Heart to heart

1st May 2022

The number of public holidays (official, quasi-official and because someone in the local Comune or Pro-Loco thinks it’s a good idea) in Italy means that we have a week like this one that has been book-ended by two of them. Monday saw La Festa della Liberazione, while today was ironically Primo Maggio, which, falling on a Sunday, means that for most workers they have had to celebrate their dedicated festa on their day off. Where’s a bridge and a four-day weekend when you need one?

The delayed start to the working week meant that when we arrived at Emotest in Piane di Montegiorgio, even though we went before breakfast and shopping, we had to join a queue of people waiting to go in. The good thing was that it was somewhat shorter than during the height of the pandemic, and the powers that be inside soon stopped calling the green numbers for the Covid test as no one was going in. That left me to wait my turn with my red number, which came in at well under an hour, so not bad really.

And why was I back at Emotest? To begin sorting all the things I need to be allowed to have my eye operated on by the nice oculista, of course. The first step was the obligatory blood analyses, which seems such a routine part of Italian life that I’m surprised we don’t need one for Conad. The filling of the phials (three in all) was efficiently seen to by the pleasant nurse, once I had got past the icy receptionist that is. Stephen, bless him, who was riding shot gun, spent a little more quality time with her as my name was called before we had had time to fix an appointment for the second requirement, a cardiogram. You can only book one in person; you can’t phone up to do it, because that would obviously be far too simple and convenient.

So it was that we were back the next morning – more or less, because while Cardiomed (bet that took ages to think up) was in the same building you had to use a different, side entrance into a discrete clinic. This was a much smoother operation; we arrived in good time for the 10 a.m. appointment, and as we were the only people it wasn’t much after that before we left the building. The nice lady took my details then showed me through to the treatment room, leaving Stephen to look out onto the area behind the building where the horses for the ippodromo were grazing in the morning sunshine. She attached the sensors to my chest, cuffs round my wrists and ankles, switched on the machine and told me to relax and breathe deeply and slowly.

I could have stayed there long enough but after a few minutes I had to get up and make myself respectable. The results, she said, would be ready that afternoon, but as the blood analyses would not be available to the next day it was Thursday afternoon that Stephen, while he was out and about, called by to collect both sets. We then took these to see Sara, the nice doctor (no, we are not on first name terms with her, but that is how we know her as bff Manual, who recommended her, is).

This appointment was for 6 p.m., but it was almost thirty minutes after this time because when the person before us left the consulting room the doctor received a call. She apologised to the waiting room, said that it was something urgent and closed the door. The call went on for some time, but when she was again available and it was our turn, we were outmanoeuvred by a sneaky woman who had gradually made her way round the seats and darted in the moment the door opened. We were not surprised as we had already logged her as one of those ladies of a certain age who always manage to get in before their turn because they just want to ask a quick question and it won’t take long – if you count ten minutes as not long. On this occasion she just popped in without an appointment because she wanted her blood pressure taken – because she didn’t believe her own one at home.

Anyway, after she had slunk out it was our turn. I’m pleased to say that Sara checked the reports and everything was fine, she completed and signed the form required by the hospital to say that I was in a fit state for the operation and also printed out a red card (or ticket as the locals refer to it) which we also have to take with us. She also, indicating the card and the cardiogram, said that these would allow me to engage in sporting activity. I can’t wait.

I don’t want you to think it was all work (or medical appointments) and no play this past week, as on Wednesday we met up in Civitanova with Shoe Marco and Computer Luca for aperitivo and to mark Luca’s birthday, two days earlier. We again went to Gossip, drank wine, ate nibbles and gave Luca his presents. He was particularly pleased with the pen we had bought from Pina the day before, which had a unicorn’s head on the top and a choice of six colours. As Victoria Wood once said, when she was a teenager, she didn't want a boyfriend, she wanted a thirteen-colour biro, which means that Luca only has seven more to go. Colours that is, not boyfriends.