The pain in my shoulder blade, back and chest, the result of last week's motorbike crash, has been very persistent and debilitating. I can walk now, but very, very slowly. When I need to go to the bathroom, I factor in travel time. Now, I live in fear of coughing or sneezing because of the pain these formerly routine actions cause in my chest and back. I stopped smoking cigarettes after the accident, and my lungs began to expel all the phlegm. That's great, except it hurts SO much when I try to clear the phlegm from my throat and chest. I'm often left wheezing with every breath. The old geezer is a wheezer.
To combat these issues, I visited three different doctors/facilities the past three days. I gave each a grade.
No. 1: The bone doctor. This is what Phuong called him. He works at a hospital in the morning, and at his house in the afternoon. We visited his house. There was no wait time. He checked out my x-rays, said nothing was broken, gave me a needle in my butt and sent me home. He said it would take a few days before I would feel OK. Very business-like. Grade: B- Solid painkiller injection, but needed something strong to take with me.
No. 2: Dong Nai International Hospital emergency room. The pain was a little bit overwhelming on Saturday, so we went to the ER. I got x-rayed for the third time -- I'm becoming Johnny Nucleo or Radioactive Man. I also got a sonogram, and the nurse found my gall stones again. She was real excited about the gall stones, but nothing else was amiss. I got another butt shot, which really helps with the pain, but then I got a prescription for a really weak pain-killer to treat my really strong pain. But that seems to be a Vietnamese thing. The local medical community endorses pain over pain-killers. Grade: B ... Very thorough. Nice nurses and doctors, but weak pain-killer prescription.
No. 3: The electric doctor. I don't know what else to call him. He put electrodes on my back that shot electric into my body and stimulated my back muscles into spastic movements. Actually, I had this treatment a long time ago in the USA for a leg contusion. There was also some kind of needles or wire brush that rubbed and poked my back for about 10 minutes. Both procedures were very uncomfortable, but son of a gun, my back has felt much better since. And this doctor gave me some painkiller made in the USA and some pills to try to dry up the mucus in my chest. I plan to visit this guy one more time, then visit my employer to discuss my return to teaching. Grade B+ ... A little wacky, to be sure, but electric stimulation really helped my ailing back, and the painkillers weren't bad.
I got a text from work on Sunday asking if I was returning Monday. A little too soon given my condition. And besides, the kids classes play rough. I'll return when I'm able. I hate to miss class, but I'll be back in a short time.
My wife Phuong has been heroic throughout this process. She's given me massages, rubbed weird Chinese oil on my back, found some bear bladder juice for me to drink, and picked up my share of the chores. And she's still battling stomach issues. We're both on the mend, though, and we'll get through this pesky patch.
I want to thank everyone who congratulated Phuong and I on our wedding, and I also want to thank everyone for their words of encouragement after my moto-bike accident. The White Monkey can be a cynical schmuck, but I sincerely value my family and the friendships I've made over the years. Again, thank you for your kind words and support.
Monday, March 28, 2016
Wednesday, March 23, 2016
Married and medical issues
Phuong and I finally got our marriage license. The ceremony at the courthouse was as romantic as paying a traffic fine, and the woman who "officiated" over our paper signing ceremony in a 6 X 8 room with no fan or air conditioner asked how we met, if we were happy, blah, blah, blah. She was nice enough, though. After the ceremony, I went to work. We planned a family celebration the following Sunday, but Phuong got sick right before our party and we spent much of the night in a local emergency room. The next day Phuong and her mom went to Ho Chi Minh City to deal with the stomach virus and make sure the baby was OK. Monday was a 15-hour day of travel and waiting and hospitals for Phuong and her wonderful mom. Phuong is still queasy but the baby seems to be doing fine.
Not to be outdone, on Tuesday I crashed my bike returning from the supermarket and got pretty screwed up. The accident wasn't my fault, but who cares. A car went straight across my lane and cut me off, I swerved to avoid the car and then wiped out to avoid some chucklehead pushing a cart loaded with trash and stuff. The pusher was sort of hidden behind the car, and he was in the street going in the wrong direction. If I hit him, I'm sure he would have tried to fleece me for some money. I hit the ground hard. Thank god I had my helmet on because I felt the side of the helmet smack the concrete with a good deal of force. In addition to the usual road rash on my arm and knee, my back and ankle also slammed the concrete. The staff at Amy Massage (a legit massage place) was awesome. They got my bike off the road, put me in a chair, gave me a water and cleaned up my scrapes. A good Samaritan also stopped to assist. The Vietnamese are so cool sometimes, especially when you really need help.
