Radioactive

I've been a bit under the weather lately due to a long term thyroid issue that, it was determined by my endocrinologist, needs to be sorted out once and for all because the plan, started almost two years ago, to regain normal function has not panned out.  More drastic measures had to be taken.  My options were surgery or radioactive iodine.  I chose the latter largely because I have a couple of friends who had surgery here in Saudi, and lets just say the scar they carry around as a momento isn't pretty.  Vanity, it appears, is a bit of a thing with me.

My doctor agreed the 'atomic cocktail' was the way to go, so I was sent to see the bloke downstairs (quite a young bloke and, if I was looking, cute as well) who talked to me about a thyroid uptake scan to test how functional my thyroid actually was and, therefore, how much radioactive iodine would be required to treat it .  My thyroid meds had to be stopped about five days before the scan.  I also wasn't to eat fish of any description for three days prior, and breakfast was off the cards the day of the scan.

On the appointed date I turned up at Radiation Reception and met a friend who was booked in for the same test.  We sat and chatted, comparing thyroid function notes, as you do, until I got the call to follow a nurse to a smaller waiting room.  The doctor came in followed by four women dressed in white medical outfits and black veils who I presumed were nurses.  The whole procession was quite intimidating actually because only one of the ladies nodded a hello and smiled with her eyes.  They stood fanned out across the room, reminding me of a defensive line prepared to tackle me should I do a runner.

To lessen the tension, I asked the doctor if these young ladies were trainees?  It turns out they are employees at the hospital.  OK then.  This must be an awfully important part of the process to have this many in the room.  When the doctor left to get something he'd forgotten, the Line Up were just standing there, doing nothing at all, so I decided to speak with them starting with Smiley Eyes who was perfectly happy to chat.  She said they were all on placement in the radiation department and would be there for maybe a year.

On his return the doctor explained the process for the day.  I would be taking a tablet with a small amount of radioactive material and was to return four hours later for the actual scan.  Food was still off limits for another 2 hours.  Mentally calculating the time, that would make it midday before I could eat.  Eating, for me is a necessity.  When my blood sugars drop I can very quickly become an unhappy chappy.  Would I make it?

Doctor handed me a paper cup with a tablet and a bottle of water.  The Line Up gathered around as I took the tab.   All the heads turned my way and, as the masked faces watched me drain the water bottle, various horror story plots flashed across my mind complete with accompanying dramatic music - Invasion of the Body Snatchers was one plot, Hitchcocks Psycho provided the musical score.

Steak dinner at Gala Steak Inn.

You'd have thought with four hours to kill I would've managed to eat but the time seemed to disappear, lost in the drive home, the need to open the computer and answer a few emails and preparing a stacked lunch.  I was about to bite into my succulent, juicy, perfectly cooked steak with a side of creamy mushrooms, when the phone rang. The driver was here to take me back to the hospital.  He had come a little early because he had another pick up.  Sugar Plum Pie!  Stuffing food is not lady like, so instead I sliced off a piece of meat and carried it to the waiting car saving the rest for later.

The Dr told me the scan would take around 20 mins.  It is easy to feel quite claustrophobic when the huge scanning machinery starts whirring and thick slabs of metal descend toward your face while you're lying prone on the table.  I figured there is nothing I can do about this.  Might as well have a nap.  Sleep is a great healer for me.  If I can get myself to sleep, I can get through anything.  So I dozed off.

When I woke I was told all was done, and to come back again tomorrow.
What?
They have to compare scans, so you have to come back tomorrow.
Well, that was news to me, but what choice did I have.

It was after three by the time I headed out the door and, without having had anything substantial to eat all day, a migraine was threatening with the headache throbbing at my temples.  I knew I had to eat.  And not just anything.  I had to eat fries.

For some reason fries help to settle my headaches. And I mean fries, not crisps or baked potatoes.  Not sugar or chocolates either.  Fries.  Just down the road from the hospital is a burger joint and it was to there I rushed, ordered my meal and then sat upstairs in the almost empty dining area, closed my eyes and waited for my fries.

They arrived with a burger and thick shake.

I ate the fries, looked at the burger, sipped the shake.  When food is not appealing, I know I'm in a bad way.   Shutting my eyes again and leaning back in the booth, I waited for the effect of the fries to kick in and the headache to subside.

When my eyes reopened the only other people in the diner were a young Saudi couple sitting across the room having a bit of a snuggle.  It was cute.  The blinds on the windows were being wound up signalling the end of salah which meant I had dozed for at least half an hour.  The young couple stood and left.  My headache had eased slightly, but not gone.  It was time to go home, lay on my bed in a dark room with a cold cloth on my eyes and sleep.

The next morning I ate before going to the hospital.  Repeating yesterday was to be avoided.  It was a good call as we had to wait quite a while before the scan. (My friend was back too, so we chatted till scan time).

A week later it was time to receive my dose of radioactive iodine.  The Nuclear Medicine anteroom was crowded so I got stuck in a smaller side room, more like a closet, which might have bothered me except there was a dental chair in there that just begged to be played with.  Fiddling with the controls, lifting myself up and down, and laying myself flat and back again made Hubster, who had come with me on this trip, look on with disapproval at my childish antics.  (As I get that look quite often it tends to have little effect these days).

Soon enough we were led off to chat with the Radiation Doctor who went through the list of do's and don't's related to taking radioactive iodine.  He mentioned the ability to set of airport alarms.  I thought that was cool and asked Hubster if we could fly somewhere.  He gave me one of those disapproving, don't be ridiculous looks.

Isolation from the elderly, the very young and the pregnant was a must, according to Dr Radiation.  And Hubster and I were to keep our distance as much as possible too, so for three days he slept on the couch and wouldn't let me in the kitchen near his food.  He prepped all the evening meals.  There was no complaint from me.

The radioactive iodine came in two tablets which were delivered in two thick metal containers.  Dr Radiation used his gloved hands to tip them, one at a time, into a paper cup then stood well back, out of my way, after I had downed them.  It appeared that staying away from people was to start immediately.

My doctor did say that hyperthyroid symptoms would get worse before they improved - but that little tidbit of info didn't really register at the time.  Naively I presumed that health improvement would be almost immediate once the weekend long stand down period for being radioactive was over.  So I planned a trip to Made'in Saleh with a Kiwi friend and his visiting parents for the following weekend

It turns out that climbing up mountains and rock hewn stairways, or anything remotely resembling an incline, to look at the view was not the best plan at this point.  It had been three weeks since I'd been off my thyroid meds and the doctor instructed me to keep off them for the next month.  My heart obviously hadn't received the message that it was to supposed to start behaving after a dose of radiation and was objecting to excess effort.  (In fact, by the end of the weekend the heart and body were objecting to any effort at all, which was majorly annoying and ever so slightly frightening).

