I’m delighted to share this little adventure with my readers. It’s a three-part series, so brace yourselves! As always, thanks for reading, and please do subscribe. You’ll get a little jingle in your box when new posts are published.

Living in Prague for the past two years definitely has its perks. I am a registered sole trader, and contribute monthly to the Czech health insurance system. This gives me access to practically everything, including my MRI appointment which came within a week of getting a referral. I am blessed to have a squash-playing/cake-making friend who plays tennis with one of the top surgeons in the country, specializing on the brain. While I’m aware that brain surgery should have been first on my list of things to undergo, I’ll save that for another time. This doctor, in exchange from some tasty cakes from my friend, agreed to see me a week after my MRI. He introduced me to his colleague in the next office, who is a surgeon specializing on the spine. I was immediately presented with all my options. I already knew he was the guy for me when I saw the bottle of Jameson’s Irish Whiskey on his desk. After about three minutes of conversation, I asked “How quickly can you do it?”.  

I have had a pain in my neck for a long time. Some might say, I’ve BEEN a pain in the neck for a long time. My squash career spanning about 40 years, has taken its toll on my body, and about 6 months ago I began getting pain down my right arm which turned into permanent tingling in my hand. I’d lost the reflex in my arm and after several sessions with my physio, decided it was time to investigate further. The doctor agreed he could perform the surgery the following week. I’m not ready to stop playing squash yet. At 51 there are still lots of Masters tournaments to be won (have I mentioned I’m competitive?). I also appreciate on a daily basis how blessed I am to be able to play a sport at all. I’ve talked about the privilege of growing old before, so I won’t digress. This time.

The downside of living in the Czech Republic is not being able to speak the language. Sure, I know a few basic words and phrases, the most important ones obviously. “Where’s the toilet?”, “A glass of prosecco”, and of course manners like please and thank you just roll off my tongue. My step-daughter cringes whenever we are walking down the street and I say Dobry Den to passers-by. (Hello). It’s not the done thing here. Surprised (or frightened) looks on the faces of my victims, are a sure indication that the culture is very different. How I long to go into the supermarket and have a chat about the price of cheese these days, or ask if they’re having a nice day, or comment on the weather for God’s sake! I am starved of banter.

So, it’s no suprise how unnerving it was being faced with a four-night stay in a hospital in Prague, where the nurses spoke only Czech. Imagine the panic I felt when realizing that I’d be put under anaesthetic, and woken up again, all in a foreign language. I had nightmares leading up to it of being in tremendous pain and not being able to tell them. Not to mention that I had watched The Good Nurse on Netflix the week before – what was I thinking?

Five days before surgery, I pulled an all-nighter on Duolingo, like a teenager doing her leaving cert in the 80’s. I know 175 Czech words, none of which I thought would come in handy at hospital. Stroj – the word for machine kept popping up. Better still – Velke Stroj – Big machine. I’ll never use that, I’d thought to myself.  Mlade strom – young tree.  Honestly, Duolingo, where do you come up with these learning tools?

On arrival at the hospital, which was aptly named HomoLska (they must have known), I was pleasantly surprised to find that I had a private room. Not just any private room – a giant room with a balcony. There were two chairs outside which were obviously there for me to sit on and admire the lovely Mlade strom’s in the garden below. Thank you Duolingo.

My partner was with me every step of the way. While not a native, she has lived here for 30 years, and despite our two children giving her a hard time for her amateur Czech, Annabelle is the finest autodidact I know. She makes a brilliant translator and I certainly couldn’t have managed without her. (Even if she quite possibly made some of it up).

The nurses had great smiles and energy and explained to Annabelle that I would need the Google Translate app on my phone. It’s a fantastic little gem of a thing, and while not perfect, it provided hours of entertainment for myself and the staff. For example, the night before my surgery, the nurse spoke into my phone, and the sentence translated was:

“Shove these up your anus and then march around the room”.

I don’t know if I was more shocked at the shoving things up my anus part, or the demonstration the portly matron provided of how to march around the room. Without hesitation, I took the suppositories in my hand, motioned at placing them up my bottom, and simulated marching around the room. She held up both hands with fingers outstretched, to indicate I had to do this for 10 minutes. And so there we were. Both of us marching. Both of us laughing. I wonder if she was clenching her bottom just as tightly as I was.