I got X-rays of my back and ankle and took them to a local doctor. I went with Phuong and her dad, who's also very cool. Anyway, the guy took an X-ray of the wrong side of my back, so we went to another place for another set of X-rays. I was screaming like a little girl because the pain in my right shoulder blade was the worst pain I've ever experienced. And that's saying something because the White Monkey has led a life of pain. My ankle has a super tiny fracture that the doctor shrugged off, and the X-rays of my back were negative, if you can believe that. I can't, because the pain is still unbearable today. I swear I cracked a rib or two, but the doctor said no. I guess a lifetime of milkshakes has given me some strong bones. I can't really walk, though, and it's because of my back, not ankle. Time heals all wounds, I guess.
I can't teach at the moment, which is a real bummer. I was getting into a decent rhythm with most of my classes -- even the little kids. But I'm sure I'll return soon enough.
My injuries also ended my tennis, but that's fine because I wasn't fitting in.
And of course, I love Phuong with all my heart.
Not to be outdone, on Tuesday I crashed my bike returning from the supermarket and got pretty screwed up. The accident wasn't my fault, but who cares. A car went straight across my lane and cut me off, I swerved to avoid the car and then wiped out to avoid some chucklehead pushing a cart loaded with trash and stuff. The pusher was sort of hidden behind the car, and he was in the street going in the wrong direction. If I hit him, I'm sure he would have tried to fleece me for some money. I hit the ground hard. Thank god I had my helmet on because I felt the side of the helmet smack the concrete with a good deal of force. In addition to the usual road rash on my arm and knee, my back and ankle also slammed the concrete. The staff at Amy Massage (a legit massage place) was awesome. They got my bike off the road, put me in a chair, gave me a water and cleaned up my scrapes. A good Samaritan also stopped to assist. The Vietnamese are so cool sometimes, especially when you really need help.
I got X-rays of my back and ankle and took them to a local doctor. I went with Phuong and her dad, who's also very cool. Anyway, the guy took an X-ray of the wrong side of my back, so we went to another place for another set of X-rays. I was screaming like a little girl because the pain in my right shoulder blade was the worst pain I've ever experienced. And that's saying something because the White Monkey has led a life of pain. My ankle has a super tiny fracture that the doctor shrugged off, and the X-rays of my back were negative, if you can believe that. I can't, because the pain is still unbearable today. I swear I cracked a rib or two, but the doctor said no. I guess a lifetime of milkshakes has given me some strong bones. I can't really walk, though, and it's because of my back, not ankle. Time heals all wounds, I guess.
I can't teach at the moment, which is a real bummer. I was getting into a decent rhythm with most of my classes -- even the little kids. But I'm sure I'll return soon enough.
My injuries also ended my tennis, but that's fine because I wasn't fitting in.
And of course, I love Phuong with all my heart.
Thursday, March 10, 2016
No wedding, just more waiting
I've been told this happens to the Vietnamese as well as foreigners. Officials demand paperwork in triplicate, then demand a copy of the same paperwork a few weeks later. Then they want the original. There are countless "emergencies", where the officials who demanded the paperwork are not available, so a trip to the courthouse to deliver another copy of some requested document becomes a waste of time. To make a ridiculously long story short, Phuong and I were not married on Thursday, March 10, as we expected and as the court scheduled. Some "boss" had to leave town for an "emergency" so the court wouldn't give us our marriage license. We were told to try again next week. This whole process has lasted 16 months and we're still not married. I don't understand how this benefits anyone. But, of course, I don't understand. I've also been told that the Vietnamese have a saying: Waiting is happiness. I can certainly understand how that saying came about.
Phuong and I will happily wait until next week, call the courthouse first, then hopefully get the marriage license that Phuong has already seen. I don't want to make trouble. I don't want to challenge authority. I just want to marry the woman I love. Is that so wrong?
I did tell Phuong that since we're not married yet, I can go out and make whoopie for a few more days. She says my picture has been sent to all the massage parlors and "coffee shops" in Bien Hoa with orders not to do business with the White Monkey. My options are limited. I'll have to go to Ho Chi Minh City.
