It Takes a (global) Village

I have been amazed — and delighted! — at the number of foreign-born doctors, interns, techs, and nurses who have taken care of me. I would have expected a couple (maybe from India?) but they’ve definitely been the majority, not the minority. I’ve been seen by Russians, Iranians, Armenians, South Africans, Lebanese, South Americans, Romanians, Filipinos, Nigerians, Indians … and a few Americans. I love it! As a proud member of the global community (and with a surname like Radosevic!) I was thrilled to be taken care of in such a … universal … way. I couldn’t wait to see which country would next be represented and as soon as a new consult would appear around the curtain I’d excitedly exclaim, “And where are YOU from?”

[Editorial Note: Amidst all the hue and cry for immigration reform, we tend to forget about THESE kinds of immigrants–not that I have a problem with the migrant workers (I mean, *I* wouldn’t want to do back-breaking work all day long under a blazing hot sun for minimum wage, would you?) or other low-end blue-collar workers who, again, are doing menial work most of us wouldn’t care for. But that’s a rant for another time …]

It truly took a (global) village to heal and care for me and for that I’m immensely grateful.

Part of my delight in all this has to do with the accents. I’ve always been a sucker for them! So when the little Russian intern came in and first opened his mouth, I was hooked. Then, he further endeared himself to me by admitting it was his first day. (He also shared a piece of conventional wisdom: don’t ever go to the hospital in July. That’s when all the interns are just beginning their year-long rotation so they don’t know anything yet; and the ones who DO know things have just left. NOW they tell me!!) But what he lacked in experience he made up for in attentiveness, taking careful notes of everything I said because he didn’t want to miss a thing. Darling!

Saturday morning the Armenian surgeon inserted a filter into my inferior vena cava to catch any of the remaining blood clots in my left leg (they found a few) should they decide to break loose. This was a relatively simple procedure that involved a tiny incision in my groin from where they snaked the filter up through my femoral artery. Only took about 15-20 minutes, although prep and post added some time, of course.

That evening, an extremely handsome Latino surgical intern came in to check on me, making sure the incision wasn’t bleeding. He also listening to my lungs and heart (as they ALL do!). Finally, he made a classic rookie mistake. Because he, too, was brand new, he hadn’t yet learned how to properly ask questions. So before leaving he kindly asked, in an adorable accent, “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

I just couldn’t let it pass!

So looking him straight in his beautiful brown eyes and cocking my eyebrow I replied, “Aaaaaanything??”

Bless his heart … his colleague, who was examining my roommate on the other side of the curtain, burst out laughing and said, “Boy, did you leave yourself wide open for that one!” She was laughing, my roommate was laughing, I was laughing, and my poor blushing intern was desperately trying to figure out how to get out of there! I let him hang for another moment or two and then, giving him a wink, said, “No, I think I’m fine … for now.” He breathed a sigh of relief and made a beeline for the door.

I’m guessing he won’t make that mistake again!

And considering all that I’d received from my “village” the last couple of days, I was happy to give back, even in this small, humorous way. I figured it was the least I could do!