Any normal person would have said, 'It's OK.  I don't need to come look at the view with you today.  You guys can tell me all about it when you get back'.  It seems 'Fear of Missing Out' is also a thing with me.  Buggered or not, I was going.  So I'd hang on to the Hubster's belt and he would drag me up the hills and stairs.  Slowly but surely, like a couple of aged tortoises, we got there.

The doctors instruction to revisit him a month after taking two nuked tabs for a blood test to see how things were going was welcomed gladly because it didn't feel like there had been much improvement in my thyroid function at all.  I was actually feeling like crap.  The heart was doing flip flops even with the Beta Blockers, I had internal tremors, the body temp was all over the place with subsequent sweating being very unlady-like, and the bowels had a timetable all of their own, usually marked "URGENT!"

When I called the doc for my blood test results his exact words were:
Are you sure you had radioactive iodine?
Yes
Was there a period of isolation?
Yes
Mmmmmm...I'll have to call the radiation department to see what they gave you and how much because according to the blood test, you are still very hyper-thyroidic.  Do you still have thyroid tablets, he asked.
Yes I said.
Go straight home and take some now.  Take four a day. Call me next week.

Oh great! (which is not exactly what I was thinking, but you get the point).  You mean this treatment hasn't worked!  Well, at least there was a reason for feeling worn out most of the time for the past month and wanting to do very little except lie on my couch.

What tends to happen when I'm not feeling the best, is that I go into what I call a 'Caving Phase'.  I like to hide in my home, go nowhere, do nothing, and see only a select few people.  Me and the cat just hang out, him sleeping on top of the back rest of my couch, me surfing the net or dozing.  Going out to do anything, even shopping for supplies, takes a huge force of will.

The husband tends to get concerned when I Cave.  He thinks it quite unhealthy.  I beg to differ.  I know what my mind and body needs, and when I'm off color rest and a certain amount of isolation are what is called for.  It's the isolation that makes people think I'm terribly unsociable and possibly depressed.  I prefer to call Caving my way of looking after myself.

Except for my little jaunt to northern Saudi, and occasional forays into the office to show I'm still alive, I'd been caving quite the month after the dose of radiation.  Hence my lack of blog posting.  I just couldn't seem to get my head into it.  But I'm back on my meds now and feeling so much better.  Provided the country doesn't run out of my meds again (and you can read about that on my post 'Riyadhs Run Out Of My Meds'), everything should be fine.

Eventually, one way or another, the thyroid will get sorted and this time I'll be prepared for the effects.  Hubster see's this as a time for us to stay put until my health is 100% improved.  I think that's nonsense now that things are looking up, so am attempting to talk him into a trip next weekend - to a mountain with rock pools.



Ka Kite,
Kiwi

Optical Adventure in Riyadh

Reading Run Fat Bitch Runby Ruth Field

It had become glaringly apparent a few years back that my eyesight was not quite as good as it used to be.  The  first indication that I may require optical accessories was when I kept getting headaches while at work some years ago. The idea of having to wear glasses horrified me, largely because for a gal who usually has 20/20 vision, glasses means only one thing - I'm getting old?  So I quit that job and all was good till I eventually got another role that required me to look at computer screens a lot.  Of course the headaches came back.  This time, however, I kidded myself that the wearing of glasses while looking at computer screens was not an age related thing - it was a technology issue.

"I can honestly say I love getting older. Then again, I never put my glasses on before looking in the mirror." 

Cherie Lunghi  - Read more at Brainy Quote

Eventually I had to get glasses and they were a very funky, modern looking pair because I wasn't over the hill just yet.  Things ticked along quite well for quite some time till I misplaced my glasses somewhere and they decided to stay misplaced.  A new pair of spectacles was required.  So off I went to the nearest spec place in Riyadh.  One of those little shops along the road that I've always thought just ever so slightly questionable.  But it was close to home and Hubster was happy to walk up there with me (mostly, I discovered afterwards, because there was a shoe shop nearby that he likes).

The shop guy said, 'yes, I can test your eyes', and directed me to a back room with a rather antiquated looking piece of eye testing apparatus.  After the test he declares, 'There is nothing wrong with your eyesight'. 'Do you want to buy these very expensive sunglasses?'  Ummmmm.....no.

A few weeks later (because I am an avid supporter of procrastination) the taxi I was in screeched to a halt outside Eye World on Tahalia St.  It seemed a good idea to stop there given we were driving past.  Up the stairs I went into a shop floor loaded with the latest fashion, and somewhat expensive, eye wear frames.  However, Eye World isn't just about frames.  Oh no.  You can get eye corrective surgery on the floors above, so the gentleman who came to serve me said.  And you can get an eye test.

So in I went and met a man of Arab extraction with a bit of a mumble and a very heavy accent that required asking him to repeat himself for my comprehension.  He sat me down behind the very modern looking eye testing apparatus.  For those of you who've never had an eye test with the latest modern gadgets, this machine houses a number of lens of varying sizes, thicknesses and strengths and to find the one right for your eyes, they swap them around and ask for feedback on whether or not you can see the pretty picture at the end clearly, through one or both eyes.  Once behind the machine Mr Ophthalmologist said...

...I  don't know what he said. Between his mumble and heavy accent and my not being able to see his lips move because my eyes were staring through a very hazy lens that was in the machine, I couldn't understand him.  So I said, 'What did you say?'

And down dropped another lens.

He mumbled something else...
'No, no wait, I didn't hear you,  What did you say?'

And down dropped another lens.

I took my head out of the machine and said, "I don't know what you're saying?"  And two things were quite obvious in the glance that he returned to me - one, he was very focused on the job at hand and two, it was going to be one of those days.  Days when lots of communication in a cross cultural exchange is going to be lost in translation.  On those days I really need to learn to talk more slowly.

He simply said 'Go back '. (With a 'Why are you not focusing on the task at hand?' querying look on his face).

My jaw set and one of those sighs escaped my lips (you know, those 'Sure, fine, this is going to be one of those days' kind of sighs.)   I returned to the hazy lenses, this time determined not to respond till I was absolutely, fairly certain what he was saying.  It was a long slow process because it took a while to tune in my ears.
I had the beginnings of a headache by the end of it.
He seemed quite happy with the result.

Photo credit: Not my photo.

Once out of the chair Mr Ophthalmologist was walking away and talking.  I have no clue what he's saying because I've turned off my tuned in ear - my brain needed a rest.  He turns and hands me a packet.  A square, slimy, foil wrapped, squishy packet.  I look at it and wonder to myself, 'Why have you handed me a condom packet?'  Because seriously, the only small, square, foil wrapped, squishy packets I have ever seen like this in my life, are condoms.
I say, 'What the heck is this for?'
He says, 'Blah, blah...eyes...reading, blah...Put it in.
'Ummm....what?'

It turns out the squishy pack is a contact lens.
Really, it feels just like condoms.  (Me and scientists in Australia must be on the same wavelength because in 2014 Wollongong University got funding to make condoms out of contact lens material).

