The patient obediently laid on the exam table, clothed only in a giant hospital gown and a pair of socks. In the urology office, they always wore socks; as if to retain any shred of dignity during examinations. I can't really blame them considering what little else we had on offer: a very un-consoling paper pillow, a cold uncomfortable exam table that held the bodies of countless half naked men, and an impending anal probing. Rolling onto his left side with his knees tucked, the doctor snapped on his latex gloves and lubed up the ultrasound wand. I stood there ready to assist when I felt my scrub pants buzzing. This was the moment of truth: a prostate exam and biopsy would determine the patient's path and the vibrating cell phone would determine mine. I'd been nervous all day, worried about missing the important phone call and stress sweating through my scrubs while I hustled patients in and out of the clinic. Of course my destiny would have to wait a few more minutes.
The doctor did his thing, checking out the patient's prostate and firing off several rounds of the biopsy gun. In less than 10 minutes he was finished, murmuring something about next week's follow up and was out the door onto the next patient. I stayed with my patient helping him get cleaned up and dressed. Bending over to put his pants on, the man sheepishly asked if this was just another typical day for me, manhandling scared men and their prostates? I jokingly told him absolutely, except that the doctors were probably more gentle than me. Only after I bagged up the specimens, saw him off safely and sanitized the room did I dare to look at my phone. At first I thought I'd have a terrible time getting ahold of Mark since he was likely in the throes of celebration and congratulatory backslaps. But then I realized he never called me in the first place. I got a text message. A text message, that would reveal our first two year posting in the Foreign Service. I mean, really?! A text?! Jerk.
And so the anticlimactic realization read: "Bucharest, Nov 2011" and nothing else. This meant ten more months of pee soaked stories and erectile dysfunction teaching moments, ten more months of living in DC, ten more months of language and additional training for Mark. Well okay then. It wasn't a bad thing. My job challenged me everyday, our son enjoyed day care and Mark's career was just beginning. It was merely not what we expected since his "people" hinted at our "very likely overseas move to happen in a month or two." It wasn't the first time we'd hear disappointing news and not the last either. All in all, we knew it would be an incredible adventure.
Fast forward 9.5 months: The last two weeks of living in DC were spent living in a hotel room with the dog, husband and a 16 month old baby. Movers came and packed out our house sending our furniture and books one way, appliances and clothing went another way. I was officially unemployed and free to spend my days in Dupont Circle with Deets and Jim and tying up last minute chores such as donating the car, suspending phone contracts, certifying Jim the dog for travel, saying goodbyes and bribing a couple of friends to haul us to the airport. It was a leisurely, even boring time. Until we got to the airport. Initially, we thought a three hour head start would be more than enough time to square things away but then boarding Jim took over two hours. And then we were forced to purchase an extra bag in order to redistribute excess weight. And of course Deets was stress pooping which meant I had to change him before even making it to security. With only thirty minutes to make our flight, I had flashbacks of the day I found out about our assignment, feeling the anxiety soak my shirt; we had no choice but to wait.
Good God, Dulles has long corridors! We eeked through security with about 3 minutes to spare and sprinted to the trains. And waited. Then sprinted down more corridors to the gate where we were ushered through and dumped into the rear middle aisles of the airplane. With utter class the two us immediately asked for beers and settled into our flight. All was right with the world until Mark took Deets for a diaper change mid-flight. Minutes ticked by. Finally, he came back clearly flushed and scented with airplane soap, butt paste and poo, announcing he dealt with the poop of a lifetime. Apparently the mess reached the ceiling, walls and floor of the bathroom. It was so bad he had to go back for a second round of cleaning. At least Deets was fast asleep again in his carseat, no worse for wear.
After a brief layover in Frankfurt, we landed in Bucharest ready to be on the ground. This was Jim's first trip in an airplane so naturally Mark and I were anxious to see him. He happens to be the world's greatest dog- he doesn't bark, doesn't get on furniture, takes all sorts of abuse with children pulling on his ears and riding on his back, and basically sleeps all day. He is gentle and grateful and easily the most laid back living object I have ever seen. When we adopted him several years ago at the pet rescue, he was the only dog patiently waiting to get attention. I remember how he quietly shook with joy and peed on the floor when we was taken out of the kennel. That was the first and only time he ever did that. We were hooked. He has traveled with us from Colorado to DC and then onto Romania. It took some time to locate his kennel and to convince security he was ours but he arrived without incident, untraumatized. Until of course the men dropped the kennel while loading him into the van. Poor dog.
Most of the following days were a jet-lagged blur. Thanks to having superb work sponsors who picked us up, fed us dinner and stocked our fridge, I didn't have to remember much. They even took me on their weekly grocery store run. I should have made a list beforehand because the minute I got there I was suddenly paralyzed with decision making: I was blinded by the fluorescent lights and massive amounts of foreign selection. Carrefour is the second largest international grocery store with almost 10,000 locations. It's similar to K-Mart. The particular one I went to was in the nearby mall and had something like 40 check out lanes. They had several aisles of cleaning products, several aisles of pasta options, several aisles of clothing for the whole family. Needless to say it was huge. While I probably bought some food, I somehow decided I needed to buy plastic orange triangle plates, non matching plastic orange bowls and five small trashcans to go with the tall kitchen trashcan. Luckily Mark's work sponsor ignored my odd end purchases and wordlessly loaded them into the back of her Peugot.
