Checking out

The big day finally arrived… As Bethlehem was cleaning my room, actually I think I have to stop there. I have not told you about Bethlehem. I’m not talking about the place, but rather the person. And yes, there may be more than one, but this girl is surely THE Bethlehem. What a character.

Having come from Eritrea nine months ago to Sweden she entered my room to clean it one morning about a week ago. The fact that I said hello and started to speak to her almost startled her, but settling quickly she smiled broadly at me. My guess is that not many people make the effort to talk to her at work. And they may be forgiven because her Swedish and English are beyond limited. Somehow we did make friends from that moment on during this week. And despite her limited vocabulary we spoke every morning. And she likes to talk. A lot. And fast! She has told me about how she and her husband came to Sweden as refugees, how she feels so rich now and that she can even send money to her parents every month. She likes to speak a lot about Jesus Christ (she never refers to God I noted, only Jesus Christ). Bethlehem had long monologues about JC and the importance of faith, how it will improve your life and how you will never be lonely. Always with that big smile on her face. But what she for some strange reason liked most to talk about was how much weight she had put on in the last nine months. And she would laugh hysterically as she told me about these 25 kilos. How crazy it was! She just could not understand it. She would laugh even harder when she told me her husband was so skinny, and she in contrast so big. Illustrating this by putting her hands together to show his size and pulling the apart to show hers. But always with that very same big smile and laughing… But enough is enough, now she was going to get back in shape. And you know what, whatever Bethlehem puts her mind to, I’m sure she’ll succeed. And my tip would be not to get in her way! I will miss our odd conversations each morning, I really will…

Which brings me back to the subject of the big day. As she was cleaning my room today the infections specialist (or whatever they are called) came in and declared all tests were finally looking better. She grabbed my arm without really looking at it and in triumph declared victory. I politely pointed out that it didn’t actually look that much better. Almost irritated she looked more closely and then in triumph, with a loud voice once again declared, “but it’s not looking any worse!”. Victory, I guess. And more importantly for my sake it did not hurt as much. As far as she was concerned I could leave today if I pleased. The back surgeon also was ok if I wanted to check out, but suggested I’d be on sick leave for the coming three weeks. Well, that’s not going to happen I thought silently to myself, but agreed. So after the nurse had given me very detailed instructions on how I should live my life in the near future and the physiotherapist had shown me some exercises that would not even had been a challenge if I had been hit by a truck yesterday, I was declared a free man. I waved my good byes to the staff who were already busy caring for other patients, and on my way out, learning how to navigate my crutches in public, I hopped by the pharmacy and claimed my goodie bag. It was filled to the rim with all types of exciting prescription drugs (if this is what they cost over the counter, I don’t even want to image the price tag on the street). However for some very strange reason I felt a bit sad and lonely in the taxi on my way home though. My hospital adventure, regardless of the somewhat horrible experience that it had been, was now over… However, coming home the term "Home, sweet home" got a whole, richer new meaning.

Yes dear bed, you've been missed. Now if I could only
install one of those red buttons that maybe I could
wire down to the restaurant downstairs for 24 h service
at a press of it, then we'd really be set!