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Re: The results of my MRI




> I also remember the time my parents went to Portugal, these many years ago,
> and I was assigned to pick them up at JFK on the return flight. I kept
> waiting and waiting and they didn't show. Finally, they were the last ones
> off - my mother in a wheelchair and my father on a hand-made crutch. Seems
> my mother caught something and got sick, and my father fell exploring some
> ruin & twisted his ankle. They both got better and made many more trips
> abroad, and YOU WILL TOO!!!!

Thanks.

I have been wondering what wag created the noun PATIENT.  I suspect it
began more as an injunction than as a noun for an invalid.  And what
grim information is ported in the adjective form "invalid"!

Three parts of my adventure in Lisbon keep blessing me:

After six hours in the hospital, having been x-rayed many times and
treated by three specialists, I walked with the main doctor for my case as
he led Ernest and me outside to the taxi area.  "But something is very
wrong," I said.  "I have not paid, and no one has taken down contact
information or credit card details!"  The doctor smiled and said gently,
"There is no charge."  "Not even for the ambulance?" I asked.  "Not for
any of it.  You are our guest in this country.  I hope you recover soon."

On the next morning the phone rang when Ernest was out using an internet
cafe.  It was the medic from the ambulance service calling to find out how
I was feeling.  When I hung up, I cried for 5 minutes.  Yesterday I spent
$2,000 for an MRI.  Tomorrow I will have another walletectomy to pay the
neurologist.  In a lifetime, no USA medical worker has called afterwards
to find out how I was feeling.  

The concierge of the Lisbon Sheraton called to find out how I was feeling,
but when he asked for my name, I figured it was a ruse to add to Ernest's
bill, though I knew that Continental encourages spouses to accompany
employees on working trips.  Later an attendant who had been delivering us
room service knocked.  "We did not order anything this time," Ernest said
as he closed the door.  "I think you need to open it again," I said,
having noticed the consternation of the attendant.  "Is Mr. Crew here?"
asked the attendant.  He brought to me a gingerbread house with candy
trimmings, a 6-inch-high miniature of the walk-in version in the lobby,
together with a note from the hotel manager wishing me a speedy recovery
and inviting me to call on the staff if they could assist in any way.

"Civilized" has taken on a rich luster in Portugal.

Lutibelle/Louie




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