At your service

26th June 2022

Despite thinking that this week might have seen me starring again (well, either me or the weather, that continued to hit the mid 30s every day), Stephen has managed to make it all about him again – though ending up in an ambulance and being, if not exactly rushed, at least taken apace to Pronto Soccorso in Fermo did smack of desperation to steal the limelight. But more of that, and the reassuring conclusion, later.

After his weekend away, it was lunchtime on Monday before Stephen made it back home. He might have been earlier if not for two things: (a) while he was up and organised, his chalet mates for the weekend adopted a very casual Italian attitude to the 9 am check out time, waving a hand airily at the idea but eventually shaping up; (b) Luca’s inability to back his car out of its parking space, partly because it was in an awkward position thanks to the way others had parked, but mainly because, while he had his reversing camera to help, people passing stopped to offer guidance at odds with both the visual display and each other, which didn’t really help.

It was back to work for him in the afternoon, though maybe not in the same way for very much longer. He spent some time at the factory, working on the shoes for his British client, to whom, as I mooted last week, I am going to give an alias. In the tradition of hurricane naming, I will start at the beginning of the alphabet so this particular UK customer will now be called Archibald. Anyway, before he left for the evening, Stephen had to break the news to the Carellis that he would no longer be in a position to help them generally; he would only be involved with Archibald’s shoes. This caused, as you might imagine, a bit of a shocked response, but seeing as the offer he has had from (let’s call him) Bertrando to help him develop his customer base and product line was too good to pass up, it was a case of ciao, e grazie per i pesci.

Wednesday morning saw Stephen’s first visit to his new office, if you don’t count the previous ones where he and Bertrando were chewing over the possibility and honing a few details. This was not his first day proper, that is not till the beginning of July, but as he was not home till 12.30 due to an international conference call (or something like that) he was obviously getting his feet under the table – or, more precisely, his very own desk. And if that were not enough, there was even talk of him having a dedicated email address for the business. This all sounds a bit too organised and professional to be true, or, if you prefer, to be the shoe business in Le Marche.

Come Thursday and it was my one brief time in the limelight when I had my follow up appointment with the nice Dr Scorolli at his consulting rooms in Civitanova. This all went, I’m pleased to say, very well – once we got past the problem of the contact lens in my left eye. In my ignorance, I thought it was just to make sure all was well with my right eye, which, since the operation, has been working under its own steam. I was a little nonplussed, therefore, when the Dr’s nice assistant called me and sat me down at one of his machines, the one that blows a puff of air into your eye. That seemed to go ok but when we he took me into the room where they do the eye test and he discovered, when I sat at another machine, that I had a lens in my left eye.

This is where it got a little complicated, as thinking it was for my right eye I had not brought anything lens related with me, but as I needed to take it out for the examination, the nice assistant had to go in search of something. He eventually returned with a lens case (rather a large one, comparatively speaking), which he filled with solution from some small phials. These, he stressed, didn’t contain a sterile liquid and I would need to sterilise the lens when I got home with my normal solution before using it.

That little hiccup sorted, and with profuse apologies on my part, the rest of the appointment went smoothly. I was delighted, as you can imagine, to be able to read the small letters of the eye test (with the aid of a lens, of course), and not only were they clear but also stable and not reproducing themselves as I looked at them. When he passed me over to Dr S himself, everything there was fine too. After examining me, he said that it was still too early to operate on the left eye, and it would probably be another two years before that was ripe, but to come back in February next year just to see how things were.

The all clear from the good doctor was a green light to see about new lenses at the opticians in Corridonia (which we combined with a trip, beforehand, to Risparmio Casa to stock up on cleaning materials – could the day get any better?) After choosing some new sunglasses (yes, it did just get better), the optician checked me with the new prescription using those metal frames, and asked me to walk about a bit to make sure that I was not going to fall over and that the two eyes were working in harmony. He then managed to find in his collection of contact lenses the right one for me, and when I put it in it was like a whole new world (better and still better). After several years of things becoming increasingly blurry and indistinct, to see them once again in sharp focus was so wonderful. To celebrate, before going home we had a tub of ice cream each from the gelateria next door and ate them sitting outside, where I could appreciate the view down the main street. It might not have been the Piazza San Marco, but it was more than good enough for me.