Oh, when we went to the courthouse to try to get married, I rode my motorbike into the parking lot after Phuong got off. I guess there's a sign in Vietnamese that says turn off your bike and walk it to a parking space. I don't read Vietnamese so I broke the rules. Some woman took offense -- I'm not sure why -- and got in Phuong's face about it. "Why did you let that foreigner ride his bike. Where are you from? Can you read?" And she was really nasty about it, as you can tell from her intelligent line of questioning. She was jabbering Vietnamese so I didn't understand what was going on. Good thing. I would have given that woman something to read between my index and ring fingers, and I would have told her -- in a language even that moron could have understood -- where she came from and where she could go. Not that any of that would have mattered. As Phuong says, People are people. And Phuong was so nice, even to that dill weed.
Some of my kids' classes can get rambunctious, and in keeping with my week, I had a few beauties. But that's just shop talk. I'm sure students take their shirts off in classes everywhere, and put their bare, dirty, smelly feet up on their desks, and kick and throw punches at teachers. But I have halted the "What the f$#@?"... even the White Monkey has his limits. Actually, my students are very cool and a couple even get my jokes. Teaching here is OK. A lot more enjoyable than trying to get married.
Phuong and I will happily wait until next week, call the courthouse first, then hopefully get the marriage license that Phuong has already seen. I don't want to make trouble. I don't want to challenge authority. I just want to marry the woman I love. Is that so wrong?
I did tell Phuong that since we're not married yet, I can go out and make whoopie for a few more days. She says my picture has been sent to all the massage parlors and "coffee shops" in Bien Hoa with orders not to do business with the White Monkey. My options are limited. I'll have to go to Ho Chi Minh City.
Oh, when we went to the courthouse to try to get married, I rode my motorbike into the parking lot after Phuong got off. I guess there's a sign in Vietnamese that says turn off your bike and walk it to a parking space. I don't read Vietnamese so I broke the rules. Some woman took offense -- I'm not sure why -- and got in Phuong's face about it. "Why did you let that foreigner ride his bike. Where are you from? Can you read?" And she was really nasty about it, as you can tell from her intelligent line of questioning. She was jabbering Vietnamese so I didn't understand what was going on. Good thing. I would have given that woman something to read between my index and ring fingers, and I would have told her -- in a language even that moron could have understood -- where she came from and where she could go. Not that any of that would have mattered. As Phuong says, People are people. And Phuong was so nice, even to that dill weed.
Some of my kids' classes can get rambunctious, and in keeping with my week, I had a few beauties. But that's just shop talk. I'm sure students take their shirts off in classes everywhere, and put their bare, dirty, smelly feet up on their desks, and kick and throw punches at teachers. But I have halted the "What the f$#@?"... even the White Monkey has his limits. Actually, my students are very cool and a couple even get my jokes. Teaching here is OK. A lot more enjoyable than trying to get married.
Tuesday, February 23, 2016
Finally, we're getting married
Phuong and I, proven to be legally sane after an exhaustive interview and testing process by some psychologist, went to the courthouse in Bien Hoa last week where we were exhaustively interviewed by yet another guy in black slacks and a white, button-down shirt. He asked if we can communicate with each other. He asked if we were happy. Phuong did all the talking, probably out of fear I would say something rude or stupid. Smart woman. And the results -- along with all the paperwork obtained through numerous trips to Ho Chi Minh City -- are in. We're getting married March 10. That turns out to be the day after my dad's birthday. My dad died three years ago, so he won't be coming to the wedding. Neither will my mom; she died almost nine years ago. I really wish my mom could have met Phuong. I know she would have loved her because Phuong is, well, she's so lovable ... and kind, and generous, and ... you get the idea. If I was smart, I'd marry this woman. Hey, wait. The psychologist said I was smart. Actually, he didn't say anything I could understand, but he gave me a paper that said I had a 107 IQ. Anyway, no one is invited to our wedding, and we're not having a party. We're unconventional ... Phuong became pregnant over five months ago, we've lived together here and there for more than 17 months and got a real house together a little more than a month ago, and now we're getting married. Maybe we'll start dating after the wedding. We're both so happy that it's difficult to put into words. God knows I didn't come to Vietnam to find a wife and have a baby. Quite the contrary. I wanted to teach, experience the culture, and move on. And after I met Phuong, I had several good job offers that I rejected. I didn't leave because I felt like the love of my life -- Phuong -- was here, in Bien Hoa of all places. Sometimes, you just know when something is meant to be. Turned out I made the right decision for a change.
