An Update from the Invalid

Honestly, kids, I looked and looked for something racier than this, Cherry bidding a merry adieu to an elderly gentleman who's presumably now all rested, as it were, thanks to her ministrations, but, a few standard medical-themed pinups aside, things rapidly get too racy, it turns out, when you Google things like "hot male nurses."  Go ahead - see for yourself.  Lose an hour or two of your life...

In any case, here's a quick update from the sick bay.  We made our way to Prestigious University Hospital this morning, where for what I'm guessing is going to be something like the national debt of Latvia, I was poked and prodded with some sort of gizmo that gave off the most alarming noises (shades of The Machine That Goes "Ping!" in The Meaning of Life) - alternately clacking and gurgling and whirring - thereby allowing the technician (a very well set up gentleman called Clint - if only he were slathering me with chilly gel for better reasons!) to look around inside. 

Then it was a nice cozy wait for our long-awaited opportunity to See the Doctor.

Which we did.  The cardiologist turns out to be a lovely matronly Indian lady ("Oh! I have ma-any cousins who live there!" she exclaimed when she learned of our Sandlandian home, and I'm sure she does), who passed on news good - nothing showing up in the tests yet  - and not so.  Not so, at this point, only because that means more, and apparently moderately less pleasant, tests.

Which means not traveling yet, which is a great bore.  Too much longer in borrowed rooms and we'll start to feel like refugees, not least because one of our last acts before first hitting the ER was shipping home the vast majority of our stuff, from souvenirs to extra underpants, and so here we sit with travel clothes and not much more.  Whinge, whinge, whinge, I know, especially when the bottom line, at the moment at least, is that it appears there's nothing about to blow imminently, which means we can at least go out and do something amusing (the appeal of American TV has definitely waned over the past four days of doing nothing at all).

At least in the evenings.  On top of everything else, you see, it's now become Ramadan, so Mr. Muscato is fasting and therefore rather nocturnal.  Aside from not drinking and Avoiding Undue Excitement (both doctor's orders), I'm sure we'll have a blast...