Mangled Italian, Spanglish + charades -- my first gyno appointment abroad...

Well, today was an interesting day. The kind of day where you peek around corners to see if the 'Punk'd' crew is hiding & might jump out to confirm your suspicions that what’s happening can’t possibly be un-orchestrated & occurring (but alas, it was/did).

For a few months now I’ve been experiencing huge hair loss— like I’ll-be-bald-within-six-months-if-this-keeps-up hair loss. And yes, I know this can be stress-induced, but it started well before I arrived on European soil so last week I put on my big girl pants & made an appointment with an Italian gynecologist. Figuring out where to go was an adventure in & of itself, one that involved texting a brand new friend, a US expat of 2 years. Then I called the clinic & spoke with a (lovely) scheduling woman who spoke no English & I bumbled through giving her my name, Firenze address, phone number & medical issue & asking when & where to go to see the doctor. I was almost certain she’d said I’d meet with a gynecologist, but worried perhaps she’d said proctologist. I had a little giggle visualizing a super awkward appointment upon describing my significant hair loss… :)

But alas, today was game day & I’m pleased to report I did, indeed, meet with a lady-parts doctor (although, again, one who spoke no English even though said scheduling woman assured me she would). The ensuing conversation between Italian doctor & I, in which I needed to divulge my entire girly medical history, involved some mutilated Italian (by me), mixed in with some rusty Espanol (again, by me), a sprinkling of incomprehensible English (for her) & finished with a generous helping of charades. It was pretty priceless when we got to the ‘how many babies have you had/ how old is your baby/did I deliver him vaginally or via c-section’ part of the Q&A. This striking Italian woman, dressed to the nines, made a very dramatic & deep downward “V” motion with her hands for that last question & I, excitedly, echoed her deep V & exclaimed “si, si—mi figlio qui (yes, yes -- my son here)!”. We understood eachother perfectly.

Fast forward to the blood work & ultrasounds she prescribed & all was fairly routine except for the terse gentleman/technician who wafted his hand in an upward spiral motion when he wanted me to remove my undergarment for the – ahem – more private screening that needed to be done. I did note, also, that there was no nurse in the room with us, something I’d become accustomed to in our all-too-litigious US society. I also realized it gave me a sense of comfort, that extra set of eyes, that no foul play could occur. But, I took a deep breath & reminded myself that things are different abroad & I must simply trust.

Once my exams were done I was escorted by this smartly-dressed young woman, in a navy dress with matching heels, to this beautiful & thoroughly unexpected waiting room—complete with wall-galleries of original art, a smattering of antiques, parquet flooring & an ornate glass & brass chandelier. I sat with other ladies as sunlight streamed in & we sipped un cafe & nibbled on packaged biscotti. Soon after, I was escorted by another smartly-dressed-in-navy gal, this time back down to the reception area where they handed me two sealed envelopes with my bloodwork results. They also gave me a printed paper that told me to come back on October 7th for the remainder of my results & at that time I’d review them, & any necessary action, in conjunction with my charades partner, errr, doctor.

While I have yet to open either envelope (am I even aloud to do that?!) I feel an ounce of relief in simply making & navigating a medical appointment, something that 24 hours ago seemed so daunting, difficult & altogether mysterious.

Like finding marshmallows, Skippy Peanut Butter & Tampax in our local Esselunga supermarket, today’s another day I’ll chalk up as a “win” for this American Girl in Italy. :)