You Have Got to be Kidding Me

Yesterday I had a serious meltdown.

I have been trying to find a specialist doctor for several months now, and they are in short supply here. Perhaps because men outnumber women so substantially. I have made several appointments which were canceled after I arrived. I have gone to the walk-in hospital only to be told there were no doctors working. And calling a variety of medical centres, I was told that sort of doctor was not a part of their practice.

So when I found a place called the Women's Health Centre, I was relieved. Finally, I thought. I was a patient at a women's health center in Long Beach and had extremely positive experiences there. The doctors have great people skills and there is always chocolate around. I was in for a very unpleasant surprise.

It is possible, I will concede, that the doctors at this Women's Health Centre are wonderful. But I never got the chance to find out. I called yesterday morning to see if I could be seen that day. Do you want a male or female doctor the receptionist asked? I said it didn't matter as long as I could come in today. The woman said fine, come in now and it will be no problem.

She did not take my name or number, or give me any instruction. I'm used to the name and number thing -- here it seems like the only people who keep track of you are the beauty salons.

So I show up at the centre and my number is called immediately. I am (foolishly) optimistic. I sit down with the woman and she says what is your phone number. I tell her its my first visit, and the phone receptionist told me to come in right away. She says she will have to start a file for me.

Then she drops the bomb. She needs my passport. I don't typically carry my passport, and now that I have an Emirates ID -- which surely has far more information about me than my passport -- there is no need for it. I tell her I don't have it with me, and ask if she'll accept the ID. She says no.

And then: She says she needs A LETTER FROM MY HUSBAND AND A MARRIAGE CERTIFICATE. Sorry to shout here. But let that sink in a minute. I am at a women's clinic as a married woman (Yes, she did ask) and I am not there for anything illegal (like birth control for a single woman).

I'm flabbergasted. I'm agitated. I say, that's ridiculous and I leave in a huff. Fortunately, my taxi driver has not gone far and he comes back to get me and take me to work.

Once back at work, the shock starts to wear off and I totally lose it. Perhaps some of it was the annoyance of asking for a passport. But then I start to realize that it's not anger I feel, but humiliation. I am a grown woman, here in the UAE on my own visa, with my own health insurance and I must have my husband's permission to see a doctor?

I have a meltdown. It's not reasonable, I know. I might be willing to admit that it may have been hormonal, but I can't get past it. I can't deal with the fact that I have been dismissed this way, by a woman, in a healthcare facility that is for women.

The more I think about it, the more upset I get. I go outside and call a doctor I have seen before (but really did not like -- there seems to be a consensus among women in my office; it is nearly impossible to find a competent and likable doctor). The office says she's working a half day, and will be there until 1pm. It is about noon at this point. I ask if she could possibly see me right now. The receptionist says, well, the doctor isn't there. I said, but she's working until 1, right? And she says yes, she's working from 11 to 1 (and since when is that a half day, but whatever) and she hasn't arrived yet, even though her earlier patients have, so she can't see me.

I am seriously having trouble keeping it together. I haven't been able to talk to Paul, because he's in an interview. I really need to talk to him. He can usually talk me off the ledge when I get like this. But he's not around. And that makes it a little worse. I have to tell him what happened.

Then, two dear, dear, colleagues and friends step in. I recount the story to them, we go outside to talk about it and they are absolutely outraged on my behalf. I'm frustrated because all I want is a doctor's appointment. Why should that be so difficult?

One is a health reporter and the other is just a seriously fierce woman who happens to have great connections. They decide a particular doctor at a specialty hospital is the answer. The health reporter calls up and pretends to be me, and requests an urgent appointment. She makes sure nothing is required other than my health card.

Then the seriously fierce woman calls the owner/president/chief bottlewasher at the hospital and explains the predicament. He assures her there will be no problems, I will get the VIP treatment.

I take off from work again, I go to the hospital. The receptionist is very nice to me. She asks for nothing but my insurance card. I wait my turn for the doctor, and I see a very nondescript man walk into her office. (It turns out he's the big-wig my colleague called). He walks out and she immediately calls me in. She is very no-nonsense. There is no chatting, there is just an explanation of the problem, an exam, some tests and some prescriptions. Fifteen minutes and my problem is on its way to being solved.

Before they downgraded my insurance, this all would have been free. On my way out, I am asked for a Dh25 co-pay ($6.80). I go to the lab, I go to the pharmacy (where I don't pay for the drugs) and I'm done. It has all taken about 20 minutes, start to finish.

When I get back to the office the two women ask me how it went and if everything was OK. They are very, very kind. In the meantime, they have found another doctor they think I will like more, for the next time. My health reporter colleague tells me this is why she goes to Jordan for her healthcare, which means she has neglected her health. It explains why another reporter goes to Lebanon for her healthcare. They assure me there won't be anymore humiliation. I feel nobody has ever done something so kind for me.

