POLYPS! -- Ljubljana, Slovenia

Polyps.

I've got polyps.

Polyps.

Sounds like the name of a fuzzy tree that ought to grow in some colorful land invented by Dr. Seuss. Perhaps thneeds are made out of Polyps in some other universe. Fanciful, fluffy and entirely useless.

Unfortunately, in this universe, polyps are benign, abnormal tissue growths that can inhabit all sorts of interesting places throughout the body. The colon, the ear canal, the stomach, the nose, the throat.

They are neither fanciful nor fluffy, but they are entirely useless. Worse than useless. And I've got one in my uterus. He's two centimeters long, causes me immense discomfort and if I had been able to donate the blood he's made me lose, I would have eaten so many pints of free ice cream.

(in Grand Junction, if you donate a pint of blood, you get a pint of ice cream)

Hopefully, he will be the only thing ever to grow in my uterus. 

Andrej's secretary, a cheerful lady named Sasha, is the master of phones and appointments and making things happen. She called around on Tuesday morning to try to find the cheapest gynecologist available. She let Andrej know a couple of hours later that I had an appointment the next day at 16:45. And that it would cost eighty five euros for the ultrasound and the reading.

"That's it?" I crowed in shock and ecstasy. "Are you kidding me? That's so cheap. In the US, it would probably be hundreds of dollars."

My friend went to work Wednesday morning around nine, as is his habit. I tried to write a blog, as is my habit, but couldn't manage to achieve a modicum of concentration. My brain was lost in ruminating over a conversation with Andrej the night before and thinking about the dire straits into which my lady parts had fallen.

This is the most difficult moment for me. The moment when you know you're about to find out what's wrong with you, so you can't keep pretending it's nothing at all. That hey, it's a little unusual to bleed for a month straight, but it's not a big deal. I mean, everyone's uterus is unique, right? Mine just happens to enjoy bleeding interminably.

I'm about to find out how big or small of a deal this is. 

And that's scary. 

I took the notebook I'd purchased with Salvo in Modena and ambled to one of Ljubljana's many rivers to journal. To just scribble my thoughts without worrying about putting them in a space for people to read. The mayor has installed a glut of benches and paths along the banks of some of these rivers, so I had no trouble finding a place to sit.

I watched the river flow quietly, serenely, consistently. I watched bikers on the bridges and men and women walking in their long, dark winter jackets.  Jackets so long that they seemed to float.

My heart opened. My fingers loosened. I rapidly filled ten pages of the little notebook from Modena with the pain and fear and sadness that the conversation with Andrej had awoken.

It was good for me to process this. Hard, but good. And at least it took my mind off my malfunctioning uterus, I stared at the river for a moment longer, then packed my daybag and strolled through the walking streets of Ljubljana before heading back to Andrej's apartment.

My friend drove me to the doctor at 16:10. The secretary spoke a bit of English, but wasn't close to fluent, so Andrej acted as our translator.

I'm so lucky to have this guy. 

We filled out the paperwork and retired to the waiting room. A frantic elderly woman blew in the door just after we'd sat down, and started speaking to Andrej in Slovenian.

"She's been waiting for this appointment for two months," Andrej told me after the woman had calmed down a bit.

"Two months? How did Sasha manage to get me in so soon?"

"Sasha's very good at her job."

"Must be. Wow, what a team my uterus has working for it."

These moments of conflicting emotions feel so bizarre. Like when I needed knee surgery but was able to recuperate in Cathy's beautiful home. I was so damn disappointed that I needed surgery in the first place, but unbelievably grateful to have someone like Cathy on my team. Taking care of me. I'm so irritated that my uterus is making such a bloody hullabaloo, but I feel so lucky to have Andrej here that I almost forget how irritated I am. 

Almost.

A wonderfully friendly middle-aged lady called us into her office, and I breathed a sigh of relief. It's always a little nerve-wracking to not know who's going to be messing with your bits.

She seems great. I hope she speaks English... but even if there's a language barrier, she seems great. 

"She only speaks English," Andrej told the doctor. "She's from America."

"I speak a little English," my doctor informed us in a thick accent. "Can you translate?" she asked my friend.

Oof. This could get awkward. 

"I've been bleeding for a month now," I told the doctor. "And I've had horrible cramps. Very, very painful."


"Okay, you can leave now," she told Andrej, and I breathed another sigh of relief.

There are few people I trust as much as Andrej. There are few people I feel as comfortable around as Andrej. 

But I'm still glad that Andrej's outside. 
 
"You can go take off your clothes," the doctor motioned towards a minuscule dressing room. In which I nearly fell over twice whilst unlacing my black boots.

"So you are from America?" the gynecologist made conversation as she nonchalantly stuck things up my lady parts. "Where in America?"

"I'm from Colorado."

"Colorado, oh! We like Americans in Slovenia. You having a good time in Slovenia?"

"Umm... yeah. yeah, I... umm... love it here."

"You have any kids?"

"No, no kids."

"You want to have kids?"

Why is she asking this? Did my uterus explode? Am I still capable of making babies?

"Nope, no kids for me."

"What about your boyfriend? Does he want kids?"

"Neither of us want kids."

"Oh," my doctor seemed to droop around the shoulders a little. "Why not?"