'Put it in', says Mr O.
'Ummm....how', I say.
'Just put it in your eye', he says.

Obviously Mr Opthomologist had not bothered to read the extensive paperwork I filled out before the eye test which at no point said, 'I wear contacts'.

I have no idea how to put a blessed contact in.
I look at the tiny thing on the end of my finger, I lean forward and look in the mirror at my eye and go....nope, can't do it.  He was a bit exasperated at my lack of contact wearing knowledge.  'I've never worn contacts before', I say looking at him innocently with raised, contact atop, finger.  Can you do it?'  In this land of Man Must Not Touch Woman, Mr Opthamologist had to go and get a nurse to put the contact in my eye.

The instant that thing hit my eyeball water started gushing down my cheeks and my eye went into spastic blinking.  Gush, gush, blink blink.

'Just wait, it will be ok', the nurse says.
'Really?'  Blink, blink, tears streaming.

Blink, spastic rapid blink.  Gushing tear drop waterfalls.
I can't flaming see and feel around for the tissues noted previously on the shelf.
Wipe the tears off my cheek but they won't stop coming out my eye.

I blinked and cried so much the contact moved and I could feel it dropped down off my eyeball.
'Take this thing out,' I say.  Of course, by this time the nurse had left he room.
'Just pinch it out', he says.
At this point I'm thinking less than complementary thoughts about Mr Opthomologist.  For goodness sake, if I don't know how to put this thing in, ya really think I know how to take it out!

I close my eye, holding the tissue on to it trying to ebb the teary flow, and look at him out of one eye like Stuart the Minion, which, though the grandchildren may think it hilarious, I'm fairly certain is not a flattering look for me...



'Where's the nurse', I say.
The nurse is busy and Mr Opthomologist still doesn't want to come near me.
So I have to wait, tissue in hand, eye closed and contact feeling like it's down around my cheekbones, till the nurse could come take the contact out.

Thank goodness for that.
Suffice to say, I will never be trying contacts again!  That doesn't mean contacts are bad.  I know a number of my friends and family swear by their contacts - reading contacts, one day contacts, colored contacts and so forth, but given my eyes water with the application of eyeliner or mascara on the extremely rare occasions I feel I ought to try self-beautification of that sort, it is no wonder that a full assault on my eye ball by a contact lens caused the reaction it did.

Once I'd managed to compose myself and collected the piece of paper regarding the results of my eye test, I was certain things would be plain sailing from here on.  I forgot though, I was living in Riyadh. All those tears for my new glasses was just the beginning of my "Get New Glasses" optical excitement as I traipsed Riyadh from EyeWorld, to Magrabi and other random places for specs so I could see.  But we'll leave the rest of the story for another day.




Ka Kite,
Kiwi

Donating Blood in Riyadh

June 14th World Blood Donor Day

A newly arrived expat asked me one day where and how does one donate blood  or plasma in Riyadh.   I had to admit, I didn't have much of a clue.  Hospitals I expect, was all I could think.  In fact, after she raised the questions I wasn't even certain that blood donation was an acceptable Muslim activity.    And can Muslims accept blood from non-Muslims?  In life saving situations is it best to put religious differences aside and just accept we are all human?  With all these questions running around my head, I went in search of answers and here they are, fresh off a Google Search.

In brief, yes, blood donation is acceptable activity in this country for anyone who chooses to do so though, as my friend discovered, you may find blood bank staff are surprised you are doing it! (You are giving blood away...for just anybody!)

Generally the local population only gives blood for other family members in need of it.  In fact, if you turn up to hospital after some form of incident without a donor in tow, the staff will ask where your donor is!

For voluntary donations in Saudi, generally it is mainly the men who donate blood (according to a research article I found). To keep up local blood stocks the King decreed, at some point not so long ago, that all citizens being issued with driver licenses were to donate blood.  Apparently not many women in Saudi are blood donors - probably because we can't, as yet, get drivers licenses, but also because most blood banks, according to said research article, have unsuitable facilities for women (we can't be suitably separated from the men) and something about feminine constitutions affected by other forms of blood loss.

Blood donation is a highly recommended activity from a Qu'ranic point of view according to a  'How To Be A Good Muslim' sites that I surfed.  Contrary to the image created by the shocking road stats in Saudi Arabia and young men's attempts to wind up as one of those statistics, Islam places great importance on the value of life.  All life.  Anyone's life.  Even the lives of we unbelieving infidels.  And, added to that, the Qu'ran makes no differentiation between creed, gender or color when it comes to saving lives.  All lives.  Any lives.

(Now I can hear some of you laughing out there.  Yes, I can!  And I can guess why, but we aren't here to talk about those issues, are we?)

'Saving Lives' sounds all well and good, but the dictate comes with caveats.
('Ahhh....here's the part where they back track', I hear you say.  
Well, yes).
You should only save a life if yours or other peoples lives are not in danger.  And you are not obligated to save a life, nor should you feel bad about yourself for not saving a life, if you aren't convinced that the situation warrants you saving said life.

Which brings me to an interesting titbit about life in Saudi Arabia.  Apparently there is an unwritten law here in Saudi, (at least I think it's unwritten), that you should do as little as possible to help someone who looks like they are about to carp it for whatever reason (especially suspect or violent reasons), because if you were the last person to touch or assist the afflicted before he popped off to Heavenly Land, you're to blame for his death.  Not a very helpful unwritten law, and it seems totally contradictory to the Qu'ranic recommendation, but ask anyone who's been here a while and 'Do Not Touch The Nearly Departed' is the law they know and act on...which means incidents get a lot of spectators in Saudi, all no doubt considering their 'Save a Life' options.

Well Done :)

In terms of blood donation, which is what this post is about, donating blood is one way of fulfilling your duty under the Qu'ran to save a life (or lives).  If you donate regularly you can consider your generosity ongoing charity and if you are a super-mega voluntary donor (ie, you do it a lot), you'll get a medal.

Which brings me to the next question about blood donation.  Who gets the blood?  Do only Muslims get 'Muslim blood' and do only Christians get 'Christian' blood?  No!  Don't be silly!  In life threatening situations blood is blood.  Anyone can get it.  And besides, it would be far too difficult for blood banks to run blood donations along such a line.  That's what the 'Be A Good Muslim' site said in response to a similar question.  Unfortunately, when one of my friends asked a local blood bank rep the same question, he was adamant that only Saudi's got Saudi blood.  Perhaps he actually meant that there are so many local donors in Saudi Arabia now that the country no longer has to rely on imported blood.  If he didn't actually mean that, then perhaps someone ought to retrain the blood bank peeps on the logistics of storing blood.

So, where can one go to donate blood?  Most larger hospitals have blood banks.  A couple of those hospitals also have apheresis machines so they can produce separated products. ( I believe the Military Hospital is one of those).  Saudi also has a Mobile Blood Donation service that runs regular blood donor campaigns and is available for corporate, or other, blood donor promotions.

