Daniel and I are confirming our travel plans to come back to the USA for our wedding (yay! can’t wait!) and a MAJOR part of those plans includes getting our exit/re-entry visas. Daniel is all set for that paperwork to be issued, but I have to get put on to his iqama (residence card) to get permission to come back into the country; and that is where the adventure began…
To get an iqama, you must submit six passport photos and get a series of blood-work done by a Saudi clinic. Sounds quick and painless and easy enough, but do not forget I am in Saudi Arabia. We went to three different photo shops to get pictures made and none of them were open, so we decided let’s just go to the clinic and get that part out of the way. I am expecting to pull up to a hospital-like building; nice, clean, orderly, but what we pull into is literally within spitting distance to a gas pump. Oh hell to the no! I am not trying to get diseased in a medical clinic! But it’s not like I really had a choice. I had to get this blood-work taken care of as soon as possible otherwise I won’t get able to get my re-entry visa, and I am not doing a long distance marriage.
So we walk inside this clinic and I almost died. I looked at Daniel and just laughed, “Are you kidding me?!?!”. It was filthy and run-down and I was positive I was contracting some sort of communicable disease. The girls at the reception desk did not speak any English so that led Daniel and I playing charades to let them know I needed somebody to take my blood; classic. We walked down the hall and stopped in front of the “spectacular” filing system that was displayed on the wall. It was a joke. I could feel my OCD kicking in because I suddenly had a huge desire to take the ratty folders that were hanging out of the wall shelving and just fix it. Oh Jesus, just fix it! The good news was their machine that tests the blood was broken and we needed to go to a different clinic. On to the next one!
The next clinic was much better. Much cleaner, much newer, much better. The receptionist spoke broken English, I smiled a lot and somehow we managed to communicate the reason I was there and get all of my paperwork completed. Then came trouble… trouble came to me in the form of a female Indian Yokozuna. Not familiar with Yokozuna? Remember the show in the 90′s, Dinosaurs? “Not the mama! I’m the baby, gotta love me!”… yep, that was this girl, in the flesh!
She took my paperwork and asked me a few questions and then girlfriend was ready to take the blood. No gloves, to test tube to collect the blood in, no nothing… but she was ready! And apparently so was my audience. Two Saudi men were watching this whole interaction go down and as soon as the monster stabbed my arm, their jaws dropped to the floor. Now it hurt a little bit having that needle go in and it wasn’t particularly comfortable as the blood was being suctioned out of my arm, but I hadn’t felt the pain yet! My walrus of a “nurse” decided she had enough blood and apparently she was in a hurry to get me out of there because simply pulling the needle out slowly in the same hole it went in was not an option. The sumo-sized Indian literally ripped the needle out of my arm thus causing me to scream out loud in this Muslim country, “Dear Jesus! Holy God!”! What a freaking hooker! She passed me a cotton ball, that I bled straight through, and sent me on my way. She maimed my arm and all I got was a cotton ball?!?! I bee-lined out of the closet-like room I was in and ran straight to Daniel… crying! No joke, I was laughing because I couldn’t believe that just happened and I was crying because Shamu just sliced my arm open.
Daniel’s face was priceless. You don’t expect your significant other to come out of a room where you were just getting a simple blood sample, crying! And he handled it like any good hubby would; he made fun of the nurse, held my purse for me and made me laugh all the way home. What a nightmare! I am just praying daily that I won’t ever get legit sick here because I am not confident they could handle me. The only people I have seen working in the clinics are Indian and Filipino… are either of those countries known for their excellent healthcare? Yea I don’t think so. Oh mercy, I am so traumatized, Jesus take the wheel!
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