Angels Waiting in the (hospital) Wings

I know you’ve been eagerly waiting for a blog update. Sit down for this one. It’s a doozy.

As you may know, our daughter “S” has been fighting chronic (not acute, we know the difference!) ear infections since September. It started as swimmers ear, though not necessarily because she’d been spending too much time in the pool (we know too that swimmers ear is not just caused by swimming). The problems worsened in November when the previous month’s recurrence of the infection didn’t heal properly… and the doctor thought, perhaps, her eardrum had perforated. There was much back-forth as to whether it was a significant perforation or simply that the infection had irritated the ear canal and eardrum (we know too that ear infections are rather precarious – surprise!).

Anyway. By this point, she’d been on two rounds of antibiotics but the infection continued to come back so we were referred to an ENT. Long story short, during the next three months… yep, you guessed it… the infection continued to sneak its way back into the ears; sometimes simultaneously, sometimes -- ever so generously -- one at a time. We were prescribed numerous drops, creams and sprays and at one point, making weekly or bi-weekly visits to the doctor’s office (any dual-working-parent family knows this is incredibly difficult and taxing).

Finally, two weeks ago, we thought (!) we had finally kicked this persistent buggar’s ass. But, S began complaining AGAIN of ear pain. This time though, the culprit was not a typical infection but rather a yeast infection. In her ear. Both. Ears. AGAIN. A new cream was applied, a new spray…. then
Flash-forward to Monday night of this week. The medications had been applied for two weeks with some success, and then suddenly, tears and complaints from S of more pain. Mom and Dad were, to put it midly, pissed. We called the ENT’s office but he is on vacation this week, with no one available to take his calls. We called another medical office used by many of our expat friends, but they wouldn’t let us see the ENT until we saw their pediatrician first. We then called our current pediatrician, who referred us to the ENT initially and has been in the loop through this entire ordeal, and made an appointment to vent our frustrations. Of course the only available time was in the middle of the day, but Travis had a long prep that afternoon so he took her in.

He spent 2 hours in her office, clearly articulating our concerns and frustrations, and demanded immediate action. NOW. To be fair, we really like our pediatrician and have found her to be a good listener and very thorough in her exams with our children. She has not been treating these infections for the last few months and was shocked to look back at the chart and realize that S has been dealing with this since September. She called another ENT whom she knows and is well-respected in Budapest and asked if we could have an appointment with her a.s.a.p.

She is due to be on vacation and won’t have any openings until April 11th.

So, our doctor came up with a new idea to treat the infection, called the pharmacy and was talking quickly and excitedly in Hungarian, working with the pharmacist to concoct this miracle drug for our daughter. Travis thanked her and headed downstairs in the medical building to pick up the prescription.

They don’t have all the ingredients for the magic potion so he has to go back the next day, after 4 pm.

You can imagine the conversation at our house that evening.

At 6:00 pm, the phone rang. It was our pediatrician. She had spoken again to this new ENT, asking her for a big favor. She told us that the ENT can see us at the Budapest Children’s Hospital the next morning. We should try to be there by 8:00 a.m. and while we may have to wait a while, she will fit us into her schedule. We were very happy with the news! Of course this meant one of us (me) would need to take at least part of the day off, and these ear infections have caused such problems that I basically am in the hole with sick days this year. C’est la vie.

Perhaps you thought this was the end of the story? Oh, no. Just wait. It gets better. We still have to experience THE HOSPITAL.

Today, I wake up feeling anxious. I am definitely nervous to navigate the Hungarian hospital system on my own, without my husband. Not because I am co-dependent but because we are a team and I KNOW this isn’t going to be easy. Ugh. I have many Hungarian colleagues but, alas, I can’t ask any of them to accompany me to translate and navigate because they are working today! I know about these hospitals from some friends with experience… one who had a biking accident, one who broke her ankle, one who’s daughter had an appendicitis scare… none of their stories are encouraging. What I do recall from these stories are comments like “bring toilet paper” and “bring your own food” and “prepare for the worst” and “no one really speaks English.” I do know that our ENT speaks English, but I will have to go through many hoops before we meet with her.

We arrive at the hospital at 8:20, thanks to one-lane roads and morning traffic (shout-out to our GPS, “Gemma”, who is money driving through this busy city!). I drive right to the hospital, then realize I have no idea where to park. Crap. I pass by the hospital and take the next turn, where I see a Parking sign and think, “this must be where the visitors park.” Hahaha. I realize after we get our receipt and park the car that this might not actually be the hospital parking lot…it’s rather small and looks more like parking for an office building. Oh well. We are late and we’ve got to get to our appointment.

Thankfully, I know the name of the hospital and I know the word for children in Hungarian (gyerekek) so I know this is the right building, because it doesn’t look like an American hospital on the outside. I was told to go to Building A first for registration, but of course nothing is labeled and I have no idea where Building A might be. We walk in and I go up to the window. Turns out I have entered the ER wing… woops. The nurse at the desk does not speak English but tells me “moment” and gets a younger nurse to help me.
This nurse (and now I wish I’d asked her name) looks over the paperwork and kindly tells me I am in the wrong building. She starts to tell me where I need to go, and as I restate her directions, she pauses and says, “Wait. I’ll take you.”

