I Have a Tooth Appointment!!!
I know this does not sound like the most inspiring title or story itself.
Back home in England it would, however, be cause for celebration, you may even get a card from a neighbour congratulating you. People would look at you enviously when you told them, seething with jealousy and rage, how did he get one.
Because to put it bluntly and as painfully as the ache itself, 9 times out of 10 you can’t get an appointment in the UK and are forced to go private with hideously high prices that many cannot afford. And if you can’t, many turns to DIY, ripping the tooth out themselves.
For me the only pain was getting up early three days in a row to find a free appointment on the computer system, and that was not painful at all.
So, we set off to the neighbouring town like we were in a royal carriage, telling anyone on the coach who would listen to us. “I’m going to the dentist today,” smiling like a Cheshire cat, the gap in my front teeth clearly on display.
Walking up to the hospital, we were unaware that we were heading towards a diplomatic crisis. This hospital and only this one in Turkey was under a cyber-attack. Let me explain.
We innocently waltzed through the hospital; there was pandemonium in one area. With an air of complete confidence my wife declared, “That is for people who don’t have a prebooked appointment,” sounding like the Queen of Sheba.
Outside the dentistry area there was almost no one. My wife went back to area of pandemonium which was not for those who didn’t have appointments, just full of everyone booked or not booked. My wife went to patient rights, and was told that the hospital was being cyber attacked. “Just this hospital in Turkey?” asked my wife. “Why?” The assistant just shrugged her shoulders.
Meanwhile things were happening… As I sat in the waiting area, some patients, no questions asked, were being secretly brought in. My wife then phoned there was no cyber attack -obviously- just a system malfunction and she was given a card by the hospital manager for an appointment. This cracked the code, I was seen and we then left as it was the lunch hour, to return after following x-rays etc.
The January sun was shining and I looked for a place to sit outside at the hospital canteen. It was full. I gazed and saw a kindly looking old man with a white hat, signalling in my experience religious kindness, I sat next to him and my wife followed suit. He had those eyes and manner which portrayed an inner calm and peace, I had seen that on some people of faith back home. The conversation turned to faith and we parted with a mutual respect for each other’s, him saying “Well it is still God.”
The hospital was high on a hill and I wanted to sit overlooking the sea and town. A group of lads were sitting in a gazebo, in the UK I would avoid a group of teenagers like the plague, but so far in Turkey my experiences of such groups has been wholly positive.
They were polite and amused that an Englishman from Liverpool -no less- was in their town. The little fat boy giggled uncontrollably the whole time, saying “He’s from Liverpool and he’s here.” We talked football as ever. I asked at one point if any of them spoke German (I know a little). “Why would I speak that?” laughed one in disbelief. We left and shook hands, each kindly respecting the other.
In the world things might not be right. But in my world and with the people of the Black Sea all is going swimmingly well, wherever we land.
Death is Everywhere
Everyday you wake up full of the delusion that life could be great today, only to be brought back down to earth (or in the ground itself ) by the death notices.
Your eyes open and the town tannoy crackles like a radio refusing to tune. Then a woman matter of factly reads the names out of those who died yesterday and all of the details about them, son of cousin of, daughter of such and such and when and where the funeral will take place, all are invited.
This happens every morning , updated in the afternoon like reporting from some disaster area.
Sometimes it goes on and on ; after breakfast is finished and tidied away, she is just getting into her stride.
You look out over the street thinking all you will see is dead bodies.
Leaving the house you foolishly think you are escaping this.
The dolmuş (small bus) driver picks up his good friend, who sits in front with him. The driver turns, stares, waiting to startle him. “Blind Recai is dead.” He scans his face for a reaction. “Yes I know, heard it this morning.“ “Fatty died.” “Yes I know that too but his wife his well and happy.” “’The Uncle’ died.” He sensed he didn’t know that one. “I had no idea, he was 64.” “Ah, that’s old but he was three years younger than you.” The driver slaps his friend’s back and they laugh out loud. His friend informs him finally that the The Postman died, they both lower their heads while memories of him flood their mind. His friend is dropped off, see you again he shouts, I hope so the driver replies and off into the distance he goes.
You may think such behaviour does not belong in the developed world. but as you look out of your soulless street in Berlin, Paris or London you can’t help wanting to know blind man such and such, the postman or even the local fatty in your street but you know no one and your death will be reported nowhere and not on anyones lips.