To that end, June 14th is World Blood Donor Day.  If you feel the urge to donate some blood, then by all means do so. Perhaps you could organize a work Donor Day with the mobile blood bank.  Given that this years focus is "Safe Blood For Saving Mothers" preventing maternal death in childbirth related complications, perhaps a few more women could get involved.  Maybe organize a Ladies Donor Day at a local hospital.  I'm sure with sufficient notice the hospital blood banks can get themselves prepped for a bunch of women coming in to donate blood.  Naturally the event would include recovery tea and cake.




If you decide to donate blood below is a list of do's, don'ts and exclusions as per the ThinkUp website.

Those who can donate blood should:

• Be between the ages of 17 and 60
• Have a minimum weight of 45kg
• Not have donated blood in the last 90 days
• Not be suffering from any infectious diseases, influenza or taking antibiotics

Those who can never donate their blood are:

• Hepatitis B and C patients
• HIV positive patients
• Diabetics who are insulin or pill dependent. However, those who can control sugar levels through diet and exercise can donate
• Alcoholics and drug addicts

Temporary deferrals on people who:

• Have had dental work done in the last five weeks
• Are taking antibiotics
• Have smoked or consumed alcohol in the last 72 hours
• Have had tattoos or ear piercing done in the present year
• Pregnant women
• Anaemic patients who can replenish their haemoglobin can come back for donation later.

When you visit a center for donation, you should have:

• Had plenty of fluids
• Eaten nutritious food
• Had a good night’s sleep
• Refrained from smoking or drinking

After donation

• You must continue to lie on the bed with your feet raised above the level of your body for ten minutes
• Leave the bandage on for four hours
• Drink extra fluids for the next three days, especially the first four hours after donation
• Have a protein-rich diet and rest, which means not taking extra stress of work or driving

(And to think I just used to rock up, eat bikkies, drink tea and carry on again!)

Here, in case you aren't aware, is a list of hospitals with blood banks who will happily take your donations.

RIYADH

King Khalid University Hospital
01-469-1310

King Fahad Medical City:
01-288-9999__ext 1546

King Saud Medical City
01-435-5555__ext 1474

King Abdul Aziz Medical City, National Guard:
01-801-1111__ext 11272/11263


JEDDAH

King Faisal Specialist Hospital & Research Center

King Abdulaziz Hospital
06-637-5555__ext1229


AL KHUBAR

Blood Bank of King Fahd University Hospital


DAMMAM

National guard hospital
03-591-0000__ext 34089

Dammam Medical complex
03-815-5777__ext 276

Happy blood donating on June 14th :)



Ka Kite,
Kiwi

The Great Saudi MERS Coronavirus Malady

The Saudi Gazette ran a story the other day on the death of a health worker in a government hospital to Middle Eastern Respiratory Syndrome (MERS) - Coronavirus.  He was the second health care worker to die of the disease in a Saudi Ministry of Health Hospital.  As always with life in the Magic Kingdom, there is an interesting story that can be found in the dusty haze of Saudi's handling of the Coronavirus situation.  Here's my take on 'The Great Saudi MERS Coronavirus Malady'

MERS CoV (an official term for the virus) has been quietly rumbling around Saudi Arabia since being discovered in 2012.  According to figures in the Gazette, since being identified 369 people have been infected with the disease and 111 have died - a fairly high mortality rate, wouldn't you say?

The virus has also been turning up in other parts of the globe - the latest countries to report MERS CoV include Egypt, Malaysia, the Philippines, Greece, Yemen and most recently, America.  Given that Saudi is a mecca for foreign workers from all over the world it is hardly surprising that the virus is being carried offshore to everywhere else.

The health experts had a few questions about the MERS virus (as it's locally known) when it first turned up on the scene - Where did it originate from?  What was the mode of transmission?  How could it be treated?   Two years later, they are still asking the same questions.  They think the virus originated from an animal - possibly camels.  They know that the virus spreads between people who are in close contact, but aren't sure of exact transmission.  There is still no vaccine for prevention or cure for seriously affected cases.

When news of the virus first broke to the public in Saudi Arabia, people were a little concerned given that not much was known about it other than a quarter of the people who caught it died.  The public were understandably a little nervous and wanted answers to questions - mostly, how not to catch it!

By the looks of things, Saudi wasn't quite sure what to do with the growing concern regarding the virus, so settled for their usual ploy of 'The Great Cover Up'  (sounds abaya-ish doesn't it - they must have thought the virus was a woman!), mostly in relation to honestly informing the public of MERS severity, but also, apparently, on advising and updating interested international health organisations assisting research of the new bug.

Educating the public on steps to take to reduce chances of catching this, or any, virus were a non-event.  In fact, recent reports suggest that, under instructions from the previous Health Minister, health care workers were threatened if they raised alarm about the outbreak.  (Said Minister was recently sacked for his mis-handling of the whole affair).  For all the Ministry's attempts to keep information about MERS on the down low, media kept reporting that people were dying from it.

Latest news suggests the virus appears to be 'surging' in Saudi, which is a bit of a concern.  It may indicate that the virus has mutated into a form that can more easily be passed from person to person or it may simply mean more cases are being tested and diagnosed.  Whatever the cause,  I assume this surge and its associated concern, is the reason for the appointment of a new Health Minister a few weeks ago, who has hit the ground running - stepping up public awareness campaigns, creating MERS task forces, setting up designated treatment centers and even Tweeting and Facebooking information and updates, and encouraging everybody to take steps to protect themselves and their families.

It seems the health care workers, if not the country, have heaved a huge sigh of relief that the Cover Up on the MERS Coronavirus is over and now they can focus on taking the actions necessary to keep themselves, and the rest of the community healthy, safe in the knowledge that the government will be aiding them.  On a recent visit to a hospital more than a few hospital staff were wearing masks while on routine work.  And even out in the public the number of face masked expats in crowded public places, like supermarkets, has increased.  (I'm just waiting for the religious fervent to tell all foreign women to start wearing niqabs as MERS protection).

I had the chance to talk to my doctor about viruses the other day.  I've had a bit of a chest infection lately so thought it best to seek out some medical treatment.  It turns out my infection was viral, determined when there was absolutely no response to the antibiotics he prescribed.  Viruses, said the Doctor on my return visit, are going to kill off the human race one day!  What a pleasant thought.

This is what else he told me, in a nutshell:

ARCHOO!

Viruses, unlike bacteria, are smart little suckers.  Most bacteria tend to die off outside the body in a matter of seconds if there is no food source or the environment isn't conducive to staying alive.  Many viruses, however, can survive outside the body much longer than bacteria - up to 14 hours he was saying.  Which means, if a bloke with a bacterial infection sneezes on your clean, dry table, the bacteria will likely die soon after and anyone else putting his hand on the table and then rubbing his eye or picking his nose won't get the infection.  However, if that bloke has a viral infection, sneezes on the table and you practice the bad human habits previously mentioned after laying your hand on the table anytime within the survival period of the virus which, as previously stated, is quite a while, you will get the virus.  And if you aren't particularly healthy or are susceptible to viral infection, you will get sick.  Lovely.

