It was the first time I got naked with a man in a long time, and it didn’t go the way I wanted.
Yes, I was visiting a skin doctor, something well overdue after my move to Lima, Peru, a place where the sun radiation is equivalent to living in a microwave oven. I was at the Delgado International Clinic in Miraflores, where I disrobed down to my granny panties, the young doctor making me more self-conscious of my lack of Spanish than my fraying elastic. What is your name? How old are you? What country are you from? ¿Cómo te llamas? ¿Cuántos años tienes? ¿De qué país eres? Why can’t I answer these? I stayed quiet as he meticulously checked the constellation of moles, stopping when he spotted something peculiar on my neck.
“Is this new?” he asked, in English.
I shrugged my shoulders. I do not know the coordinates of each of my moles, as if they were a constellation of stars. I can’t even find my glasses. “I have no idea.”
An arched eyebrow. The clicking of an ink pen. A scribbling of a few notes and a lecture about sun block. “Come back in a month”.
Doctor appointments are part of life when you’re a baby-boomer with a rusty boom. Living abroad just makes them more frustrating. That DuoLingo Owl will not teach you important phrases, such as do you have a preauthorization letter from your insurance agency? (¿Tiene una carta de preautorización de su agencia de seguros?) or Do you need my opthphamology report from Dr. Orathai Suwanpimokul in Bangkok translated in Spanish? (¿Necesita traducir al español mi informe oftalmológico del Dr. Orathai Suwanpimokul en Bangkok?) which I needed for the second half of double feature appointment. My Costco cheaters were no longer doing the trick. I had scared the daylights out of a Peruvian boy earlier that week, stopping him on the streets and started to talk, thinking he was was of my students, when he was uh…not. A
I ended up with a prescription for bifocals, which have the same price tag as a one-way airline ticket to from Jorge Chavas to Chicago O’hare, with extra legroom.
More than mole removals or new glasses, I need Spanish classes.
I’ve been attending private lessons for five weeks, my tongue still hopelessly. I feel that pain my students do as I stare at my textbook each night tempted to grab the TV remote.
In spite of my language conundrums, I felt confident enough in my Spanish to plan my first hike with my hiking group. They weren’t doctors, and not exactly seriously hikers, actually more of a socializing club wearing fun running gear. Stopping for photos or refreshments takes priority to counting one steps on a smartphone, but no one seemed to mine, especially me. The best part was I didn’t have to answer any question more difficult than which way do we turn now?
I was a bit nervous as I planned my route through the colorful district of Lima where I live, Barranco, wandering through its maze of murals, past John Lennon, and under a starry bridge.
Our hike got off to a late start but no one cared. I had to cut it short, detouring the my favorite street art. Here are things we didn’t see.
Soon, I’ll have my new glasses, my language under my tongue and hopefully more more adventures to write about than the importance of sun-block.
Hope your skin recover fast and well with the soaring high priced prescription.What a adventure there! My favorite parts include how the young doctor check your skin, the way your describe your spanish class make me 😃 ,hiking adventure exposes me to Lima.