The doctor did his thing, checking out the patient's prostate and firing off several rounds of the biopsy gun. In less than 10 minutes he was finished, murmuring something about next week's follow up and was out the door onto the next patient. I stayed with my patient helping him get cleaned up and dressed. Bending over to put his pants on, the man sheepishly asked if this was just another typical day for me, manhandling scared men and their prostates? I jokingly told him absolutely, except that the doctors were probably more gentle than me. Only after I bagged up the specimens, saw him off safely and sanitized the room did I dare to look at my phone. At first I thought I'd have a terrible time getting ahold of Mark since he was likely in the throes of celebration and congratulatory backslaps. But then I realized he never called me in the first place. I got a text message. A text message, that would reveal our first two year posting in the Foreign Service. I mean, really?! A text?! Jerk.
And so the anticlimactic realization read: "Bucharest, Nov 2011" and nothing else. This meant ten more months of pee soaked stories and erectile dysfunction teaching moments, ten more months of living in DC, ten more months of language and additional training for Mark. Well okay then. It wasn't a bad thing. My job challenged me everyday, our son enjoyed day care and Mark's career was just beginning. It was merely not what we expected since his "people" hinted at our "very likely overseas move to happen in a month or two." It wasn't the first time we'd hear disappointing news and not the last either. All in all, we knew it would be an incredible adventure.
Fast forward 9.5 months: The last two weeks of living in DC were spent living in a hotel room with the dog, husband and a 16 month old baby. Movers came and packed out our house sending our furniture and books one way, appliances and clothing went another way. I was officially unemployed and free to spend my days in Dupont Circle with Deets and Jim and tying up last minute chores such as donating the car, suspending phone contracts, certifying Jim the dog for travel, saying goodbyes and bribing a couple of friends to haul us to the airport. It was a leisurely, even boring time. Until we got to the airport. Initially, we thought a three hour head start would be more than enough time to square things away but then boarding Jim took over two hours. And then we were forced to purchase an extra bag in order to redistribute excess weight. And of course Deets was stress pooping which meant I had to change him before even making it to security. With only thirty minutes to make our flight, I had flashbacks of the day I found out about our assignment, feeling the anxiety soak my shirt; we had no choice but to wait.
Good God, Dulles has long corridors! We eeked through security with about 3 minutes to spare and sprinted to the trains. And waited. Then sprinted down more corridors to the gate where we were ushered through and dumped into the rear middle aisles of the airplane. With utter class the two us immediately asked for beers and settled into our flight. All was right with the world until Mark took Deets for a diaper change mid-flight. Minutes ticked by. Finally, he came back clearly flushed and scented with airplane soap, butt paste and poo, announcing he dealt with the poop of a lifetime. Apparently the mess reached the ceiling, walls and floor of the bathroom. It was so bad he had to go back for a second round of cleaning. At least Deets was fast asleep again in his carseat, no worse for wear.
After a brief layover in Frankfurt, we landed in Bucharest ready to be on the ground. This was Jim's first trip in an airplane so naturally Mark and I were anxious to see him. He happens to be the world's greatest dog- he doesn't bark, doesn't get on furniture, takes all sorts of abuse with children pulling on his ears and riding on his back, and basically sleeps all day. He is gentle and grateful and easily the most laid back living object I have ever seen. When we adopted him several years ago at the pet rescue, he was the only dog patiently waiting to get attention. I remember how he quietly shook with joy and peed on the floor when we was taken out of the kennel. That was the first and only time he ever did that. We were hooked. He has traveled with us from Colorado to DC and then onto Romania. It took some time to locate his kennel and to convince security he was ours but he arrived without incident, untraumatized. Until of course the men dropped the kennel while loading him into the van. Poor dog.
Most of the following days were a jet-lagged blur. Thanks to having superb work sponsors who picked us up, fed us dinner and stocked our fridge, I didn't have to remember much. They even took me on their weekly grocery store run. I should have made a list beforehand because the minute I got there I was suddenly paralyzed with decision making: I was blinded by the fluorescent lights and massive amounts of foreign selection. Carrefour is the second largest international grocery store with almost 10,000 locations. It's similar to K-Mart. The particular one I went to was in the nearby mall and had something like 40 check out lanes. They had several aisles of cleaning products, several aisles of pasta options, several aisles of clothing for the whole family. Needless to say it was huge. While I probably bought some food, I somehow decided I needed to buy plastic orange triangle plates, non matching plastic orange bowls and five small trashcans to go with the tall kitchen trashcan. Luckily Mark's work sponsor ignored my odd end purchases and wordlessly loaded them into the back of her Peugot.