I made another decision last week, although it's nothing like marriage. I returned to tennis at the urging of an 84-year-old man who's super nice to me and wants me to play doubles against him and his children and friends. I agreed and he thanked me by almost taking my face off with his nasty backhand slice while I loafed at the net. Really. I just got my face out of the way, but the ball hit me in the arm. The other guys are accepting me as long as I'm with the older gentleman, and my game has improved since the layoff. Now, I'm not so much of a liability as a doubles partner. And my serve is still tops in the field.
I'm protesting Phuong's incredibly long hair by refusing to get my hair cut. But my hair, being curly (and gray, now), grows out, not down. Some days my hair is super curly, and Phuong says she likes it because it reminds her of noodles. As long as she keeps the fish sauce off of it, I'm OK with that.
My son Alec is coming to visit us in Vietnam in April. I can't wait. I really miss him and my other three children -- Jessica, Caroline, Jack -- so much. They're the greatest kids in the world.
I made another decision last week, although it's nothing like marriage. I returned to tennis at the urging of an 84-year-old man who's super nice to me and wants me to play doubles against him and his children and friends. I agreed and he thanked me by almost taking my face off with his nasty backhand slice while I loafed at the net. Really. I just got my face out of the way, but the ball hit me in the arm. The other guys are accepting me as long as I'm with the older gentleman, and my game has improved since the layoff. Now, I'm not so much of a liability as a doubles partner. And my serve is still tops in the field.
I'm protesting Phuong's incredibly long hair by refusing to get my hair cut. But my hair, being curly (and gray, now), grows out, not down. Some days my hair is super curly, and Phuong says she likes it because it reminds her of noodles. As long as she keeps the fish sauce off of it, I'm OK with that.
My son Alec is coming to visit us in Vietnam in April. I can't wait. I really miss him and my other three children -- Jessica, Caroline, Jack -- so much. They're the greatest kids in the world.
Monday, February 8, 2016
Special Tet blog
Editor's note: I don't like to write blogs too close together because I'm boring -- as a person and writer. But this is a special Tet New Year's Day collector's edition blog, and it's free of charge.
B.P. (Before Phuong), I was quite cynical about Tet holiday. This year, however, we had a wonderful Tet eve. We did nothing, enjoyed marvelous weather (a bit chilly for the locals, about 76 degrees F) and drank ridiculously expensive champagne at midnight while listening to, but not seeing, fireworks. Tet is the equivalent of New Year's and Christmas in the U..S., but the drinking isn't quite as over the top, everything is super cleaned up, and everyone's in a good mood. There's the same stress in the U.S. and Vietnam as everyone scrambles to get ready for the big day or days. There are cooking marathons where the women are exhausted, and massive crowds at the stores before the holidays. People just don't know how to relax, sometimes. Ah, but the White Monkey is the master of relaxation. Phuong and I mocked Tet eve and went to Metro supermarket, which I was warned not to do. But I got the Affligem beer I wanted, and we also picked up some fantastic Da Lat yogurt and ordinary canned peaches. Metro was crowded, but everyone was jammed into the fresh vegetable section, acting like they were at their neighborhood outdoor market. They'll figure it out one day. We got in and out of Metro fast, which contributed to our wonderful holiday. And just like New Year's in the U.S., I was a bit foggy when I woke up the next day. I did enjoy a virtually traffic-free walk on New Year's and a nice workout in the vacant park near our house.
Phuong, being Catholic, will go to mass three times this week -- Sunday, Monday (New Year's) and Wednesday (Ash Wednesday). And since I'm infatuated with -- and devoted to -- Phuong, I will be going to mass three times this week as well. The things we do for love. Mass is still a trip here. Guys cut me off on their bikes in the parking lot before the service just to get ahead or get a "closer" parking space, girls wear super short skirts sometimes, some pinheads use their cell phones during the service, and most people glare at small children who make noise during mass. But the priest is cool and always acknowledges me with a smile and greeting -- in English. The services are getting shorter, or at least it seems that way to me. I don't mind the service at all, but I dread the ride there on the motorbike.