"We both really love our lives without kids."  

"What do you do for work?" she continued to prod around my nethers.

"I teach yoga."

Not right now... but it's easier to say "I teach yoga" than it is to say, "I'm a vagabond who writes a blog and sometimes teaches yoga and sometimes practices massage and sometimes makes pretty flower gardens and sometimes..." 

"Oh, super!" my doctor's eyes lit up. "I... do acupuncture... and.... massage."

"Wow, umm... awesome," I struggled to be talkative.

I don't know how to handle all the friendly right now. I just have a hard time wanting to engage in conversation during this sort of... ordeal.

The doctor then started telling me all about the two centimeter polyp living in my uterus.

"It's not cancer. But if you don't get it out, you won't stop bleeding. You have too much estrogen and your hormones are imbalanced. We can put you on hormone therapy, and once your hormones are balanced, your body should get rid of the polyp. If the hormone therapy doesn't work, then you will need surgery. You can get dressed now. I'll call in your friend," she opened the door for Andrej just as I slipped into the changing room.

Hey, I'm not dying. That's pretty cool. But gosh, I hope the hormones work. I don't want to be in Nepal and in need of surgery. And I wouldn't have Andrej around to be my translator in Nepal. Or Sasha to work her phone magic and get me an appointment straightaway. 

"What if I need the surgery, but I'm in Croatia?" I asked the doctor.

"Oh, they like Americans in Croatia. I'll write the prescription in Latin so that they can understand."

I wouldn't have Andrej in Croatia, though. Maybe I'll leave the Schengen Area a couple of days early so that if I need the surgery, I can come back here for a couple of days. Yes. I'll do that.  

The doctor wished me a pleasant stay in Slovenia, I paid the eighty-five euros, and we went to the pharmacy to buy my meds.

Three months worth of meds cost about ten euros.

HOW? How has America created a healthcare system that is so prohibitively, insanely expensive that I'm almost as afraid of medical bills as I am of a broken leg? How is that dysfunctional system still in place when in countries like Slovenia, I can pay a grand total of 95 euros for an ultrasound, a reading AND my medication? WITHOUT insurance? Why can America not learn what works in other countries and implement it?

I felt like a million pounds had been lifted off my shoulders. I felt light and carefree and ready to plan the next seventeen years of my life.

Because I'm OKAY. 

I contacted a lady in Zagreb via workaway and arranged a stay with her for the first week of November. I posted open couchsurfing requests for Bosnia and Kosovo and braced myself for the onslaught of "hi u look great."

I'll just delete those messages immediately and not dwell on them. I don't need to spend any of my time or energy thinking about all the ways couchsurfing has gone wrong. If I can't find people as great as Elisa and Ville, then I'll just stay in a hostel. Hostels in Mostar cost six euros a night. So if I'm not absolutely confident in my host, I'll book a hostel. That simple. 

In news entirely unrelated to my lady parts (for once), the Postojna Caves and Predjama Castle were breathtaking.

The karst cave system is 24,120 meters long and was formed by the Pivka River. It was discovered in the 17th century and became a tourist attraction in 1819, when Archduke Ferdinand decided to pay a visit, and found the caves to be quite nice indeed. During the early years of tourism, candles were scattered throughout the caverns, casting soft, romantic light onto the stalagmites and stalagmites, columns and cave bacon. However, the smoke from the thousands of candles settled in sooty black layers on the once pristine cave formations. This wasn't helped when the Germans used the caves to store 1000 barrels of aircraft fuel. Aircraft fuel that later turned into a fire that lasted seven days and blackened the entire entrance of the cave. In effort to save the remaining formations, the cave switched to electricity as soon as it became available, and was actually illuminated entirely by electric lights before the capital of Slovenia.

I don't believe any pictures could do justice to the astonishing beauty of Postojna Caves, but here are a few of mine. 

You ride an electric train three or four kilometers into the cave and then disembark to tour the more beautiful, less sooty caverns

This is one of the cave's most iconic formations. The majestic and totally different stalagmites growing right next to each other.

We set off towards Predjama Castle after our hour of touring the caves, racing to Andrej's car to escape the chilly air.

I can't believe it's only October. Feels like it ought to be January. Winter's got no business showing up this early.

Predjama Castle is a Renaissance style castle built into the mouth of a cave, complete with secret passageway to a nearby village for supplies. The most famous resident of this castle was named Erazem, a robber baron of Slovenia. The governor of Trieste laid an unsuccessful siege against him and his stronghold for a year and a day, until he finally bribed a servant to betray the one weak spot of the impregnable castle.

The loo.

Why is it always the loo?

 The servant placed a candle in the window when Erazem sat down for a poo, and the governor fired a cannon at the unsuspecting gentleman.

And that was the end of the robber baron. 

Andrej and I stopped for a warm bite to eat on the way home, and then spent the rest of the evening watching Monty Python on the red couch.

I've already been here a week and a half. Time seems to be flying away from me. Three more weeks, and then it's solo traveling again, couchsurfing with strangers and hoping that I'll find someone I can connect with. Feel safe with. 

Be careful, Bourget. Be careful to not let this month fly by. Be so present, Bourget. This could be the last time you live with a friend until you return to Colorado in May. Enjoy every moment of it.