Viruses, he said, are also able to mutate very quickly (a matter of hours in some cases, apparently) into some other form and scientists haven't yet figured out how to preempt what form a mutating virus might take.  Added to that, for most viral infections there is no anti-viral medication.  So even if we could guess the change, we probably couldn't do anything about it, anyway.  Once we've caught a viral infection, all we can do is relieve symptoms and support our immune system as it attempts to deal with the problem greebly.

In order to not catch viruses, we have to start paying attention to our human behavior.  Which means a couple of basic things really - washing hands and cleaning stuff.  

The single most important thing you can do to prevent the spread of disease is to wash your hands regularly - before, and especially after, touching anyone else or anything that someone else has touched (or coughed and sneezed on).  ( It's amazing how many things people actually touch in the course of a day - I attempted to take note this morning, till the exercise got boring and I gave up - my stickability issues run deep!)  If you do touch someone else or something touched by others then: 

Don't pick your nose.
Don't rub your eyes.
Don't eat with your fingers...
- not until you've washed your hands! 

Of course, staying out of breathing, coughing or sneezing range of coughing, sneezing, heavy breathing types is also a good idea.  Wearing a mask as a barrier to picking up air-borne coughed a sneezed things wouldn't hurt at all, though people may look at you like you're an over-reacting hypochondriac - that is until they get sick and you are not!  

If you are the coughing and sneezing type, stay home, in bed, away from other people!
If you insist on subjecting friends, family and the general public to your presence, have plenty of tissues, or wear a mask, into which you can cough, sneeze or heavily breathe.   Wash your hands regularly - especially after coughing or sneezing into them because you didn't buy a mask or bring a tissue! 

And stay away from camels! 

Obviously my doctor and I were having a fine old chat and these fairly simple precautions aren't new nor are they rocket science, but they should reduce the risk of catching MERS CoV or any other nasty bug for that matter, said my Doctor.  

It seems the messages he was passing on to me, or something along similar lines, is now going to be spread throughout the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia courtesy of the new Minister of Health.   And I think he will be talking to a population prepared to listen.  One friend told me of weddings that have been down sized due to concern about MERS and my husband sent through this little diagram he had received from his office...

Of course the government is in a bit of a quandary what to do about the Hajj and Umrah pilgrimages.  Masses of people gathering in one place is like a viral hoe down.  Though the Chinese say they may have unearthed a discovery that my lead to treatment, my guess is the cure is a ways off yet, so the Great Saudi MERS Coronavirus Malady gets to live on a while longer yet.

Ka Kite,
Kiwi

Localizer Mall Make Over

Localizer Mall looks like it's had a bit of a make over of late, and I have to say, it's quite nice.  The Localizer used to be known as 'the mans mall' because it had a range of shops that catered to blokes fashion.  After all, in a city full of women's fashion malls and boutiques that a male alone was discouraged from entering, where was a bloke to shop?   Up until recently, Localizer was the answer.  The new set up, however, seems to be steering away from blokes and toward women and kids. (Sorry guys!)

A new HiKids toy and candy shop has opened up and if I had set foot in it there may be a review of sorts here, but I was searching for something else, so steered clear of it.  With a Sands play area downstairs and the In Motion Exergame center for kids on the first floor (sorry about the Facebook link for you non-FB'ers, though I find it hard to believe any of those exist, but the Exergamers don't have a website!), the Localizer is starting to look like a place to bring your children for some fun activity and then go shopping.

The food court appears to have come under the paintbrush too, though given that I've never actually eaten there I may have been dreaming this point.  But with Lavazza cafe making an appearance (a bit of competition for Second Cup), and few healthier looking options competing with fast food joints, it's starting to look good.  Or maybe it was just because the singles section has been opened up making the place look more spacious and relaxed, while the family dining area has been moved off to the side (though it doesn't feel completely closed in) and has a small play ground for toddlers.

My trip to Localizer Mall was to check out the Family Running Track they were advertising upstairs.  This was my second attempt at using it - the first time the lift was under repair and I couldn't find any stairs.  Stairs would be a good warm up for a walking track I would've thought, but anyway....  Being a Blokes Mall, the Localizer has a Men Only gym within, and the running track used to circle the entire top floor (so I was told) specifically for them.  It used to rile me that women didn't have the same facilities.  Well, we may not have the gym there yet, but it looks like they've cut the running track in half so both genders can enjoy some much needed exercise.  And today, I was the only one there.

On the walls as you exit the lift onto the second floor are some large and colorful walking action shots to put you in the mood, plus a compilation of the benefits of walking just 30 minutes a day and a list of rules.  (At least I presume that's what they are, cos they're in Arabic).  There are three lanes on the track, suggesting you should bring friends, and arrows indicate the direction you should walk (for busy times I'm supposing).

The area is quite bright and a screen of plastic green foliage, complete with pink and blue rose buds, decorates the track as well as keeping prying eyes from seeing in should they ever look up from the mall floor below.  And for those who get a little worn from the exercise, there's some lovely seating on fake grass with the relaxing trickle of water features nearby so you can catch your breath.

It only took a couple of minutes to circle the track which is another way of saying it's not a huge, but in the summer when the it gets too hot to be walking outdoors, this track may get a lot more use for those wanting to keep up some form of walking exercise.

Though some may consider the walking track a waste of space (Why? I don't know...!), I think Big Ups to management of the Localizer Mall for making this area available for women (although it says 'Family Running Track, I'm guessing it's actually targeting women).  In fact, if you can afford to send your little tackers (children) to Extreme Motion, instead of sitting in the viewing lounge watching your kids going through the program  you could race upstairs and get your own exercise in!

Then you could all go to Lavazza for coffee.
I did.  Nice.
That's probably one of the drawbacks of having the Localizer Mall walking track right above the Food Hall!



Ka Kite,
Kiwi

The Waiting Room Instructoress

LADIES WAITING ROOM

Have you ever come across the Waiting Room Instructoress?
I find her a fascinating, mysterious woman.
She is found in the female waiting area of doctors clinics or hospitals.  One might think she wields a great deal of power and influence though, having come across her often enough, I believe she has a naughty, mischievous streak that encourages her to play with social practices, choosing which she will adhere to on any given day, and which she will ignore.

The Saudi Instructoress waits till the time is right before making her play.  Usually it's while there are only two of us present (myself and she), in the female section of the doctors waiting area.  She will call out to her husband, older son or whatever significant male is waiting just over the barrier in the men's waiting section.  He will hear the call, make his way to the ladies waiting area and, standing an acceptable distance outside its boundary, await instructions from her re:whatever they need instructing about.