Another massage parlor is opening near our house -- Massage New Style. I wonder what the "new style" is -- if I wasn't getting married, maybe I'd give it a try. I'm always up for new experiences. The New Style will be next door to Massage Pro and a block away from A Massage. Phuong says she's given all three parlors my picture with orders to call her if I show up looking for a Pro, New Style, or A massage. Spoil sport. New Style isn't open just yet, but it's "coming soon", according to the sign out front.
I tried an organic-type treatment of my cholecystitis (gall stones) last week. I ate only green apples for a day, and topped that off with a delicious glass of warm pure virgin olive oil and organic lemon juice before going to bed. I'll spare you the details of the next day, but I must say that I give the treatment a passing grade, so to speak. I told you this was a special blog.
B.P. (Before Phuong), I was quite cynical about Tet holiday. This year, however, we had a wonderful Tet eve. We did nothing, enjoyed marvelous weather (a bit chilly for the locals, about 76 degrees F) and drank ridiculously expensive champagne at midnight while listening to, but not seeing, fireworks. Tet is the equivalent of New Year's and Christmas in the U..S., but the drinking isn't quite as over the top, everything is super cleaned up, and everyone's in a good mood. There's the same stress in the U.S. and Vietnam as everyone scrambles to get ready for the big day or days. There are cooking marathons where the women are exhausted, and massive crowds at the stores before the holidays. People just don't know how to relax, sometimes. Ah, but the White Monkey is the master of relaxation. Phuong and I mocked Tet eve and went to Metro supermarket, which I was warned not to do. But I got the Affligem beer I wanted, and we also picked up some fantastic Da Lat yogurt and ordinary canned peaches. Metro was crowded, but everyone was jammed into the fresh vegetable section, acting like they were at their neighborhood outdoor market. They'll figure it out one day. We got in and out of Metro fast, which contributed to our wonderful holiday. And just like New Year's in the U.S., I was a bit foggy when I woke up the next day. I did enjoy a virtually traffic-free walk on New Year's and a nice workout in the vacant park near our house.
Phuong, being Catholic, will go to mass three times this week -- Sunday, Monday (New Year's) and Wednesday (Ash Wednesday). And since I'm infatuated with -- and devoted to -- Phuong, I will be going to mass three times this week as well. The things we do for love. Mass is still a trip here. Guys cut me off on their bikes in the parking lot before the service just to get ahead or get a "closer" parking space, girls wear super short skirts sometimes, some pinheads use their cell phones during the service, and most people glare at small children who make noise during mass. But the priest is cool and always acknowledges me with a smile and greeting -- in English. The services are getting shorter, or at least it seems that way to me. I don't mind the service at all, but I dread the ride there on the motorbike.
Another massage parlor is opening near our house -- Massage New Style. I wonder what the "new style" is -- if I wasn't getting married, maybe I'd give it a try. I'm always up for new experiences. The New Style will be next door to Massage Pro and a block away from A Massage. Phuong says she's given all three parlors my picture with orders to call her if I show up looking for a Pro, New Style, or A massage. Spoil sport. New Style isn't open just yet, but it's "coming soon", according to the sign out front.
I tried an organic-type treatment of my cholecystitis (gall stones) last week. I ate only green apples for a day, and topped that off with a delicious glass of warm pure virgin olive oil and organic lemon juice before going to bed. I'll spare you the details of the next day, but I must say that I give the treatment a passing grade, so to speak. I told you this was a special blog.
Friday, February 5, 2016
A bum trip to bureaucracy
Phuong and I made a couple of trips to Ho Chi Minh City this week. The second trip wasn't initially planned, but more on that in a moment. First, we left Bien Hoa 5:45 a.m. on Thursday for Phuong's appointment with the doctor at Tu Du hospital, which specializes in prenatal care and delivery. It has a good reputation, which explains the massive crowd of pregnant women everywhere, and I mean everywhere. In the halls, in the stairwells, in the men's room ... everywhere. A few men were on hand to accompany the women (and cough without covering their dang mouths). While Phuong waited with the masses, I went to the U.S. embassy about two miles away to get two documents notarized so Phuong and I can get married. The embassy visit went smooth, but the woman there told me I needed to get her "notary signature verified" at some other bureaucratic office a few blocks away. She said that the (unnecessary) bureaucratic office closes daily from 11:30 a.m. to 1:30 p.m. (nap time in Vietnam). I returned to the non-air conditioned hospital and everything went great with Phuong's doctor visit. The sonogram showed our baby's fingers and toes and ribs and everything else ... very exciting.
