The Hospital Experience

In search of relatively urgent medical care we were taxied to the local hospital. Hobbling through the doors of what seemed to be an abandoned mental institution, we hollered out for some assistance. Eventually we came across six men huddled around a small T.V. watching the 2 o’clock soap. The men sprung into action with an eerie glee that seemed to say “we’ve got a live one!”

After a painfully efficient examination the Doc decided it best I get an X-ray. Sharief, the medical assistant, wheeled me down a long corridor to the X-ray room. A recently renovated torture chamber, the X-ray room housed a massive machine built from spare microwave parts fashioned with railroad spikes. As the self-proclaimed technician flipped the switched I could feel the radiation in my teeth.

I was then briskly wheeled back to the examination room, picking up hospital staff along the way like an episode of the Benny Hill Show. Before I knew it my ankle was being fitted with Plaster of Paris. An arts and crafts project that involved three physicians, one ‘technician’, one stray cat, six inquisitive onlookers and one very concerned girlfriend. Two weeks was my sentence as the doctor lovingly signed my still wet cast; “Welcome to Egypt! Your friend, Doctor So-and-so.” A questionable insurance report later and I was on the back of Sharief’s Motorcycle heading for camp, my fresh cast drying in the hot Egyptian sun.