Broccoli saves the Lebanese downsized Finger
Thanks to all of the readers that reminded, encouraged and badgered Nazy about having a doctor look at her finger. I am happy to report that she sought medical advice and treatment. I also take credit for the final push that led to success:
“So, my dear,” I said, “I will eat the broccoli, my dear, if you promise to go to the doctor.”
“Deal!” Nazy replied - too quickly.
“She called my bluff,” I thought. “I should have offered to eat some lettuce.” I eyed the small green trees assembled on my dinner plate. “Can we dip these into a large vat of cheese?” I asked.
“Can I take my finger to a faith healer? What are you doing now?”
“I am chopping the broccoli into small pieces. I’ll swallow each sliver like a vitamin pill.”
“Why...”
“That way I won’t have to degrade my taste buds. I’ll need a 2 liter bottle of Coca Cola to get these ‘greens’ into my digestive system.”
“We’ll have cauliflower tomorrow.”
“Only if you cut off your hand,” I thought.
Nazy’s doctor was on holiday and my doctor was out with an injury suffered on a bicycle. Accordingly, we went to the extended-hour Permanence medical establishment at the main train station. Nazy had problems at the registration desk:
“I cut my finger with a Chef’s Knife.”
“Was ist das?” The clerk asked.
“Guillotine steel,” I interjected. “An unfortunate miscue.”
“Wer ist das?” [Who is that?] The clerk asked.
“Dat ist mein Man. Er ist nicht sehr klug.” [If you want a translation, you can just use Google Translate.]
The clerk gave Nazy a number (87) and told her to come back in two hours... (or check the website). They were ‘serving’ number 62.
We went to lunch and picked up some groceries. I checked the bookstore shamelessly noting interesting books on my iPhone; I’ll purchase the books on iTunes to read with iBooks on my iPad. Nazy went to the Art Supply store. After two hours, we returned to Permanence. They were serving number 68. We decided that an alternative approach was needed. The next day, Nazy’s friend Rozanne called her own doctor and arranged an appointment. The doctor changed Nazy’s bandages, administered a tetanus shot and told Nazy that everything would grow back. Fortunately, there was no infection. He also gave her a:
“Latex thimble-like thing to wear on my finger when I take a shower and wash my hair.”
“It won’t fit.” I replied as I compared the bandaged finger (roughly the size of a column at the Temple of Hera on Sicily) to the high-friction latex sheath (roughly the size of a olive-picking toothpick at a typical garden party).
“The latex s t r e t c h e s..” Nazy began.
“If it doesn’t fit, you must acquit.”
“Isn’t that from the OJ trial?”
“That’s right! Just call me Danny Cochran.”
“My finger has nothing to do with OJ.”
“Of course not... but just as everyone knows that OJ did it, everyone knows that your finger will not fit into that thimble.” I handed Nazy a large plastic bag. “This will work better,” I said.
“Where did you find that?” Nazy asked.
“Never mind,” I replied. “The Cauliflower is no more,” I thought.
After the finger fiasco, Nazy began to think about:
“Lebanon, Dan. Darius wants us to visit Lebanon before..”
“.. the TNT hits the detonator.” I thought. “I know,” I replied. “He wants me to teach next semester at AUST in Beirut.”
“Do you want to be a professor again?”
“It would almost complete the circle on my career,” I replied. “After that I’ll deliver newspapers on my bicycle and then..”
“Let’s spend a few days in Istanbul on our way to Beirut.”
“I don’t recall agreeing about a trip to Beirut.” I thought. “Excuse me?” I said.
“You’ll need to interview for the professorship. And to interview, you’ll have to be in Lebanon. Do you think it’s safe?”
“I’m somewhat worried about that. Darius said that the University’s HR department head wasn’t sanguine about...”
“Wasn’t sanguine? What’s that mean?”
“HR said that the situation was, eh volatile: i.e. downsizing is on the horizon and the Lebanese approach to downsizing is, eh, rather dramatic.”
“We should definitely see Darius before..”
“Hold on!” I interrupted. “I’ve just booked a great frequent flyer trip to Beirut via Istanbul. We leave on November 1st.”
The phone rang. It was Darius, he spoke briefly to his Mom and then:
“I need to talk to Dad.” Darius said.
“Hi Dar!” I exclaimed when Nazy handed the phone to me. “How’s it going?”
“Are you on-line?” Darius whispered.
“No.”
“Well, I’m okay. There was a big bomb in East Beirut...”
“You live in West Beirut.”
“I know. I just didn’t want you guys seeing something on the news and then freaking out.”
“Freak out? Mois? Wait, isn’t the University where you wanted me to teach in East Beirut?”
‘Well, yes. But you’re not important enough to..”
“Thanks Dar. Are you safe?”
“Yes, of course. There is no traffic; they’re burning tires in all the intersections. The shops are closed. It’s quiet. Very quiet since my computer broke.”
“You computer?”
“A student touched the power supply and the computer died. I got a replacement, but the laptop was very slow. A Lebanese ‘expert’ at the store adjusted something and now it won’t start at all.”
“So you’re stuck inside without a computer?”
“Right.”
“I hope my flights are changeable,” I thought.