Warmer Climes and Relieving Times

It snowed on Monday; not enough to stick very long, but it was enough to signal the beginning of another cold, dark winter. Recently, I've been thinking about where I'm going to be next year. After spending some time in prayer and talking with a few people, I've decided, almost for sure, that I won't be coming back to St. Petersburg next fall. But now the big question: if I'm not in St. Petersburg, where will I be? The short answer is that I plan to be in warmer climes this time next year. The long answer is that I am planning on staying in the US for a bit, but... I may be taking a trip this spring to go check out a school in Central Asia that needs teachers. I'm going with the attitude that I am going back to the US and I will need to be absolutely convinced that Central Asia is where the Lord wants me.

One of the things I will not miss about Russia is the ridiculous amount of bureaucracy that goes in to getting my visa. One of the hoops I have to jump through is I need to get a medical exam to prove I won't be infecting any Russians with my nasty diseases. I wrote about that a while ago. As it turns out, I had to go back to the medical center for round two so I could get my medical booklet.

So, on Tuesday, I returned to the medical clinic armed with a little foreknowledge of what to expect. I had been briefed by my colleagues who had gone already. I knew I was supposed to ask the man who ran the turnstile that I needed a booklet and he would tell me to go downstairs to a certain office. From there, they would fill out some papers, bring me back upstairs where a doctor would administer another blood test and the not-very-nice-man-test. I'm not talking about the "old-man-not-very-nice-test", but the "young-man-other-end-not-very-nice-test" that involves a Q-tip. They don't have Q-tips in Russia; for the test they use a small pipe cleaner. I am not making this up. I had been practicing a few phrases for a while so I could try and talk my way out of this fate worse than death.

I arrived, went into the room, and headed toward the turnstile. But the man wasn't there... already my carefully rehearsed plan was falling apart. I waited. Nobody came up. Finally, I hopped the turnstile into the waiting room (weird, huh?) and waited in line for the receptionist. Again, the plan fell apart as the receptionist was not the usual one (who spoke very good English), but a girl who didn't speak any English. Finally, my turn came and I told her I needed a booklet. She looked at me like I had two heads. She flagged down a passing doctor and he asked me what kind of booklet I needed. I said I didn't know, the medical one. They looked at me like I had 3 heads. They then asked me for several things that I didn't understand.

"Do you have your -somethingblahblah-?"

"I don't think so. I only have this paper (which had my results from my last exam) and my passport."

"But do you have your -somethingelseblahblah-?"

"Probably not. I only have this paper and my passport"

"Well, do have a -blahblahsomethingsomething-?"

"Yes."

After a few more minutes of this, the doctor took me back to his office to examine my paper and passport. Finally, I called the school and asked for our Russian director to talk to the doctor. While we were waiting, the doctor examined my passport. You know how in the new US passports they have picture of buffalo and the Statue of Liberty on the visa pages? Well, the doctor turned to the one that has Mt. Rushmore and told me how he knew this from a Deep Purple album cover he used to have. Is it a natural mountain, he asked? Yes, I said, an artist made it from the mountain. He thought that was pretty cool. Finally, my Russian director came to the phone and communicated that I needed my booklet. Which booklet, he asked? His medical booklet, she said. Ok, he said.

He then took me downstairs to a nurse that started filling out the paperwork for my medical booklet. After a few Russian difficulties (they use very official, technical Russian in these situations of which I know absolutely nothing), we managed to get it all done, and she then told her partner that she's taking me upstairs for the tests. Those heartless crones laughed. They knew what was coming... and so did I. We go back upstairs and tells me to sit down and wait. She went into the doctor's office and I could hear them arguing a little bit. A minute or two later she came out looking very frustrated. The doctor shortly followed and seemed just as unhappy. Great, I think; I don't want this guy in a bad frame of mind when he administers these tests. He motioned me over and took me aside, somewhat conspiratorially.

"I don't need to check anything else on you, do I?"

The phrase I had been practicing all week came out effortlessly:

"No. You don't need to do any more tests. Everything's just fine down there."

"Ok. Come back in a week and I'll give you your medical booklet."

I floated home, my feet barely touching the pavement. I think this doctor was a little lazy and was feeling slightly embarrassed about the language problems. I had already been something of a hassle to him and I think he was running a little behind because of it. The dumb foreigner card plays again!