Before we left the optician, though, there was the matter of new glasses. Contact lenses are ok, but there are those time before you put them in and after you take them out when you need your spectacles. Our original idea, to keep the cost down and because I still like them so much, was to have new lenses put in my current black framed pair. Somehow, I had forgotten to take them with me, which meant a return trip to sort them out – unless, I said to Stephen, we had a look just to see if there was anything. Stupid question, of course there was, and the first pair the optician showed us (and showing why he is so good at his job) were the ones I threw caution to the wind and decided to buy. He did, to give him his due, show me several more pairs of frames, at a more economical price, but sometimes there is a reason why things cost more, and this was one of those times. They are, in shape, not dissimilar to my black ones (being made by the same company) but in a fabulous mustardy colour, and I looked very Italian when I put them on.

And if all that was not enough, the next morning when we were on our usual Friday morning shopping trip, I could again see everything wonderfully – well, not everything, for Stephen wouldn’t let me sit at the side of the table when we had breakfast in Bar del Borgo, which faced the TV, which was just downright mean seeing as I would have been able to actually read the names of the singers and the songs as they came on the screen. Of such small pleasures is life made – or would be if the grinches of this world allowed one to indulge in them.

Still, we should not be unduly kind to Stephen as he has been in the wars somewhat today when he reclaimed the spotlight with a vengeance – as poor Diego in the MSP ambulance found out. Now I have your attention, let me fill in the details.

Stephen was not 100% yesterday, and as the day went on a pain in his back around the kidney area became more uncomfortable – so much so that after dinner he forwent our Saturday night glass of wine in favour of just water. During the night things became worse, with pain in his stomach and the usual unpleasant companions of such, which you really do not need or want me to go into.

Things did not improve in the morning, as after protesting, as he does, that he was fine he eventually conceded, in between staggering to the bathroom, that maybe we needed to do something, so we called Manuel. This was partly prompted by the fact that we couldn’t find the number for the emergency doctor which Stephen said was written in the file, and partly because if anyone knows what to do and how to make it happen, it’s Manuel.

Although he was supposed to be getting ready for a wedding, he phoned up the emergency service, which is in Porto Sant’Elpidio, but the medic was out on a call. He said that he would try again and get back in touch but gave us the number in the meantime. I thought I better get myself in some sort of shape to be seen in public just in case, and while this was going on Manuel was back in touch saying the best thing would be for Stephen to go to the emergency service in PSE, but he would need a negative Covid test first. Taking time from his wedding preparations, I met him at the top of the road and he passed over three self-tests, and during the brief conversation he said that even if the doctor was available, he wouldn’t be able to leave the PSE area, which was a problem as Stephen was in no state to even make it to the car, never mind be driven there without any unpleasant interludes (see below).

When I got back, I administered the test, which was negative, but by this time as Stephen was finding it a bit difficult to breathe, other action was necessary, which to my shame I have to say I should really have done earlier - but you know how we British don’t like to cause a fuss – as the response was wonderful.

I dialled 118, which is the medical emergency number, got through to an operative and explained the situation. After asking a couple of basic details, including our comune, he transferred me to our local area where I repeated the problem and said that yes, we needed an ambulance – which arrived in less than ten minutes, such a fast response time being due to every comune having its own dedicated volunteer paramedic team and ambulance.

Young Diego, who hadn’t been doing the job for very long as Stephen later found out, came in and ran a few basic tests before deciding that Stephen, clad in a hastily grabbed t-shirt and underpants needed to be taken to the Pronto Soccorso (or A&E if you prefer) in Fermo. This was not an easy matter for a couple of reasons. The first was that being really unable to walk to the ambulance, Diego along with the driver and right-hand man, had to put him in a chair to carry him down, before hoisting him onto a trolley which then slid into the back of the ambulance on runners. That, though, was easy compared with what happened next, and those of you who are old hands at this will already be thinking, Oh no, the road!