My last meal before surgery was delivered by the jolliest little lady I’ve ever met. She was as wide as she was short, had tight bubbly hair, and she delivered my tray with a toothless smile. She spoke quickly in the local dialect and I explained ‘No Cesky, Anglizky prozim?’ (No Czech, English please?). To which she chuckled and basically said ‘No Anglizky’. (No English).

Our daily interactions consisted of me saying hello in Czech – ‘Dobry Den’ and she saying hello in English. Repeatedly. Just with different intonations. We had an entire conversation one morning simply saying hello over and over in multiple languages. She once said ‘Bon Appetite!’ and that had us both in hysterics. I answered her in French, and shaking her head, she guffawed so loudly that the entire ward wondered what we were up to. I was absolutely delighted when I asked her for some Voda (water), and she took my arm, leading me to the water cooler in the hallway. With the confidence of a priest about to say mass, I declared ‘ah, the Voda Stroj!’. Hilarity erupted. Duolingo, you have served me well.

My lovely mam arrived after dinner, having flown in from Dublin for the week. Isn’t it funny how some of us still love to have our mams by our side when we feel vulnerable? Even at age 51. My experience with my mam and hospital visits is that there will always be tomfoolery, so I welcomed her cheerful visit. (If anything, we could banter!)

I had a reprieve from my handy dandy translator late on Operation Eve (not nearly as fun as Christmas Eve) when the anaesthesiologist came to visit. He was a hunched over white haired man wearing a white coat that needed a bit of an iron. He had a giddy smile and his mischievous eyes peeped out over thick-rimmed glasses resting on his extraordinarily large nose. Flipping through my chart with an air of curiosity, the conversation went something like this:

“I see you’re a squash player”, the smile on his face broadening.

“I am!” I exclaimed a bit too excitedly.

“And you have a loop recorder implant”, he continued in his delightful Eastern European accent.

“I do”, less excitedly.

“And I see you had a mini stroke 5 years ago?”

“That’s right Doctor”, my voice a bit sheepish.

“And you’re a squash player?” he laughed kindly. “And tomorrow you’ll have neck surgery”. His laugh wasn’t condescending. It was cute and curious.

“She’s a lunatic, isn’t she?” my mother couldn’t help herself.

“Well, it’s very puzzling I suppose”, his smile became more endearing with every accented phrase.

“I’m not ready to quit yet, doctor. Do you play yourself?”

Ah…the chance to banter! I thought.

“No, I don’t play squash”, he continued chuckling. Sticking with the task at hand, he said: “You have Doctor Kucherna you know. He’s very – good.” He paused, reading, nodding.

“Very good, or very, very good?” I asked. All of us laughing now. There was an easy relaxed vibe in the room.

“He’s excellent. And very quick. You are in good hands”.

I wish I’d gotten his name. Such a lovely man, someone you wouldn’t mind taking home to your mother. If you were 65 and just started dating that is. He left me with a feeling of confidence that I was about to have a lovely little nap and that I wouldn’t remember anything at all. That conversation fuelled my need for a bit of chat in English and I was left feeling quite relaxed the night before my surgery.

Once I’d finished my ten-minute march around the room and everything that came after that, I slid into the new pair of pyjamas my mum had brought. Feeling cosy and snug, I hopped onto the hospital bed, kissing Annabelle and my mum goodnight.

Gazing out onto the balcony of my bedroom, I counted my blessings multiple times. As my mind became more relaxed, I began drifting off. There was a soft knock on the door and the night nurse popped in speaking fast-paced Czech. My puzzled look was a sure sign to her that I was lost. I grabbed my phone, but we were now used to playing charades together. She stood there tilting her head sideways with closed eyes, placing it onto her joined hands, then motioned putting something in her mouth. That obviously meant ‘do you want a sleeping pill, pet?’

“I’ll take whatever you want to give me”, I said. She looked blankly at me so I nodded profusely and said “Ano prozim!” (Yes Please!). We both laughed. I popped the pill, noticing the pain in my arm and hand that has been tormenting me for 5 months. In a deep sleep, I didn’t dream of the Good Nurse, but rather of my surgeon sitting at his desk, with the bottle of whiskey. He was sharpening his scalpel, and polishing my screws. What was in that sleeping pill?

What I loved the most about my interactions with the hospital staff, was that we just couldn’t help but smile. It made me realize how universal a laugh is, and how infectious a smile can be, regardless of the language.

Czech back in a few days (see what I did there), for Part Two of this adventure and find out how my mam nearly orchestrated another operation when she got her hands on the remote controls for my hospital bed…