It takes me all day to sort of get calm. I can't figure out why I'm reacting so badly, but ultimately it doesn't matter. I just am.

You think that it's the big things that can get you down: being a woman in a man's job, being a woman in a male-dominated society. But those are the easy things. It's being treated like you have no say in your life, having someone demand your husband's permission before you can receive healthcare that's really a devastating experience.

And it makes me feel bad for the single women with serious problems here. It's no wonder so many things go unreported or are not taken care of: the possibility of humiliation is too great.

Oops, We Did it Again

Last week some friends and colleagues got together for a Passover seder.

This time, we were seven in total, five of us Jewish. (Last year just two Jews -- sounds like a song title)

The interesting twist this year was that the woman who hosted us was someone I met after blogging about last year's seder. She found me on the internet and said hey, let's meet. She and her husband were for a time, and we've seen them socially several times. (Very nice people despite her television background.)

As a bonus -- and as opposed to last year's event -- we had matzoh. It was year-old matzoh, one of the woman had the box her mother tried (and failed) to Fed Ex in time for our seder last year, but it was matzoh nonetheless. No Wasa crispbread for us this year! But a complete and accurate seder plate. Someone even hid the afikomen, but we drank too much and forgot to look for it.

I downloaded a proper haggadah onto the Kindle, as opposed to the silly one we had last year. To be honest, it was pretty awful. We all agreed that next year (and I do hope there is no next year, if you know what I mean) we will use our beloved Maxwell House haggadahs. Each of us who is traveling home in the next year will be sure to bring back one or two. My intention is to make it an Abu Dhabi tradition to pass them along to other MOTs when it's time to leave.

The festive meal was good, the company was good and the dessert was fabulous. Matzoh ball soup, really great charoset, amazing mustard mashed potatoes and an incredible coconut fruit tarte. You'd think after all these years I'd be used to the usual Passover dessert, but this one is the best I've ever had.

My host, the TV woman, thought it would be funny to film us conducting the seder as the call to prayer went off. It was only slight weird. I think we're all so used to the prayer call, that it took a while for us to realize what she was doing. Video available only upon request.

At the end, I couldn't help but wonder -- next year in Jerusalem?

Comments

Not that many of you (or any) often leave comments here, but in the future I will not post anonymous comments. It certainly is anyone's right to disagree with something I write, but they must put a name to it.
Hey, my blog -- my rules.

Who Needs Disneyland?

If you want an amusement park, in this neck of the woods, you have about two choices: Ferrari World and Wild Wadi water park.

Ferrari World's rides -- especially its rollercoaster -- are often out of service, and $61 is pretty steep for a place without a rollercoaster. The water park is in Dubai,.

So for our thrills and chills, we take taxis. Driving here is a blood sport, and it's every man for himself. Primarily because we have so many cultures coming together. So many cultures that have bad drivers.

Throw in speed and testosterone and it completes the picture.

Why let someone back out of a parking space or switch to your lane when you don't have to. By the same token, why bother turning right from the right-hand lane when you can do it from the far left -- it's no big deal cutting off three lanes of traffic. And you can do it all without signalling. You have an SUV. It's your right.

And if you're brave enough (read: stupid) you can drive down the middle of the street or the wrong way, if it gets you where you want to go faster. It's all about the driver.

Last weekend there was a 127-car pileup on the Abu Dhabi to Dubai highway. Yes, there was fog, but it was also just before 8 on a Saturday. Only one person died, but 59 were injured. It could have been so much worse (and apparently was, in 2008) Did I mention that tailgating is a national pastime?

I think about these things every single time I'm in a taxi. It might be sport for the drivers, but for the passengers, it's an (unpleasant) thrill a minute.

We're All Wet

For a country that has almost no rain -- one day this year, perhaps four last year -- we have had an unreasonable amount of flooding and leaks in our apartment.

The first place was not sound and our windows were under water run-off from the roof. It flooded the day we moved in, and several times afterward.

Once we moved to the new place, I had hoped my days (or Paul's, whatever) of mopping up were over. Then the new washing machine flooded the kitchen. Apparently, when it was installed nobody bothered to hook up the water hose. Problem solved.

But the biggest problems have been air conditioner leaks -- other people's (through our roof) and our own.

This morning, I saw the stain on the rug, then we heard the water running down the wall. Paul got a pot to catch it and we both mopped the floor. I was glad it hadn't ruined the furniture ... the only nice things we have in the house.

