Hell Hath No Fury Like A Woman Misdiagnosed...Again

I was informed by the school that there was a problem with the x-ray I took for my medical. Translation=I have to re-take my x-ray. Great. Off I went with a different driver to the x-ray facility. We spoke with a technician who opened with the following: “You have a lung disease?” Excuse me. What??? “You have a lung disease?” Seriously? I TOLD the previous technician that I’d had complications as a child and subsequently underwent an obscene amount of surgeries, so nothing would look “normal,” but did she write ANY of what I’d said down? Nope. “You need to take tests, Miss. You need to do urine, stool, x-ray, blood and,” and that’s where I stopped him: “NO. I’m not going to take more tests. I do NOT have a lung disease.” The driver wasn’t able to keep up with our conversation, so he was no help. I looked back at the technician and repeated, “I do NOT have a lung disease and I am NOT going to take any more tests.” Maybe it was my agitation, but he wasn’t going to argue with me; he led us down a corridor to see a doctor. Once I got into the doctor’s office she shooed the men out and asked me what had happened and to show her my battle scars. Once she’d seen them, she signed off on and stamped my papers. She dismissed the idea that I had a lung disease, obviously. This is not meant to be arrogant, or as if I know better than an MD; it’s a keen awareness and knowledge of my body, VERY recent x-rays and knowing my medical history: don’t challenge me. I’m not stupid and I REFUSE to allow myself to be misdiagnosed…Again. Three days later I received a message from the admin department: I’m officially a resident of Kuwait, and I have the sticker in my passport to prove it.

There was big dinner party last night that consisted of the Turks, my Hungarian and Serbian co-workers (not the Irish chef’s roommate), the Irish chef and his former co-worker (who is from Texas), as well as a different Lebanese co-worker (who used to live in Montreal. She’s a free spirit). We all gathered to bid farewell to my flatmate (who is flying out next Friday morning). We were supposed to meet at Organica Fish & Chips, but to our shock and sadness, the restaurant was gone. We went next door to an American joint call the Steak & Waffle. Yeah…There are no words. Anyhow, the company made the evening! For some odd reason the Irish chef has been trying to sell his Texan friend to me. I’m not a fan of set-ups, nor am I in any mood to humour this kind of activity. The Texan boy is very nice, intelligent and worldly. I enjoyed chatting with him, but I wasn’t chatting him up. The Texan is trying to find a job in Kuwait (he just finished working in Saudi Arabia). The conversations were flowing and the smiles were abundant and the breeze off the water was refreshing (we sat outside all night-yes, it’s still a bit warm here!). I was enjoying the evening immensely when I heard the Lebanese free spirit ask the Irish chef, “Did you tell Miki what I asked you the other day?” Oh geez. He did, and believe me, it wasn’t something I wanted to discuss in front of the other nine people at the table. Here’s how the rest of the conversation went:

Irish chef: Yes.

Lebanese free spirit: So Miki, why aren’t you two dating?

*Silence*  Insert Miki getting aggravated.

Lebanese free spirit: Because I can sense that there’s attraction there.

Irish chef: I’ve tried, but...

Are we honestly having this conversation in front of his friend, a stranger, at the dinner table in front of EVERYONE?

Lebanese free spirit: You know, my partner and I met at the office and we tried to hide our attraction. You two…

Mik: I’m sorry, but the Irish chef and I have already talked about this (alright, so I’ve left some things out. I’m sorry, but some things are private)…

Serbian guy: We all know you’re dating, so you don’t have to hide it. We don’t care.

Hungarian lady: Yeah, Miki. We see you guys together all the time.

*Insert Mik getting angry as all eyes at the table are on her.

Mik: …We’re not dating.

Suddenly I wasn’t angry; I was frustrated. I wanted to yell at them, “Do you KNOW what Habibi put me through??? Do you KNOW how horrible the past two years have been???” Of course they didn’t, and of course I kept my mouth shut.

Lebanese free spirit: Oh, Miki, you’re embarrassed!

Serbian guy: I’ve only seen you blush once before, Miki and that was when you spoke Japanese.

They didn’t know who they were talking to. I rarely get embarrassed. I definitely blush, but actually feel embarrassed? Not likely. If you knew my family you’d understand. I’ve been mercilessly teased and even tortured, hahaha! I definitely am shy and embarrassed when I speak Japanese, but the conversation about the non-existent office romance wasn’t embarrassing me. So why was I so bothered? I was bothered that I couldn’t enunciate what was weighing heavy on me.

Mik: I’m not embarrassed.

Lebanese free spirit: It’s okay, Miki! You two are so cute together! You’d make a great couple. Office romances can work you know.

Serbian guy: We all get embarrassed, Miki. It’s all right.

Since when was this kind of invasive, patronizing conversation considered OKAY? I simply stopped listening and communicating.

We didn’t get home until almost midnight and by the time I was done chatting online with a long-time friend (who lives in Oman), it was well past 2am. The night ended on a high note: my friend will be visiting Kuwait on business at the beginning of January-seeing another Canadian (-Palestinian) friend in Kuwait! I can’t wait!!!

Chatting (online) until 2am makes for a sleepy Miki. I had to remind myself how happy I feel after a run to inspire me to get out of bed at 7:45am to exercise. The clouds were menacing and threatened to storm (which they did, complete with thunder AND lightning. Yep. It was the real deal). I’ve increased my jogging/running time to 2 minutes…Yes, that’s TWO WHOLE MINUTES straight, ladies and gentlemen. As a result of this program, my lungs have become so much stronger! However, I’ve also noticed that my bottom has…Changed. I don’t mean it just feels different. I mean it’s noticeably different. My flatmate commented on it, my pants aren’t as saggy in the buttocks region and even another co-worker said something to me (sexual harassment! Lol!). I can’t even believe I’m typing this, but it’s SHOCKING! *Written to the tempo of Sir Mix A Lot's "Baby Got Back" (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-kYYuKbxa30): I’ve got a big butt and I cannot lie. You other runners can’t deny, when you run 4k, almost every other day and you walk on your days off, you get buns. Oh, no you di-n’t! Oh, yes, I did. THIS is exactly why I wasn’t one of the cool kids in school, that and a clear indication that I have way too much time on my hands.

Thursday and Friday were such good days that I almost forgot that someone stole my credit card information and maxed my card. I know I should be furious, but I’m not. I don’t know who I’ve turned into because normally this kind of thing would set me off. I have insurance so I won’t have to pay the charges that were incurred. It’s going to be a HUGE pain (in my new and improved booty), to get another credit card, but what are you going to do? Maybe all this running is making me happy. I know I’m going to miss Christmas with my family and friends and it makes me sad, but I can’t be miserable or I’ll never be able to pull myself out of it. Like I wrote in my previous post, I need to figure out how to live my life purposefully. First, survive the last nine days of teaching for the term. Baby steps, preferably to music.