The ambulance set off with me behind in the Panda, following slowly just in case, and indeed it was the case as the ambulance didn’t quite manage to make it over the steep bit of the road and had to reverse back. I think that the weight of the vehicle didn’t help, but the main problem was that with all the hot weather, the surface of the road had dried out so much that the ambulance couldn’t get a purchase and was just skidding on the scree. The driver tried again, and again, and again, but after the fourth time he realised it just wasn’t going to happen. Unfortunately for Diego, on the third attempt, the driver for some reason stopped part way, waited, then tried to set off again. Unfortunately, as it was just at the point where he was handing Stephen a copious sick bag, but the jolting of the ambulance restarting was not helpful. We won’t go into details; let’s just say that when they eventually got back to base, Diego was going to have quite a bit of cleaning up to do, which was less than the nurse at A&E who took one look at Stephen’s t-shirt, grimaced in distaste and took it away, never for it to be seen again.

To get back to the main plot.

The driver after admitting defeat took the only available course, which was to go up and drag Luigi away from his lunch (it was about 1.15 by this time) and beg the use of the tractor. Somebody had also phoned up the boss, as he arrived during this time, though he could do little than walk round and review the situation. A few minutes later the driver returned, followed soon after by Luigi reversing the tractor down the road. From this point it was easy (!), the ambulance was hooked up, the usual stately procession made its way up the hill, and I was able to catch up with them at the top and follow them (mostly within the speed limit) to Pronto Soccorso in Fermo, where the narrative takes a definite plunge in terms of both detail and excitement.

Obviously, I was not allowed inside the building, and waited, sitting outside under an awning that may or may not have been erected because of you know what, and on a wall mounted folding chair that became increasingly more uncomfortable during the next two and a half hours. Stephen did manage to message me after about ninety minutes, saying that things were in process, and then about an hour later to say that he was waiting for some tests, which would take another couple of hours. He suggested that I should return to LCDDB, as not only would Bella and Harry need to be taken out for their afternoon walk, but if he was going to be able to go home that evening he would need something other than a pair of highly patterned boxer briefs in which to make the journey.

And really there is not a lot to add other than wrap it all up. I took the dogs out, had a drink, some fruit and a couple of biscuits to tide me over, having missed lunch, packed a bag and returned to the Pronto Soccorso. This time I made it past the medical screens, as Stephen heard me talking to the man on the door and called for me to come through. He was, I have to say, not looking at his best but at least he had enough energy to get dressed in the clothes I had taken (tip: if you are ever in a similar situation, don’t assume that the shorts you take from your beloved’s drawer actually fit him, and pack a belt as well) and to walk gingerly to where I had parked the car on the street.

As he was under instructions from the doctor to eat only boiled vegetables and definitely no meat for the next couple of days, we stopped at Girasole, where the supermarket was still open, for provisions but where there was no longer a pharmacy to get his medication. Nor were either of the other two chemists that we tried open. As it was now getting on towards 8.30, we thought it better to head home and leave the prescription for the next morning, for while the drugs that had been administered at A&E were starting to wear off, they were still having enough of an effect to keep us all safe.

As for what they found out at the Pronto Soccorso, it would seem that the problem lies in his intestines, and a section of it that is very inflamed. Presumably, this is the same section where a problem was identified when he had the scan at Macerata all those months ago and which, when he took those results to Dottoressa Sara, she said an endoscopy was needed. We won’t go into why that never happened, but hopefully it won’t be very long before it does – for even Stephen can’t ignore the heavy hint that has been dropped today, if not for his own sake at least for poor Diego’s.

P.S. Stephen says he wants to add how very impressed he is with the Italian emergency services – as well he should be.