I don't know why water was pouring out of the air conditioner. Paul seemed to know. Tomorrow he will call the caretaker to have it fixed. We are lucky there is another air conditioner in the main room, and a fan to dry it all out.

Ants and water. I miss a solid house.

The Non-Existence Of, Uh, Me*

Or, words you can't say on Arabic television.

I can't believe I'm writing about this topic again, but I just saw the most bizarre thing on television today.

Here I am, on my day off, watching Glee (a rerun) on Fox. We have lots of Western TV shows here, most a season behind unless you buy the premium channels.

Anyway, there's a scene where Rachel is trying to tell Quinn that Finn is not the father of her baby. A little background for those of you who don't watch. Quinn was president of the chastity club, so Finn was a little surprised by the pregnancy since they never had sex. She attributed it to "that time in the hot tub". In fact, she cheated on him with his best friend, Noah Puckerman.

So Rachel goes up to Quinn and "innocently" tells her the story of her uncles or whoever having a baby and needing to get it tested for Tay Sachs, and surely Quinn had done that, right? Quinn has no idea what she is talking about, and Rachel says: "Oh, silly me. It's only a problem if one of the parents is (SILENCE)."

Uh, OK. Jewish was just erased as a swear word would be on this station. I'm a bit baffled.

In the next scene, Quinn is talking to Puck and says "We need to get an appointmen to test for that (SILENCE) disease."

Are you kidding me? We don't say the word Jewish on the television? On a Western show? I have gotten used to the idea Israel does not exist on any maps in the UAE (I don't like it, but I accept it -- the Emirates do not recognize them as a country), but it's one thing to deny the existence of a country and another to deny the existence of an entire religion.

Is it like Beetlejuice, where if you say it three times fast something bad will happen?

Wow.

Update: Next episode, “Yeah, she looked like Pippi Longstocking, but, like, Israeli.” Only Israeli was bleeped. I'm sensing a pattern.

Politically Correct?

I thought hard before writing this, and the words don't come easily. I've written and erased at least four sentences so far. Do I really want to write this down?

Living in the Middle East has its challenges, and as a woman -- and a Jewish woman -- I've felt the need to occasionally keep a low profile. I didn't really expect to have to do it in the workplace, however.

My colleagues are, almost overwhelmingly, anti-Israel. My newspaper most definitely is. It's difficult to be in the middle of all of it, and I never say a word. Talking about Israel in this environment is like talking about abortion in the US. It will just get ugly and nothing you can say will change anyone's mind.

Yet it is impossible to escape. I sit near the editorial team -- hardcore pro-Palestinian folks. I don't think they are two-state solution people, either, although I may be wrong. I've stopped listening because, frankly, it makes me ill. Paul says now I know what it's like being the only Republican in a Democratic profession. I suppose, sort of. But this goes much deeper. And it is relentless.

I am not a hard-core "Zionist," but I wanted nothing more in college than to spend a year abroad in Israel. I believe Israel has the right to exist, obviously. I think there should be a two-state solution. I don't support the crazy settlers, and I think at times both sides are equally insane. I think peace is necessary but I'm not sure it's possible. Above all, I do not believe it is a black and white issue.

I also have colleagues who do not believe any of this. American colleagues, British colleagues especially.

I am careful how much I reveal about my religion to most people; my colleagues with an Arab background seem to be the most tolerant. I work closely with two women who are of Palestinian descent. An Egyptian who sits nearby knows, but only because we've talked about Halal vs Kosher. I don't think any of them have a problem with me.

Then, yesterday, a colleague was telling me about a book he was reading: From Beirut to Jerusalem. He seemed surprised to find it was objective. He wanted to recommend it, but he couldn't think of the author. Some Jew, he said. Another chimed in, yeah, a Jewish name.
It was the New York Times' Thomas Friedman, one of the best-known columnists in the US.

Some Jew? Seriously?

Today, he called across the desk to chat with me. That's what we do in the newsroom, make observations, talk about the news, whatever. But he said (and I am paraphrasing here because I was a. stunned at what he said and b. stunned that he assumed I would agree) "I can't believe the Israelis are shelling Gaza like this. The Israelis are awful. They're so craven. I hate them."

I should have said "Colleague, I'm not the best person to talk to about this." Instead, I said nothing. I didn't know what to say. I didn't want to get into it. I have to listen to the anti-Israel stuff all day long. I have to make an effort not to read it in my newspaper. In this neck of the woods, Israel is responsible for all the world's evils. And I have to wonder, if you're anti-Israel, are you anti-Jew? Does it come into play? Can you separate the two?

I've decided I will speak up the next time it happens -- and it will happen again. I hope my colleague will have the good grace to be embarrassed, at the very least.

But sometimes, I find it hard to live here.