The Saudi Instructoress beckons him in.
He hesitates.
He looks round the corner of the barrier.
Words are exchanged.
Her eyes (if uncovered) flicker towards me.  If covered, a silence descends on the waiting area and the slightest movement of her head lets me know she's looking in my direction.
The male just outside the waiting area is always cautious initially.

He steps a little closer, looks in, sees me reading.
If I look up and meet his eyes, sometimes with an 'Is there a problem' look, other times a quick 'I Can see you lookin' at me' glance, though more often than not these days with the beginnings of an 'I know we're both pulling your chain' smile beginning to lift the corner of my mouth, he hesitates.

More words are exchanged and then, at the insistent tone of his elder, who is presumably saying 'Don't Worry About Her' (the Waiting Room Instructoress is always older and usually has walking issues), he steps slowly into forbidden territory to receive her directions.

I don't mind.
It doesn't bother me.
It's a bit of humour in my day.  Or if I'm not feeling humourous, it's always a good time to ponder the ins and outs of living a Saudi life.

Once he is treading the Waiting Room carpet, I usually leave my reading long enough to smile at the lady in need of extra assistance, then I might also smile upon said male who sometimes smiles back, other times looks anywhere but at me, or acts like a possum caught in headlights and pauses, for the briefest moment, before focusing on the Instructoress and his task at hand.  I simply return to my book (it's always a good idea to take a book to the hospital, especially for later in the day appointments).

Obviously these women have reached a stage in life, perhaps the wisdom of age, where they feel the rules of the land are a bit silly and should be flouted, and men made to feel uncomfortable, whenever it suits their needs.   Either that or they think infidel me has already gone to hell and there is no saving me.  (Maybe she's right!).

Once or twice I have contemplated engaging the Instructoress.  I would love to get inside her head and see what she is really thinking.  But she is, more often than not, fully covered and seated just far enough away to make starting a conversation a little awkward, hence turning me into the 'Waiting Room Conversation Starting Weirdo'.  Plus, being older, I'm not sure how much English she would speak and I'm ashamed to say that my erratic efforts studying Arabic have not yet made me anywhere near fluent.

So, I am left to imagine who she is, what she thinks and why she's leading men onto the Waiting Room path to hell.  Yes, the Waiting Room Instructoress continues to amuse and mystify me, but I think I like her.




Ka Kite,
Kiwi

Medical Misadventure in Saudi Arabia

Medical Misadventure.
I love that term.
It sounds so...oooooo.  Like Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde, body part smugglers and morgue miscreants!
The definition of the term is worded with far less deviant excitement - 'Medical Misadventure', according to insurance blurb, 'is personal injury caused by medical error or mishap'.  Lately, there seems to have been a lot of medical misadventure in Saudi Arabia.

A number of stories in the papers over the last few months tend to indicate that the standard of care in Saudi hospitals is a bit questionable.  A girl being given HIV tainted blood, a teen dying after simple surgery from an allergy to antibiotics, fake doctors being hired, a child being given chemotherapy by accident and, the latest, surgical tools left in a woman after a cesarean section and a baby with a dummy taped to his mouth.  These  events, though shocking, are hardly surprising say a few nurses I know, who often comment on how things have been changing in Saudi hospitals over the last couple of years.  And not necessarily in a good way.

They feel there has been a push, lately, to get rid of western nursing and practitioner staff from many hospitals largely, presume the ladies I know, for cost cutting and Saudization reasons.

It seems a bit of an oxymoron to say Saudi Arabia has to cut costs.  Saudi is generally viewed, out in Average Joe West, as the richest country in the world - all that oil money lining the streets, (and funding questionable activities), is also presumed to provide the best health care (well, top of the line equipment anyways) along with its high paying nursing jobs.

But Saudi is entering a new age.
And cost cutting in the health system appears to be the new buzz.
Though I get the impression that cost cutting here is not out of need, like in good ol' NZ where we aren't rich (even though we had a boat recently competing in an event only three countries in the world can afford to be in!)  Cost cutting here is more about making money for the blokes at the top of the 'I Own A Hospital' pie.

Anyway....
Western nurses cost more, so for purely accounting purposes it makes sense to limit their numbers.
However, with the cancelled contracts of western nursing staff is going quality care, and it's being replace by attitude.

According to my friends, life in Saudi hospitals currently goes something like this, generally speaking:
The trend for the new breed of nurses coming out of Saudi medical schools is to be choosy about their working hours, the patients they will care for and the jobs they will, and definitely won't, do!

The trend for the new breed of doctor taking up positions in Saudi is to want hand maidens who will idolize, pander to and generally treat doctors like god's gift to medical science, but never question them.  Those doctors who have spent a large amount of time (note: LARGE amount of time) training, interning and working in the West tend to be better doctors say my friends.

The trend for western nurses is to question everything - they were trained that way, and, as you can imagine, they get on the wick of doctors who want nurses meek and mild.  Other ethnicity's can't afford to rock the boat, so don't.  Plus they become so used to the handmaiden role here in Saudi that critical thinking skills, if they ever had them, are lost in the mists of time in.  Truly, I've seen it.  My current doctor who worked in the UK for 20 years prior to moving here, was attempting to train the attending nurse (as you do) by discussing my symptoms and asking her basic questions.  The shock of having to participate in something more in-depth than taking my blood pressure or handing me a referral slip was too much and she sat motionless on her stool with big round eyes making 'Ahhh, Uh' noises and looking like a stunned mullet!  The doc looks at me, puts his hands on the desk, heaves a sigh and, shaking his head, says in the tone of a man watching mold grow on bread, 'She knows nothing!' I got the impression he was finding adjusting to this country's quirky ways a tad difficult.

Anyway, I'm wondering where in this melee of personalities and posturing and politics is concern for the patient?

Here's a story:

The western nurse has prepared the room for a medical procedure.  The doctor enters and the nurse steps aside indicating the prepared equipment.  The doctor says something along the lines of 'I don't need all that' and begins the procedure without even putting gloves on. (The procedure is a lumbar puncture folks, not putting band aid on scratched knees!)  The nurse cajoles the doctor into using standard aseptic technique.  The doctor grudgingly does so.

The doctor thinks the nurse is 'too fussy' and likes to say so every time they have to work together. 

Says the nurse to me, when wanting to dump her frustrations about the declining standards she's noticed over the last year or so in the hospital, 'These are doctors and I have to treat them like children to get them to do basic things properly.  They just don't care!, she says'.

'And do you know what', she added, 'this same doctor had a family member come in for a procedure and insisted that I be the assistant because she knew I'd make sure the attending doctor did things correctly'

With the country building new hospitals and medical centers around the country, there is a huge need for medical staff, preferably well trained.  But Saudi seems to be taking all comers at the moment and with that comes the risk of getting medical staff whose professionalism in the job is questionable.  If things aren't taken into hand soon, say the nurses I know, more lives will be lost or patients injured unnecessarily in Saudi Arabia from very preventable medical misadventure.




Ka Kite,
Kiwi

Someone Doesn't Care About The Health Message.