We left Tu Du and rushed to the (unnecessary) bureaucratic office, getting there at 11:02 a.m. Closed. Nap time must come early on Thursdays. We go have lunch and return 1:30 p.m. because the traffic is that horrible in HCMC. We take a ticket (number 76) and watch the electronic screen show 67, then 68, then 69, then 81. I felt like Mr. Bean in the episode where he's waiting at the emergency room. Anyway, after an hour or so, 76 shows on the screen. Shocking, but the Vietnamese girl who's "helping" me isn't very friendly. She takes my passport, looks at my picture, contorts her face, and asks with some serious attitude "Is this you?" A lot of comebacks were racing through my mind, but I just nodded yes and let it go. She shuffles the papers like she's actually doing something, and says "Come back tomorrow at 3 and get your documents." There was no mention of a two-day notary process on the website, but I didn't have any choice. The other folk waiting with me weren't pleased either, but we had to soldier on and live to deal with bureaucracy another day.
Phuong and I made our second trip in pre-Tet Friday traffic, getting there early (2:20 p.m.). Phuong took charge, went into the office immediately, and the nap-sters said the papers were ready. 60,000 dong later, I had my documents. I told the girl behind the counter that the embassy website should tell people that the notary process takes two days so people can plan appropriately. Her response? She laughed. I asked her if she spoke English. Her response? She laughed. I guess I'm a funny guy. Usually, I get a hand waved in my face when I talk (English or Vietnamese), but now I've got ém rollin' in the aisles.
Tet fever is rampant. I'm not a New Year's guy, so it's lost on me. Prices go up, the crowds are relentless, motorbike traffic is wretched and sprinkled with drunks, and people celebrate by eating food that my bowels don't trust. However, I love the time off from work. I can finally get our new house in order, so to speak, and spend quality time with my future wife. Now that's worth celebrating.
We left Tu Du and rushed to the (unnecessary) bureaucratic office, getting there at 11:02 a.m. Closed. Nap time must come early on Thursdays. We go have lunch and return 1:30 p.m. because the traffic is that horrible in HCMC. We take a ticket (number 76) and watch the electronic screen show 67, then 68, then 69, then 81. I felt like Mr. Bean in the episode where he's waiting at the emergency room. Anyway, after an hour or so, 76 shows on the screen. Shocking, but the Vietnamese girl who's "helping" me isn't very friendly. She takes my passport, looks at my picture, contorts her face, and asks with some serious attitude "Is this you?" A lot of comebacks were racing through my mind, but I just nodded yes and let it go. She shuffles the papers like she's actually doing something, and says "Come back tomorrow at 3 and get your documents." There was no mention of a two-day notary process on the website, but I didn't have any choice. The other folk waiting with me weren't pleased either, but we had to soldier on and live to deal with bureaucracy another day.
Phuong and I made our second trip in pre-Tet Friday traffic, getting there early (2:20 p.m.). Phuong took charge, went into the office immediately, and the nap-sters said the papers were ready. 60,000 dong later, I had my documents. I told the girl behind the counter that the embassy website should tell people that the notary process takes two days so people can plan appropriately. Her response? She laughed. I asked her if she spoke English. Her response? She laughed. I guess I'm a funny guy. Usually, I get a hand waved in my face when I talk (English or Vietnamese), but now I've got ém rollin' in the aisles.
Tet fever is rampant. I'm not a New Year's guy, so it's lost on me. Prices go up, the crowds are relentless, motorbike traffic is wretched and sprinkled with drunks, and people celebrate by eating food that my bowels don't trust. However, I love the time off from work. I can finally get our new house in order, so to speak, and spend quality time with my future wife. Now that's worth celebrating.
Thursday, January 28, 2016
Big news and other musings
We're into our new house, but not without the usual trials and tribulations that I've learned to be patient with here. Construction workers were doing finishing work while we were living here. We had to tell them to not smoke in the house and snuff out their cigarette butts on our new tile floors. And, of course, they wanted to sleep on our living room floor from 11:30 a.m. to 1:30 p.m. every day -- nap time in Vietnam. The cigarette butts didn't seem to bother them while they napped. But they were nice enough folk, and, after several tries, finished the job mostly to our satisfaction. They did turn off our cold water one time for some unknown reason and all of our water was hot enough to make coffee from the tap. Really. The shower was especially challenging. After a week or so of nonsense like this, the job was done and we've settled in.
