Taking care of business - 05 novembre, 2013

There were two things I worried about accessing in a foreign country, the first was good medical care and the second was a competent hair stylist/colorist. And maybe not necessarily in that order. Well this month I had my first experience with both.

I'll skip over most of the details here, but on a recent Sunday I became painfully aware that I was getting a urinary tract infection. If you are like many women, once you've had one, you immediately recognize the symptoms. Since we are still finalizing our residency permits here, we have not yet been "assigned" a doctor in Como and our health coverage through Dave's employer only lists a few doctors for our area, all of whom are an hour away in Milan. The neighborhood "farmacias" (pharmacy) provide more primary health care services than in the U.S so I decided to start there. I waited until morning and walked to the one nearby only to discover it is closed on Mondays. A sign on the door referred me to one about a mile away so I got my bicycle and a map and headed there. I believe it is the first time that I have ever sought urgent care on my bicycle.

I was dismayed to find three male pharmacists at my destination, none of whom spoke English. I had written down an Italian translation of my symptoms and started to read from the crumpled paper I pulled from my pocket. They were all looking uncomfortable and shaking their heads and seemed to be able to offer no assistance. I was beginning to panic because already in the 15 minutes it had taken me to ride there, I needed to find a bathroom. I just stood there and tried to ask if they knew where I might be able to find a clinic or urgent care type facility. I started to read from my paper again.  One of the men came around the counter and motioned for me to follow him. I trailed him across the street, down a driveway, through an electronic gate into a courtyard of a building which turned out to house a doctor's office. I followed him up several flights of stairs and he pointed me to a waiting room and spoke briefly to a woman in the next room. Then he left.

There was no receptionist, no nurse, no paperwork but after the two other people in the waiting room completed their visits, I went into the same examining room they had exited. I started to read from my Italian cheat sheet but the doctor spoke to me in English and I was able to tell her why I was there.  She immediately nodded and walked over to her cabinet and took out a box of medication which turned out to be Cipro and she gave me the dosage instruction. I thanked her and asked her if I could pay in cash since I have private insurance. She said it was "gratis", no charge.  I got on my bike and rode back to our apartment. Within a day, I made a complete recovery and a resolution to get serious about establishing contact with a primary care physician.


So I had also been putting off the hair care arrangements. Because of our recent family wedding, I had returned to the U.S seven weeks ago when I was due for a cut and color and visited my regular salon but now enough time had passed that I was looking gray and shaggy.  I had been advised to find a stylist here in Como by approaching women who had good haircuts and/or dazzling color jobs and asking for a salon recommendation. I struggled with that because I was only tending to notice the women who had a brassy tone or an unfortunate purplish tint to their dark hair. My continuing struggles with the Italian language have not yet allowed me to be at ease approaching women for this kind of suggestion. Luckily, my new friends in the International Club steered me to a salon that several of them had used so I made an appointment which was for today.

The view from the salon window

It is a stylish salon with a picture windows overlooking the nearby Duomo. It is a good thing there was a beautiful view because the process took over four hours!  Five different people, including the salon owner participated in the washing, styling, coloring, blowing out and touching up. The whole experience was an act of faith (as I gazed out at the cathedral) since no one spoke much English. I figured that sometimes it just pays to put yourself in someone else's hands and hope for the best. So after a good part of the day spent with Alessandra and Eduardo, I walked home feeling like a new woman. I made an appointment to return so it is beginning to feel like I live here.

This "space-age" dryer made me laugh

Eduardo