There was an article in today's Arab News (aka The Green Truth) about removing school canteens and only having vending machines to provide students with food.  I have to admit, it triggered my pessimistic tendencies.  Either someone higher up the food chain in this country has no idea about Saudi's dietary related health issues, or is simply choosing to ignore recent health data and messages calling for improved health of the people.

Almost every week in the Arab News, and most other media in Saudi, are articles on how fat and unhealthy Saudi's are becoming from lack of exercise and Western dietary influences.  Along with those articles come government promises to 'do something about it'.

To their credit they have made various moves to address the problem, one strategy being specifying the type of food to come out of school canteens.

'Why on earth', I thought, 'would you go to the trouble of banning unhealthy food in school canteens and then decide to kit the whole place out with vending machines?'  And then it hit me.  Because you can - and in this country the only people who can do whatever they want are those near the top of the Saudi tree. ( It's interesting that Saudi tree's are covered in thorns!)

Camel hiding behind thorny Saudi shrubbery.

I couldn't help thinking that Someone Highly Placed has found a way to make some cash and is his using his influence to ride roughshod over any initiatives put in place to really help his countrymen (even if they are only school kids), and is only focused on  helping him (or perhaps her) self.  And then I came across this article, also in Arab News late last year, about Vending Machine Distribution Agreement.  One can't help but wonder if these are the machines going into schools.

Saudi is a fascinating country and, contrary to a lot of the taunting press that goes viral via social websites, the folks running the place are not giant ignoramuses. They do, however, face a bit of a battle with some entrenched attitudes, some more recently wired into the psyche than others.

Wasta is a word bandied about in this region and, in a nutshell, it means 'Influence'.  It can be used for good purposes or otherwise.  Within its powerful sphere hide greed, arrogance and selfishness, traits that seem to be an accepted part of the culture of this country.  It is quite obvious to anyone who's lived here a little while that the only people able to influence two Ministries (Health and Education according to this article) are those with lots of Wasta.

Watching the rapidly expanding girth of the people over the last few years, the big wigs are well aware that the health of this nation is a bit of an issue.    They're building numerous hospitals and health clinics to assist the cause but, as someone who has worked in the health arena for a while knows, hospitals are like the ambulance at the bottom of the cliff.  A better idea is to keep people away from the cliff's edge altogether.  Vending machines in schools is like giving the cliff a party sign and sending out invitations.

I hope they can this plan. I hope Miss Pessimism is completely wrong and can go back to her corner.  I also hope that someone higher up the hierarchy chain decides he cares more about the health of his people than some bugger who's bought a boatload of vending machines and needs to get rid of them!

And if, as a friend suggested yesterday, Saudization is part of this plan (though lord knows how because sacking canteen workers and replacing them with machines doesn't strike me as helping the cause) then perhaps The Powers That Be could look at 'Kid Chow', one of a number of prepared food companies experiencing some healthy growth, according to the Wall Street Journal, and take a leaf out of their lunchbox menu for a business idea.


Ka Kite,
Kiwi

Dentist in Riyadh

My grandson told me I should go back to my dentist in Riyadh to get my teeth straight like his Dad did.  Aren't kids brutally honest!

Fortunately we have found a dentist that we're quite comfortable with, here in Riyadh.  How did we find her?  Asking around.  Currently, the internet is a notoriously bad place for expats to try and find services in Saudi Arabia as companies here don't yet fully comprehend how effective it is for drumming up business.

Most expats head to forums to find answers to the question, "Who is the best dentist in Riyadh?" Surprisingly, there is a range of answers which bodes well for the number and quality of dental services in the city.

Even with fellow expat recommendations, choosing a health care practitioner is a personal thing and a number of factors contribute to your choice.  Unfortunately, human nature as it is, dentists do not come in a 'one size fits all' box.  If you are looking for a dentist, then, as a starting point, check out this list of dental clinics as recommended to me by fellow expats, though don't take these names as gospel and undertake your own research to assist your decision making.

Of course, all the research in the world cannot replace experience as a good teacher.

I admit to being a little apprehensive about my first visit to a dentist in Saudi.  My fear centered mainly on how good the dentists are in this country.    Dental surgeries, or Murder Houses as we used to call them in my childhood, are scary places at the best of times.  Anxiety over 'Weet Bix' qualifications that exist throughout the Middle East and Saudi doesn't help the fear.  But the pain in my teeth meant I couldn't put my visit off.

Christine who works out of GAMMA Dental was recommended to Hubster when he required dental services for a broken tooth soon after his arrival in Riyadh.   He told me she was a great operator and a lovely lady.  Taking courage from his words, into the dental den I ventured.

Snoozing in the dental chair is not something I've ever done before but, I was so happy with how Christine works that I fell asleep in the chair, mouth wide open and started snoring.  How is that for a recommendation!

Our hygienist, however, does not work for the same dental company as our dentist.  Admittedly she is a friend and fellow Kiwi but she is also a very good at her job, probably because she's passionate about it.   She was telling us the difference between a good hygienist and one not giving you top notch service.  Based on this information it was obvious the dental hygienists I was seeing previously were a bit of a rip off. 

The hygienists I've come across in Riyadh (and ok that amounts to two people) are reliant on the latest technology.  They give a quick whizz around with the scaling machine and they're done.  My preference, now I'm knowledgeable about the work of dental hygienists, is not to pay for 'a quick whizz around.' 

A good dental hygienist will, so I've been told, perform scaling by hand.  The electric or ultrasound scaler is supposed to assist cleaning for best results.  If your hygienist doesn't manual scale when scaling is what is called for, you're not paying for the best professional clean you can get.

To find out how a real hygienist does her job, visit Louise at SIGAL dental corner of Thalatheen and Dabaab St.   

And that is how expats find a dentist, and hygienist  in Riyadh - expat recommendations.  If you have any other recommendations for dentists or hygienists in Riyadh, feel free to let us know.


Ka Kite,
Kiwi

Hubster Needs Surgery

Hubster needs surgery.
We discovered, while getting ourselves a physical warrant of fitness, that he's not in the best of health.  Hardly surprising given he works constantly and any thoughts of doing all those things one is supposed to do to take care of ones self are just that.  Thoughts.

So he's having his surgery here at home, in NZ.
Why?

Two main reasons.  First his issue was diagnosed while back home in NZ for a working holiday, which means I holiday, he works.  His jobs allows him to work remotely for short stints, so instead of being up till the wee small hours in Saudi, he is up till the wee small hours in NZ, tapping away at his computer.  Anyway, he's figured seeing as his health issues were found here, he'll stay and get them sorted.

Second, he just doesn't have enough faith that surgeons in Saudi will do the best possible job. 

This may be unfair, however, one does wonder at the skill level of health operators in Saudi when its leaders obviously have so little faith in the services of their own country they think it best to seek surgery outside the Kingdom.  Of course, said leaders tend to prefer the United States for their health care.
We're happy with the skills in NZ.

