Caveat: Azadas son la hora y el momento

Retrato_de_Francisco_de_QuevedoFUE SUEÑO AYER, MAÑANA SERÁ TIERRA…

Fue sueño ayer, mañana será tierra.
¡Poco antes nada, y poco después humo!
¡Y destino ambiciones, y presumo
apenas punto al cerco que me cierra!

Breve combate de importuna guerra,
en mi defensa, soy peligro sumo,
y mientras con mis armas me consumo,
menos me hospeda el cuerpo que me entierra.

Ya no es ayer, mañana no ha llegado;
hoy pasa y es y fue, con movimiento
que a la muerte me lleva despeñado.

Azadas son la hora y el momento
que a jornal de mi pena y mi cuidado
cavan en mi vivir mi monumento.

– Francisco de Quevedo (1580~1645)

El mensaje tiene un sabor fuertemente budista, a pesar de ser de un católico español del siglo de oro. ¿Debo confesar que he estado meditando sobre la muerte? Pero … de hecho, sí, por lo menos un poco – y, ¿cómo que no?

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Caveat: Put-in-face

pictureThis was a milestone day because it’s the first day I didn’t really take a nap.

I was pretty tired this afternoon after Andrew and I walked around a bit too ambitiously this morning, but when I lay down to nap, my mind was racing and so I decided to just try to forego the nap.

I’m trying to get away from the wake-up-every-2-hours hospital style sleeping pattern. Maybe (hopefully), I’ve exhausted myself enough that I can sleep a full, more-or-less normal night tonight.

I made some pasta with broccoli and red-sauce, with some butter and basil added. Andrew ate it (“put it in his face” in his parlance), and even smiled. And then he did dishes.

 

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Caveat: The 8 Cent Wait

I promised I would tell this story, so here it is.

My check-out from the hospital, yesterday, was bureaucratic, as such things tend to be. But there was a kafkaesque moment that far exceeded the norms of bureaucracy, even.

After settling our account at the discharge counter, we had to go over to the outpatient pharmacy, to receive the medications that the doctors wanted to send home with me. We collected our medicines after about 25 minutes of waiting, only to note that one of the medicines the doctors had had me using in the ward was missing. Did they mean for it to be missing, or was it an oversight that it wasn’t included in the check-out prescription?

The pharmacist consulted with a doctor and the nursing staff on the 10th floor, and concluded that yes, indeed, I deserved this other medicine, too.

But they couldn’t give it to us, because by adding on that extra medicine, our accounts needed to be adjusted and resettled. So Curt and I trooped over to the discharge / accounts counter, drew a number and waited 20 minutes to talk to a representative there. It seemed like they had become short-staffed – perhaps it was lunchtime. Curt pestered the woman at the counter and finally, she produced the new printout.

That’s that printout that I displayed in my prior post about my bill. I’ll add a pointer to the same picture, below.

So on the new, “adjusted” bill which now included the extra medicine, the new total due was… 90 won (see yellow oval, in picture). That’s 8 cents, at current exchange rates.

Curt exasperatedly slapped down a 100 won coin (a Korean dime, more-or-less) on the counter, and the woman made him wait while she fetched change: 10 won (a penny).

Curt shook his head and handed me the tiny, coppery 10 won coin. “Here is a souvenir of your time at this hospital.”

“Gee, thanks,” I smiled, glibly. I pocketed the coin.

And then… we had to go back to the pharmacist and wait another 10 or so minutes to get the extra medicine. So discharge took an hour longer than it might have.

But if that’s the worst the hospital can do, I still insist, elatedly, that Korean Healthcare is NOT broken.

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