I swear to you the heavens parted and the angels started singing at this moment.

She gets her coat and walks us out the door and down the sidewalk, as I thank her profusely for her help. She tells me that she has lived and worked abroad (Middle East, Asia, India) and she knows how difficult it is in these situations. As we enter there’s a long line of patients waiting to talk to people behind glass portioned windows. The building is definitely old. The angel-nurse tells us once again to “wait here” and she walks ahead to find out where we need to go. A minute later she returns and walks us into an adjoining room with a blue door. I would never have found this room or known to enter on my own. Inside, it’s a dingy, low-lit room with a low counter and a young receptionist. Because she’s young I assume she understands some English. Nope. Our angel-nurse explains the situation and hands over the paperwork I brought from our pediatrician. She asks for our insurance cards and looks them over, and I hear “nem” which means “no.” I already know what is about to happen…they are going to tell me that my insurance cards are no good at this hospital. And they do. I feel the tears welling in my eyes and my voices shakes a bit as I say, “I am not leaving this hospital until I can see the doctor we were told to see, who IS expecting us.” There is more back-forth talking in fast Hungarian, and I tell them that my daughter’s doctor has arranged this appointment. They talk again, and then look through my paperwork once more only to find the paper that affirms our appointment and validates our insurance. Thank God.

I thank the receptionist, and again thank the angel-nurse for the hundredth time. I expect she’s leaving us now but she says, “Come with me. I will walk you to the other building.” (insert angel choir here) We walk a block and then around the corner, and enter one of many small buildings. The angel-nurse says something to the receptionist, who directs to a hallway painted with animals and flowers. The murals are at least 25 years old, but add a nice touch to an otherwise dreary hallway. We find some chairs and sit while our angel-nurse attempts to find the ENT. A few minutes later she returns and smiles, stating, “We are in the wrong building. She’s working in the hospital today.” I keep wondering how I would’ve managed to figure all this out on my own.

We walk back down the block and back inside Building A, the same building where they almost made me cry. The angel-nurse tells us we need to go to the first floor. As we approach the stairwell my daughter takes my hand, and I squeeze it. We both know this is going to be a very different experience. We walk up the stairs and can hear lots of voices, crying…and soon lots of people. Everywhere. This wing is also very old and drab. The tiled floor is a dull yellow and gray and the never-ending corridor reminds me of the Twilight Zone. There are doors on both sides, about two feet apart, as far as the eye can see. The doors are painted mustard yellow and worn and numbered, beginning with 101 on the right side and ending with 150 on the other side. 50 doors. All with Hungarian labels. There are creaky wooden benches down the center of the hallway, each filled with children and parents, waiting for their names to be called. Many families are also standing along the wall. It is not even 9 a.m. and this place is packed. I tell my daughter to prepare for a long wait and offer, “isn’t it great that mommy brought some snacks?”, hoping to ease her mind. She’s nervous and I honestly can’t blame her. Just as I’m about to thank the angel-nurse for her help – again – she tells us to “wait here” – again – and disappears. (insert raucous angel choir here). When she returns a minute later she is smiling and says, “the doctor is waiting for you.” She walks us to door no. 121 and tells me as soon as it opens, we can go in. I thank her. She is still waiting with us and does so until the door opens. When it does, the angel-nurse walks us in, smiles, and begins to turn to walk out. I blubber, “thank you so much!” as I choke back tears and give her a hug. She smiles sweetly and walks out the door… back to her heavenly cloud, I presume.

Our visit with the doctor went well. It’s not very exciting to share the details of the exam here – and I’d rather tell family directly via Skype -- but, rest assured, we are on the road to recovery and some answers. *fingers crossed*

As we emerged from our dingy doorway and out into the masses, I felt a huge weight lifted from my shoulders. I also felt something else: empathy. Empathy for all the parents waiting with their children in that crowded hallway, hoping to see a doctor for what I’m certain were all very important reasons. Never in my life have I felt so much like a foreigner. I am still processing this experience and the range of emotions I felt today. My daughter says she “is never going to the hospital again” and I sincerely hope that is the case.

EPILOGUE:
On the way out, we stopped in the bathroom. That toilet paper I threw in my purse at the last minute came in handy. Next time I’ll remember to also bring soap and a towel to dry my hands. Next time I’ll also know where to park on the street, so I don’t have to mimic sign language to the person in line behind, frantically gesturing that I don’t have enough coins to pay for parking (silly me, I’d envisioned a parking garage for hospital patients). This kind angel-woman actually smiled at me and gave me coins from her purse. Next time I’ll also remember how to hold the aforementioned PAID parking receipt just-so under the red light scanner, so I can exit the lot smoothly so the angel-driver in the car behind me won’t have to scan his parking card to let me out.

I believe in angels.