Busted

My dear friends, tragedy has struck: I have sprained my foot.

For those who know me best, you can appreciate that this is nothing short of devastating for me. My one daily indulgence -- long, relaxing runs -- has been taken away. It's been more than a week since my last runner's high, and I'm in need of a serious fix. With the quickness.

Ironically, it was running that caused the whole debacle in the first place. Hailing from Chicago, I'm accustomed to braving cold temperatures to go for my daily jog. Like any good junkie, I'll go to great lengths to feed my addiction.

So the little bit of snow on the ground last Wednesday didn't faze me as I headed out for my loop through the rice paddies. I got about halfway through my route when pain began to shoot through my right foot. I must've landed funny on a patch of ice without realizing it. I hobbled home and vowed to take it easy. I've since traded my rice paddy runs for laps at the local pool.

But a week later, my foot was still throbbing, so I decided to seek a doctor's advice. Thanks to universal health coverage in Japan, we English teachers can pop into any hospital to get checked out -- for next to nothing. So, with my insurance card in one hand and my Japanese-English dictionary in the other, I hobbled over to a hospital a few blocks from my apartment.

So, yes, there's a new addition to list of foreign hospitals I've seen. For those of you keeping track, I have gone to a hospital in nearly every country I've visited, thanks to Montezuma's Revenge in Mexico, a busted finger in Nicaragua, a dehydrated friend in Costa Rica...

I limped through the front door. Conversation in the waiting room stopped as all eyes focused on me. Ever polite, I greeted the nurse at the reception desk with a cheery "Konnichiwa!" The panicked look on her face is forever etched into my memory: her eyes widened. She audibly gasped. How was she going to communicate with this giant gimpy foreigner?

Lucky for her, I had already completed the "At the Doctor" chapter in my Japanese textbook. I was all over this one.

"Migi ashi ga itain desu." My right foot hurts, I said.

"Hai. Wakarimashita." I understand, she said.

Yes! The Japanese study is paying off.

Unfortunately, that's where my "At the Doctor" vocabulary ended and my confusion began. The nurse, apparently assuming I spoke more Japanese than I actually do, rattled off some rapid-fire instructions and handed me a new patient admission form written almost entirely in kanji.

Yikes.

She saw my blank look and resigned herself to the fact that she'd have to help me complete the form. So, right there in the middle of the waiting room, the game of charades began.

Do I have any allergies? The nurse pretended her skin had broken out in a rash and proceeded to scratch furiously.

How did I hurt my foot? She pretended to run, trip, and fall to the floor.

Am I taking any prescription medications? She opened her mouth and motioned as if she were popping pills.

An Oscar-worthy performance if I've ever seen one. The folks in the waiting room should've given her a standing ovation.

The next step was an x-ray and a consultation with the doctor, which involved more charades, dictionary consulting and giggles.

Final diagnosis: No break. Sprain only.

But, the sad news: No run. Three weeks.

Looks like I'll be spending some quality time at the Maruoka pool this month.

So, here's the damage:

X-ray, in-hospital theatrics, and take-home gauze: 2250 yen
Daily admission to pool for laps: 300 yen
Knowing that I have another appointment in a week, to repeat the humiliation and hilarity all over again: PRICELESS