Needless to say, the doctor called on Wednesday morning, and Gordon answered this time, with the news that the cells didn’t divide.  We went in to ‘consult’ (pay) on Wednesday afternoon. By then I wasn’t as sad as I was with the news on Tuesday, because I knew they likely weren’t going to do anything. At the end of our visit, Gordon took out our bank card to pay, and the nurse shook her head no. “The machine isn’t working,” I understood her say. My eyebrow raised. They continued to have a conversation of which I could only understand bits and pieces about how we could pay. Gordon explained we couldn’t get that kind of money from the ATM. It’s an American bank, and a small one at that, so no, they don’t have a branch here we can visit. And no, we can’t send them a letter to see if they will let us get the money. At this point I’m boiling, because I see how this is going, how it’s becomming OUR problem, how Gordon is just not confrontational, and how I can’t say a damned thing she can understand – naturally any words I know, anything I know how to say has gone south now because I’m livid.We left and went to an ATM at a nearby grocery store to take what we could, which is 20k. The total bill is 110k. Of course, because this is Serbia AND a grocery store, the machine did not want to give us anything. Not 20k, not 10k, not 5k.  G’s brother had 9k and he said that Darko offered his 11k. We went back, in 95 or so degree heat. We graciously took Darkos loan, and went back to pay our 20k, which the nurse politely stuffed in the desk drawer. I asked him to ask for a receipt. She can’t give us one because it’s not a full payment. If that’s not a crock of shit, I don’t know what is. It took all that I had to walk out of there without breaking something (or someone). I was so angry. We shouldn’t have to go through this – especially on this day, when we are already sad and disappointed. Gordon was especially feeling the sadness today – the eternal optimist was still hoping for a positive call on Wednesday morning, so he was even more crushed when it didn’t come.

Now, we are going to the ATM every day for a week, until we gather up our bundle of cash to return to pay.  They called here last night – on a Sunday night – like collectors. I was furious. Gordon’s mom called back. She said it good, as good as anyone that’s not ME could say (I was still frustrated), explaining that it was very unprijatelj and he was not a criminal…or something.  That we had the money and we’d come there tomorrow if their machine was working yet. Of course it’s not.I’m kind of fed up with the whole thing. I’m fed up with the idea of having to stay here 2 more months. I’m fed up with having to go out of the country after 90 days, or face the damned red tape at the police station like that other time. I’m fed up with not planning, or when planning that things just don’t work out as they should. I’m fed up with how I look. I ballooned since I got here, I think, or I just wasn’t aware how very damned fat I was before we left. I’m fed up with my body not doing anything right – except everything that shows it SHOULD be able to do things right.

Im just fed up.

What’s next? We do it all over again.