Doctor Doctor

In other parts of the world, doctors have a good - if not excellent - command of English. Here in Jeddah, forget your English and you'd better learn the localese.

Imagine, if you can, the blank look on my doctor's face while I was explaining the pain I felt.

"I have this pain right here," were my exact words as I pointed to my tummy. "It started this morning as a little discomfort, and it grew to a steady hammering pain that would last about 30 seconds and recur within 5-minute intervals ... " At this point, imagine my voice trailing off as I realized he was smiling at me with incomprehension written all over his face.

It was almost as if the doctor pressed this huge, imaginary red button under his desk that prompted to raise a sound-proof, bullet-proof invisible wall (otherwise known as the Language Barrier), locking him safe from my attempts at medical-English. I imagine him hearing only muted elevator music on his side of the barrier. ARABIC elevator music.

Oi.

*****

That traitor Pepsi. After years of my undying loyalty, after all those mornings I chose Pepsi over a healthy breakfast, after all those praise and homage I paid it, this is the thanks I get. A gaping hole somewhere inside my stomach.