Having surgery outside of Riyadh does have it's issues, mainly regarding insurance.  As per the local Saudi employment law Hubsters employer has registered him with their health insurance company of choice.  Though said company has an office in New Zealand they don't process surgery claims so our insurance issues must be dealt with by the Saudi office.

Hubster duly relayed this message to his workplace and one of the secretaries has been attempting to get some action from the Saudi health insurance branch.  The Secretary's efforts have been hampered by two things - Ramadan and Eid.   Basically Saudi has come out of a month of forced slow down (Ramadan) into a holiday (Eid). 

Getting excellent customer service in Saudi can be a stretch at normal times of the year.  Most experienced Saudi expats consider attempting to get anything done during the holidays an exercise in early hairloss.  We were not going to be deterred (Hubsters health status didn't really give us much choice), though that decision did require lots of deep breathing and patience affirmations. 

As the Insurance Office in Saudi were dragging their heels regarding Hubsters health insurance we decided to phone the company HQ in London.  They told us, very nicely I might add after finding out what, if anything, they could do, 'you must deal with this through the Saudi office' though they also said something about 'looking into the problems we were experiencing'.

After more phone calls and emails and, in complete frustration, filling out the complaint form on the Saudi insurance company website with something that could be construed as less than constructive criticism and finally a response arrives with vague wording that leaves us wondering exactly what they mean.

Read one way their response could mean we are in luck and they are prepared to play ball and cover Hubsters surgery upfront.  Read another way and it sounds as though we have to pay for the surgery ourselves and can claim back later.  The only thing they were definite about was to "expect a huge shortfall".  Isn't that comforting.
 

Fortunately for us the Credit Contral lady at our hospital of choice in NZ has a great deal of experience with overseas insurance and we have worked out a satisfactory arrangement so Hubster will get the surgery he needs.  (He is, in fact, in the recovery room as I type this).

We have learnt numerous lessons from Hubsters Health Saga, first and foremost being look after your health with a balanced work/life ratio.  Not doing so is costly and stressful in the long run and can lead to having bits chopped out that you'd rather not.

And if , like Hubster, you expect your health insurance company in Saudi to be on the ball try your best not to require your urgent surgery over a Saudi holiday.


Ka Kite,
Kiwi

Medicated at Last!

It took a while but I'm medicated at last!
I also had to leave the country to get my meds.  Here's what happened...

After sending forth Hubster and Mr Noor to every pharmacy in Riyadh and every hospital it was determined there was no carbimozole to be found in the city.  Friends going to Bahrain were asked if they could find something there - but no luck.  Hubsters boss even had Dubai on the search.

My situation was beginning to look grave.  Without meds my metabolism tends to speed itself up which is fab on one hand - I loose weight real fast.  The affect on my heart, however, is kinda scary.  That rather important organ is fooled into thinking I'm running a marathon at record pace and beats rapidly even though I'm sitting down.  One can get quite tired running marathons.

 

Every now and then my heart must also imagine itself an Olympic high jumper and attempts to leap out of my chest only to whack with a THUD into my ribs.  Not happy with it's failure it will, just prior to its next thudding leap, falter, for just a second, before galloping once more toward its target with yet another great THUD!  I have to appreciate it's persistance - it does this often.

Lying down and deep breathing at this point is highly recommended.

Either that or beta blocker drugs.

Photo credit:

A visit to hospital was required because I had to find something to get my body back under control.  We made an appointment with the resident endocrinologist of the hospital and that afternoon set off to further my mission of finding meds.

Dr Endocrinologist is told the story of disappearing meds.
He nods his head.
I'm not sure he actually grasps the situation.  I wonder if that has something to do with the language issue.  My attempts to learn Arabic lack consistency so using it is pointless.  He speaks English with an accent that requires me to ask, 'Can you repeat that'. 

He also initially speaks directly to Hubster as if I'm not there.  It's a comical three way conversation and it occurs to me that this is what happens when you aren't supposed to look at women.  He asks Hubster a question about me.  Hubster actually turns and asks me.  I reply wondering what the hell Hubster is doing falling in to this pattern of interview.  He repeats the reply to Dr E.

At some point I figure this dynamic is just a bit silly and being treated as non-existant is just grating so cut out the middle man.  Dr E tries hard to remember to swivel his head in my direction in an attempt to include me in further conversation.  Near the end of our appointment he was getting there.

He wants to do tests to find out my situation.
Fair enough.
He didn't want to give me any medication till the results were in.
Huge deflating sigh.  Another night of heart gymnastics.

The process for undertaking said tests in our Saudi hospital of choice was very smooth and cannot be faulted.  Everything was done in one afternoon.  (Not having been to a hospital in Saudi for some time it was nice to see the number of Saudi women currently employed there).

Next morning, bright and early into Dr Endocrinologist we went.
'You're severely hyperthyrroid', he says.
'Yes', I said.  'I know.  Can I have some drugs now?'

Some discussion is undertaken regarding my condition all of which I sit through patiently.
Then he gets down to business.
Meds.

He looks through his computer.
Oh look, he says, the pharmacy does have carbimazole.
No it doesn't, we respond.
But it says so on the computer
We've already been there and it doesn't.
But it's on the computer.  Why would it be on the computer if they don't have it.
They usually stock it but they have run out, we say.
I'll write you a script because the computer says they must have it.
(Unfortunately the script does not include a beta blocker).

We look at each other.
'Maybe the pharmacy has it in stock only for patients?', we confer to each other.
Hubster heads off to the pharmacy while I look for the nearest comfortable seat.  Being up as long as I have is wearing me out.

Ten minutes later we are back to Dr Endocrinologist.
He is in disbelief.  The medication is on the computer!
We suggest he rings the pharmacy.
He does.

That discussion results in him understanding a number of things.  There is no carbimazole in the hospital pharmacy.  They suggest we try another hospital.  We tell him we've already been there and done that with no luck.  He decides to use an alternative medication and is told by the man at the end of the phone line that the pharmacy doesn't stock the alternative option either.

Hubster is getting tetchy.
Intervention for his blood pressure is required.

Can you give me the name of the medication and I'll ask around other places for it, I say.
We head off with the name written on a piece of paper.  And a script for a beta blocker because there is no way I was leaving without some form of medication!
 
A few phone calls later our search is rewarded when a fellow Kiwi and friend calls us back.  She works in one of the  hospitals.  Yes she says, the pharmacy has your alternative meds.  Hubster heads off to claim our prize.  I'm exhausted and go home for a lie down.

It turns out I get enough meds to last two weeks.
Though Dr Endocrinologist had written a script he failed to write how much of the stuff I'd need.
Two weeks suited me fine.  I figured if those at the top of the Saudi heirarchy feel it best to leave their country to receive excellent medical care (and one can see why), so am I.

So I'm back in NZ seeing everyone I need to see to get medicated properly and get my health back on track.