The house is built for Vietnamese people, of course, which means I've cracked my head half a dozen times on shelves and cabinets. I slammed my head above my right eye so hard on the corner of a glass shelf -- that Phuong wanted put up -- that I went down and was almost out for the count. There's a little golf-ball-sized lump above my right eye, but no big deal.
I got a massage today and the massage girl didn't understand -- or care -- that the little lump on my head hurt when she applied intense pressure to it with her thumb and index finger.
After church service on Sundays, Phuong and I stand on the balcony overlooking the parking lot and wait for the insane motorbike traffic (and riders) to clear out. While we were waiting last week, we watched (only for a second or two) as two boys about 10 years old peed on the side of the church. I understand when you gotta go, you gotta go, but there was a restroom less than 50 feet away.
There's no point in keeping a secret any longer. Phuong has a really big belly. Either she's been drinking boat-loads of beer, or she's pregnant. The answer is "B" since Phuong only shares a beer with me once in a while, and I'm drinking one beer at a time only once in a while. Needless to say, but I'll say it anyway: We're thrilled. The first three months were unpleasant for Phuong. She had morning sickness daily, and local doctors misdiagnosed her with a 50-50 chance for having rubella, which is very bad news for a yet-to-be-born baby. She went to a Ho Chi Minh City hospital and was pronounced healthy. She's feeling much better now and eating and sleeping and cleaning lots. We're anxious, of course, given my very advanced age. And this is Phuong's first baby. But so far, so good.
We're doing the paperwork to get married, and the paperwork is quite daunting. There have been multiple trips to the courthouse, and I have to try to get U.S. documents stamped at the U.S. Embassy in Ho Chi Minh City so local officials will accept them. We had to go to the local mental hospital last week to prove we were sane. Phuong passed and they let me slide. They tested my IQ, and I cheated on the test and tallied a 107 IQ. I guess I'm not as stupid as I look, which contradicts what Sister Alvernia screamed at me in front of the entire student body at St. Mary Magdalen about 54 years ago. But I'm not one to hold a grudge. The White Monkey is becoming patient, persistent and ... forgiving.
The house is built for Vietnamese people, of course, which means I've cracked my head half a dozen times on shelves and cabinets. I slammed my head above my right eye so hard on the corner of a glass shelf -- that Phuong wanted put up -- that I went down and was almost out for the count. There's a little golf-ball-sized lump above my right eye, but no big deal.
I got a massage today and the massage girl didn't understand -- or care -- that the little lump on my head hurt when she applied intense pressure to it with her thumb and index finger.
After church service on Sundays, Phuong and I stand on the balcony overlooking the parking lot and wait for the insane motorbike traffic (and riders) to clear out. While we were waiting last week, we watched (only for a second or two) as two boys about 10 years old peed on the side of the church. I understand when you gotta go, you gotta go, but there was a restroom less than 50 feet away.
There's no point in keeping a secret any longer. Phuong has a really big belly. Either she's been drinking boat-loads of beer, or she's pregnant. The answer is "B" since Phuong only shares a beer with me once in a while, and I'm drinking one beer at a time only once in a while. Needless to say, but I'll say it anyway: We're thrilled. The first three months were unpleasant for Phuong. She had morning sickness daily, and local doctors misdiagnosed her with a 50-50 chance for having rubella, which is very bad news for a yet-to-be-born baby. She went to a Ho Chi Minh City hospital and was pronounced healthy. She's feeling much better now and eating and sleeping and cleaning lots. We're anxious, of course, given my very advanced age. And this is Phuong's first baby. But so far, so good.
We're doing the paperwork to get married, and the paperwork is quite daunting. There have been multiple trips to the courthouse, and I have to try to get U.S. documents stamped at the U.S. Embassy in Ho Chi Minh City so local officials will accept them. We had to go to the local mental hospital last week to prove we were sane. Phuong passed and they let me slide. They tested my IQ, and I cheated on the test and tallied a 107 IQ. I guess I'm not as stupid as I look, which contradicts what Sister Alvernia screamed at me in front of the entire student body at St. Mary Magdalen about 54 years ago. But I'm not one to hold a grudge. The White Monkey is becoming patient, persistent and ... forgiving.
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