Blood, Bruises and Burkas

Day ? - Let’s be real here: Yes, I could figure it out, but I can foresee a time in the early / late springtime when the countdown would just make me crazy because I will probably be ready to go home! Weeks is just easier!

Sunday, September 25^th, 2011

I received an e-mail at the end of the school day on Thursday (22^nd) saying that I would need to find someone to cover my last two classes of the day, as I would be going to the Ministry for blood tests and a chest x-ray. Joy.

In a strange twist of fate, I actually lucked out that I arrived late, as I did not have to go with a group of 40 + people to get this done. When the group went, the girls were gone for about 6 hours.

There were only 3 of us: Rick, Lindsay and myself. We rode with Mohammed (who doesn’t speak much English), in his Mercedes with practically non-existent air conditioning to our various doctor appointments. Thank god this went better than the fingerprint fiasco! We only had to wait about a half an hour to get our blood drawn.

Now, most of you know how much I just love having a needle jabbed into my arm. Make no mistake, this was a jab, not a nice little ‘poke’ like you get back home. Plus, the needle was twice the size of those back in the States. No lies. If I didn’t think I was going to pass out I might have thought to take a picture.

So, the Kuwaiti woman who doesn’t speak English is miming at me (because of course I would be first!). I’m not new at this, so I hold out my left arm and cover my face with my right. I had seen the needle, and also the bruises from the first group, so I knew it wasn’t going to feel very good.

I hate it when I’m right. She JABS the needle into my poor little vein, then she pulls my arm out straighter and SLAPS my freaking elbow.

Here’s the bruise (and this isn’t even a good picture):

I had this sucker for 2 entire weeks. This isn't even a picture of it at it's worst! The silver lining in this cloud? We were reading "Poison" by Roald Dahl for class, and one of the vocabulary words was 'intravenously.' This was a great teachable moment.

Them: "Miss, I don't get how to use 'intravenously' in a sentence?"

Me: "Ms. Johnson had her blood drawn intravenously and received this lovely bruise as a parting gift."

Them: "Ewwww Miss! That's gross!"

Me: "I KNOW!"

It bled for quite a while. Huh, imagine that!

Ok, back to the story:

Rick got called back into another room and gets his chest x-ray. He was talking about how cold it was, and Lindsey asked if the turkey was done. A nice bit of comic relief!

Mohammad motioned us back out to his car, so we followed and proceeded to sit in a hot as hell Mercedes on a long-ass trip to the women's clinic in massive traffic that will do the chest x-rays for Lindsay and I. Why did we have to go to another hospital in sweltering heat and a butt-load of traffic? Why, because we’re females! You can’t bare your chest in the same area as a man! The HORROR !

We finally get to the clinic over an hour later, and no one is at the reception desk and there are people lounging in the waiting area. Mohammad looks a little concerned, but as he really doesn’t speak to us we have no idea as to the real reason, but we're guessing it’s because no one’s around. A person finally comes out and they start talking.

Here’s the thing about listening to people speaking Arabic: they almost ALWAYS sound like they’re yelling at each other. You can’t even really tell by their facial expressions. However, it did appear as if Mohammad was not happy. He’d sit down, then go back up and talk to the person, and sit down. Repeat.

We’re finally motioned to follow Mohammad after one of these (pretty entertaining) demonstrations. We follow, and Lindsay and I are motioned into a room filled with about 20 Asian women, all in a maid/nanny uniform.

They all stopped talking and turned to stare at us, then resumed their conversations. Lindsay and I decided to time our wait (it’s all about the waiting here). 30 minutes later a couple of staff people showed up. One brought in the Muslim woman who had been sitting in the hallway next to her husband. The other one pointed at Lindsay and I. Dead silence. The 20 ladies who had been there before us stared as we got up and walked through them. Apparently our wasta was higher today…

The Muslim woman, Lindsay and I all shared a changing room. We had to grab this long gown (that at least was solid in the back – no ties!) and take off our shirts.

Guess what (some) Muslim women wear under their burka’s? You’ll never guess! Skinny jeans, a Betty Boop t-shirt and a leopard bra. No lies!

I suppose I should tell you why we had to take off our shirts to get a chest x-ray. To make sure we don’t have tuberculosis! For real!

The woman was from Iran and she hated Kuwait. I found that interesting, but as her English was not good and my Arabic consists solely of Inshallah (God willing), I couldn’t find out more.

Back to school we went, just in time for the 1^st bus at the end of the day – which I didn’t take as I had grading to do!

And so therein lies my journey of being poked and prodded yet again for my visa. It’s a funny requirement – you get poked and prodded in your home country, only to come here and have it done all over again. At least this is the last time…as far as I know!