Friday was rainy and I had been sleeping almost constantly since Thursday afternoon. Though the doctor said the hormone therapy wasn’t the cause for my sleepiness, but rather the weather, I don’t believe it for a NY minute. Gordon managed to wake me up around 4:45 for our 6pm appointment with the old, crotchety doctor (his words). I wasn’t nervous, but rather oddly (and characteristically) intrigued to meet this old-timer. Just a few blocks away and we were at the office, a storefront with a small waiting room just inside the door adorned with old signs in cyrillic – surely the prominently framed one was his license or diploma, on yellowed oversized typing paper This ‘waiting room’ was furnished with a wicker table and chairs, and some other clutter in the corners I didn’t have time to catalog. There was no nurse, no secretary, just an open door to the back.  When he heard us arrive, an older man with glasses propped crookedly on the end of his nose came out, looked over them at us and he grunted before going back inside. Something was already happening back there, though I still don’t really know what it was. Another older man left an even further back room a bit later on, probably the patient before me.He called me back and Gordon came with me through the door, explaining that I was American and didn’t speak Serbian. We walked around his (much smaller) commercial metal desk with a typewriter that was surely from the 70s, and he motioned for me to get on the army cot as he secured the paper dinar folded and placed purposefully in the center of this exam room with his foot. Surely it was there for luck and financial success. The serbs are really superstitious folk, with some religious foundation in the mix. Lines are gray between the two and they are joined and crossed often when it comes to matters of the soul and well-being, and (mostly) good fortune.

I didnt have to take anything off for the exam, and he put the ekg receptors on my ankles and wrists, pushing my arms to my side – even though the left one near the wall was leaning directly on the radiator that reminded me of those in elementary school that were painted, chipped and repainted for years.

My EKG was good, and finished after he moved the suction cup all around my chest testing from one angle and then another. I didn’t know an EKG could be done that way. Gordon askd, “How much do I owe you, 1.5k?” and the good doctor agreed. I wondered how that part would go – I wouldn’t be all too surprised if Gordon left it open that the doctor would have taken the Amerikanka for a spin and charged much, much more.

After a few minutes of sitting on the cot and Gordon in the ‘waiting’ chair that was probably supposed to be on the nicer end of things here for patients and their significant others to be comforted in (that was exactly the crappier of our office chairs at home), the doctor finished typing up the ekg summary and approval for anesthesia on his old typewriter. Yes, he typed it out himself pecking away letter by letter. I noticed a dictionary of medicines on the shelf, the title dated 1998. I soaked in the environment like a sponge. This was a really neat cultural experience. Gordon takes me to all the nicest places!