3 Stitches in Time

After finishing my morning workout, my phone indicated I missed 6 phone calls, 2 text messages, and 3 emails from Deets' school. I knew immediately I would probably be spending some time seeing a doctor. My first guess: Deets needed stitches.

He split open his forehead when he fell on the ground. On carpeted ground. Peeling back the bandage on his head with my suspicions confirmed, I drove him to the Med Unit for a referral. They found us a plastic surgeon at the pediatric hospital and the Embassy's doctor would accompany us, a fortuitous opportunity for some medical hand-holding. I must admit the perks of the Foreign Service really shine through in situations like this. 

Even though we speak Romanian, maneuvering the hospitals isn't always easy; there's not always an admitting desk directing patients where to go and there's not necessarily a single building either. In our case, we entered through a back alley into a hallway with a graphic poster about advances made regarding burn victims. They asked for only his name and birth date before moving into the procedure room where they stitched him up. Afterwards they guided us to Radiology for some skull X-rays and moved again to read the results.

Getting in line for his X-rays.

A hospital with modern equipment and THIS is their sign. I love it.

Ready to go home.

Three stitches, a giant head wrap, two X-rays, and one discharge sheet about head injuries later we went home with strict instructions to lay off on  chocolate, Coca-Coca and alcohol. All this, for the prime cost of zero dollars. No one asked for insurance cards, no one asked for money, thanks to socialized healthcare. (Although admittedly, bribes and blackmail are still hot topics in this country. I've seen it myself:  money exchanged between employees and families in turn for medicine, supplies or a bed to sleep in. That is another discussion for another day).

 

The day after: drinking his pretend coffee at the park.