may or may not have done, if someone has intentions of hurting you, they most likely will. I was lucky that he was drunk. If people blame you, stay away from them. They are NOT going to help you recover.

Get Emotional Help

Don’t keep it all for yourself—share it. There weren’t any help groups for victims of sexual assault in Mistretta, and psychologists were hard to come by and expensive if you could find one. However, I had a lot of friends who were willing to lend me an ear and give me hope. My family was a great strength for me, especially my husband, when I would wake up in the middle of the night screaming because of the nightmares.

One friend in particular helped me by encouraging me during the most difficult times, especially when I considered the idea of withdrawing charges. She helped me realize that Maurizio wasn’t going to come get me if he was in prison, but he sure could if he was out. And she was also the one who made me realize that there was nothing to be embarrassed about. I should take it as a compliment, kind of back-handed, perhaps, but still a compliment.

Sing a Song

Something else that helped me immensely was to choose a song to sing every time thoughts of what had happened came to mind. I chose “Angels We Have Heard on High”, and at the beginning ended up singing it about 50 times a day, including in my sleep. I would realize at that moment I was entering a danger zone and quickly change the direction of my thoughts. It was truly a big help.

I can’t tell you what to do in case the rape should result in pregnancy or disease, except to turn to medical and psychological assistance. Pregnancy is such a personal experience and is best understood by you and your doctor, just as only a medical doctor will know how to treat a disease.

A victim of sexual assault will probably never recover completely – 9 years have already passed since my experience, and I still have the occasional nightmare, but my song is always on the ready – but you can still have a satisfying, happy life. We all need help from our friends and professionals in overcoming the pain, but the power to recovery lies mainly in ourselves.

*This blog was originally published on November 21, 2011 by myself, Mary Purpari, for Suite101.com; I hold the copyright. 

Smoky Waters—A poem

Today, I would like to present a guest on my blog. Russ Kelly is my third favorite poet, after Walt Whitman and William Butler Yeats, and he has kindly given me permission to share his latest poem with all of you. I hope you enjoy it as much as I.

Water that smokes

Falls of spring

Falls of power

Falls of silk

Falls of Paterson.

Wheels turning

Wheels of power

Wheels of rail

Turning turning

Wheels in time.

Bricks of muscle

Bricks of sweat

Bricks of clay

Bricks to build

Looms of history.

Water to smoke

Falls to wheel

Apologetic Update

I would very much like to thank all of you who have continued to pop in with the hope of finding something new to read. Although I haven’t answered your many comments, please know that they are extremely appreciated. I feel very badly about my lack of response, and ask your forgiveness.

The reason for my negligence is that I have been buried with a series of translations, but there seems to be a bit of light, and I hope to be able to start dedicating a little more time to my personal life, which will include shooting a few hoops everyday to prepare myself for a challenge I will be facing in August with a delightful young friend of mine. I’m excited about this, because, although I’m not the world’s best hoops players, I can shoot a few, and the exercise will be good for me.

There are so many things I want to write about, including a series about animals I have known. Of course, I may not always be very regular—my daughter is FINALLY flying here to Brooklyn to spend a couple of months with me; I am so jazzed! There are so many things to show her here in New York, and of course, her Aunt Jo Anne is coming to see her – an added blessing, indeed!

So, I hope that you will forgive me for not showing up as often as I would have liked; I assure you that I will do my best to be more active with my writing. Until then, take care!

“W” is for Why

The other night I was watching TV and a commercial for a well-known bank came on. There is a cute little girl who, when asked if she wanted cash back, the little girl’s usual response was “NO!” This time, the little girl responded, “YES!” After the big celebration, the little girl throws her hands up in the air and says, “WHY?!”, throwing the questioner into a panic.

How many of we parents HAVEN’T gone through the years of “WHY?” with our children? To be truthful, how many of us can claim to have never driven OUR parents nuts with the “Why” questions? I know my parents would always give a sigh of relief if I limited my whys to a maximum of 3. Of course, that didn’t happen nearly as often as my parents would have desired.  

When I reached the venerable age of 8, my parents decided that the time had come to invest in a set of encyclopedias. It helped answer questions such as “Why do the stars shine at night?” “Why do airplanes make sonic booms?” Why do fish live in the water?” “Why do swallows return every year to the same place?” Of course, it also inspired new questions that went unexplained, “Why are little girl different from little boys?” “Why do we have to grow up?” Why don’t airplanes fall from the sky?” “Why are my hands different from each other?”

Sonia’s whys were a little different: “Why doesn’t Papa speak English?” “Why did the castle fall down?” “Why don’t I have any brothers and sisters?” “Why isn’t Ale my sister instead of my cousin?” (I asked this latter question myself, from time to time, but that’s neither here nor there…)

I have new whys these days, like “Why do we have to get old?” “Why don’t politicians practice what their constituents preach?” “Why do people hate others that are different from them?” "And my favorite “Why can’t I find an answer to my questions?”

