Sawàt dii kâ. Our saga continues...
So, Dayna's doctor apparently had some extra time on his hands, so he moved her treatment schedule up. That means we missed out on some of the planned sight-seeing. I say "we" because Dayna had this obsession with the idea that even though she was the one stuck in bed I should also experience the same restrictions.
Just in case I didn't have a life and needed something else to fill the gap.
First, Dayna was restricted to the hotel room. I stayed there because she was stuck there. We watched movies, mostly, although she also spent some time on the Internet.
I should mention at this point that I brought a laptop and she didn't.
Anyway, so the next day, Dayna and I hopped into a car driven by the man who drove us from the airport and we went to the hospital. Apparently, checking in is a long, complicated process. I didn't know this, since the last time I checked into a hospital I was blasted out of my mind by pain and bloodborn toxins, and later by morphine.
The hospital was the Piyavate Hospital, a private hospital in west-central Bangkok (teehee). I'm pretty sure I didn't see a single Thai patient there. Not that the hospital doesn't welcome Thais, but it was so crowded with patients from all over the world. Mostly, they seemed to come from Arabic countries.
In the room, I was helping Dayna get ready. By "helping Dayna get ready", I mean she was in the bathroom, changing into an open-backed gown and I was standing outside the bathroom door, telling her all the things that could possibly go wrong.
As I said before, Revenge Will Be Mine!
Anyway, I helped Dayna get ready, and Oatmeal took a little nap. Poor thing, he was apparently as tired as I was.
Dayna climbed into bed, went though the joys of being poked (IV) and shaved ("I've never been shaved there before") and prepped for surgery. After the fun part was over, we were waiting in the room, and Dayna was making vague threats about what was going to happen to Oatmeal, and in walked.... HER.
Her name is... Well, I won't print her name here. Let's call her Floozy Q. Floozy was an American who was there for some plastic surgery and a boob job. She had seen that there was an American in our room, and she was so starved for some fluent English that she came to see us. And to show us her boobs.
Dayna was wheeled off to surgery, so I did what any worried friend or relative would do... I grabbed my camera and started walking to the hotel. By "started walking to the hotel", I mean I walked outside, took a left (general direction of the hotel) and started walking. And promptly became lost.
You laugh, but that's how you really see a foreign city.
I walked for hours, saw the ghettoist parts of Bangkok (teehee), was flirted with by a 90-year-old man with two teeth (EWWWWEEEE!) and lost roughtly fourteen pounds in water weight. It was fun. Eventually, I grew tired and wanted to get back to the hotel. So, considering that I was completely lost, couldn't see the hotel or anything I recognized, and couldn't find myself on a map, I did what any Seasoned Traveler would do.... I took a cab.
I'm clever that way.
At the hotel, I dined on some Spicy Thai (still not as spicy as I would have thought) and called Dayna's parents. I also picked up the room a bit, because Dayna does for slobs what Tiger Woods does for miniature golf. No, really... When we first arrived at the hotel, I selected half the closet and hung up my clothes. She selected the other half of the closet, threw her garbage from the flight on the closet floor, and then (literally) dumped her suitcases on the floor in the middle of the room. I sent some dirty laundry down to be laundered (Dayna's paying for the room, so I'm generous and spare no expense), and I noticed that Oatmeal was kinda rank, so I sent him down, too.
When the laundry came back, every item was individually shrink-wrapped. Every sock, every pair of panties... every teddy bear.
The next day, I went back to the hospital. By cab, this time. I was still tired from the walk, and was convinced that I didn't actually know the route from the hotel to the hospital. I found Dayna asleep in her room, so I went to the next room to visit our new friend Yvanna.
She's the one on the left. Yvanna is from Suriname, a Dutch-language country next to Brazil. Yes, that Yvanna. I met her at the hotel. She saw me and asked, "Are you a patient of Doctor Chettawat?" I wasn't, but that started a conversation, and we became close friends. I do that sometimes, but only with someone I can really relate to. I was able to relate to Yvanna. Her surgery was scheduled for the day after Dayna's, so she was in the hospital awaiting her time. I went over and spent some time with her. While we were chatting, her mother came in and met me for the first time. She asked, "Are you here to see Doctor Chettawat?" While I was visiting with them, Floozy came by and showed them her new boobs. Pictures were taken.
Later, Yvanna was prepped for surgery, and I went downstairs for some lunch with Floozy Q. We chatted about not much in particular, and she commented that I'm quite a good friend.
Yes. Yes, I am.
When Dayna awoke, she told me that she didn't want me to leave her alone. To clarify, she didn't say that she would prefer that I spend time with her. She told me that she didn't want me going back to the hotel without her, nor going downstairs to eat. She even told me at one point she didn't want me going to the bathroom.
Now, I'm a very good friend. But she was expected to be there for a week. Yeah, I'm not that good a friend.
So I spent a few days at the hospital. Dayna couldn't use her arms, even just to feed herself, so I had to help her out. This meant getting about two hours' sleep total, between feeding her, giving her water, calling the nurses, cleaning her, holding her hand (she has no pain tolerance), calling her parents, and did I mention cleaning her up? She basically did nothing all day every day, except watch me, waiting for me to fall asleep so that she could awaken me.
On the last day there, I heard about another American, so I went with Floozy to see her and show her Floozy's boobs. She (the new girl, not Floozy) was a nice lady from San Francisco who was here for some minor procedure. We chatted a while, during which she asked me, "Are you here for Doctor Chettawat?"
Why do people keep asking me that?
Anyway, so Dayna and I came back to the hotel. Dayna wanted to watch some movies, so she opened up the folder with her DVD collection. I was tired, so when her back was turned I hit her over the head with my tripod, so I could get some sleep.
That's all for now. I'll write again really soon. For now, Dayna's whining about wanting to use my computer.