Do you have any favorite “WHY?” questions asked by yourself or someone you know? Why don’t you share them with us?

“T” is for tasty Italian Frittata with Onions

A frittata is the Italian version of an omelet. You can use any variety of fillings, as with any omelet, but the difference is that the filling is actually mixed up into the eggs at the onset of cooking and the eggs are not folded in half, but left flat, even when turned over.

Ingredients for 2 people:

• 4 eggs
• 2 sliced medium onions
• 1/2 cup+ grated parmesan cheese (the more cheese you use, the fluffier the frittata is)
• 2 Tsp. butter
• a very small amount of milk
• salt, pepper, hot pepper to taste

Procedure:

Melt the butter and sautee the onions in a medium sized sauced pan until soft and translucent. While the onions are sautéing, beat the eggs and mix in the cheese, milk and spices. When the onions are ready, add the egg mixture and stir lightly. Let cook until the top is almost dry; turn the frittata over and and let cook an additional minute, or until lightly browned.

Remove from  pan, cut in half and serve. You might like to serve a green salad with it and, of course, bread is an absolute must—no self-respecting Italian is able to eat any meal without bread.

 

“S” is for Sonia

You may wonder why I have decided to write about Sonia. Sonia is my daughter, the one and only. She is also one of the most important people in my life; she holds a position that no one else will ever hold. When my ex-husband and I were first married we had decided that we would like to have 10 children; however we had been married 4-1/2 years before Sonia was born, and no others followed. It hurt, but all-in-all we thought if we could only have one, she was the one; it was like having 10 children all in one: 10 times more beautiful, 10 times more obedient (well, okay, maybe only 7 times ), 10 times more intelligent, loving, sweet – 10 times more anything than any other child. She was also 10 times brattier, when she put her mind to it.

Sonia was born in Bologna , but we moved to Mistretta when she was two months old. A few months after we arrived, I was standing in the post office holding her in my arms. There were a lot of people in line before me, but someone with an earlier number offered me his seat. Just after I sat down an elderly woman who was on her way out stopped by to tell me how beautiful my little girl was. She asked a few questions about Sonia – how old was she? where was she born? But the best came when she asked, “What’s her name?” “Sonia.” “Sonia? What saint is that?” Knowing the Italians as I do, I know that most Italian names come from saints and that they all have Saints days, so I responded, “My mother; she is a true saint.” She looked at me quizzically and then left, shaking her head.

Sonia started saying Mamma when she was about 4 months old, but said what could be construed as an actual statement when she was about 10 months old. We had a beautiful Brittany Spaniel pup named Rover, who would go out every evening for his walk; I usually let him go alone, because I had problems walking even at the best of times and when you walk in Mistretta, you’re walking uphill even when you’re walking downhill. Moving right along, I started calling and whistling, when suddenly I heard this little voice calling from upstairs, “Rover! Rover! Bow wow! Bow wow!” I couldn’t believe my ears, she was so sweet.

There are so many stories to tell about my girl, like the time she and her friend disappeared, and was then brought home by her uncle who worked in the community park; the two cohorts in crime had decided they needed a change of venue, and had taken off when I was in the restroom. They were two…Then there was the time she memorized her favorite book so well that it seemed she was actually reading it; she even turned the pages in the right place.

I remember her first day of school; she was so excited about going that she got dressed in two seconds flat and finished her breakfast even faster than that. When we got to her classroom, there was another little girl who was very much afraid and didn’t want her mamma to leave (Sonia kept saying, “Go home Mamma, go home”). Sonia went over, introduced herself to Rita, took her hand and they went and sat down at the same desk. They shared that desk all the way through to the end of the second grade.

Sonia loves animals, especially dogs, which is a very good thing; she and her father were always bringing home orphaned puppies. One time we ended up with a litter of 10 puppies that had been thrown into a trashcan; Sonia and I tried and tried to keep them alive, but it turned out that the person who had thrown them away had also thrown them against a brick wall first. They all died, and we both cried for them.  Her favorite dog of all time was Freccia, an Italian hound that her father had brought home for her. (see the photo on the left). Freccia slept with Sonia as a puppy, and when she grew up and had puppies of her own, she decided that the best place for them was on Sonia’s bed. When Sonia informed her that that was NOT the best place, she carried them UNDER Sonia’s bed, where she kept them until they were old enough to face the cold.

Sonia is all grown up now, but she is even more beautiful, sweet and loving than before. When I moved back to the United States, she elected to stay in Italy. I miss her very much and I hope she can feel the love I have for her.