I had messaged my Teta (aunt) Julija and Uncle Oliver on Viber and asked them to meet me at this new hospital with my cousin Gorjan, who is a doctor. Gorjan didn’t come for awhile because he was already working, but the second I was rolled through the emergency doors after a two hour ambulance ride, I felt the most at ease that I had that whole day. They were the only people I really felt connected to at that point, the only people I really had to call and ask for help. Teta took one look at me, and I could tell she was trying really hard not to cry. She knew I was in a lot of pain, so she just touched my cheek and assured that she would take care of me, and that she did.

 

I knew my mom had been in contact with her, and they were in the process of getting all of the behind the scenes work done---from obtaining the scans, to sending them to the US, to getting them in the hands of a good doctor (maybe even just one that didn’t smoke a cigarette in the hospital), etc. etc. etc. I laid in the ambulance gurney for what felt like the whole day before my Uncle Oliver began to argue with the ambulance driver in Macedonian. They were trying to move me to a different hospital gurney and the medically untrained driver was going to do it himself. Uncle Oliver defended me as his own child and demanded they get a doctor to do it. They yelled at each other and for what could have been the saving grace of my future mobility, Uncle Oliver won and I wasn’t moved until nurses came over to lift me.

 

Finally, a real doctor came into the ER where I was uncomfortably sandwiched between gurneys holding a screaming baby and a nearly dead old man. The doctor spoke English decently well, at least compared to anyone else I had come in contact with, so I was feeling maybe even a little calmed. Without the look of panic everyone else had on their faces, he performed a test on me where he would rub his middle and forefinger gently on different parts of my body. Much to his surprise, I could feel everywhere he touched and I could wiggle everything he asked me to wiggle.

 

He then rolled me on my janky gurney into the closet. Apparently they ran out of room for people in the ER, so breaking your spine doesn’t necessarily solidify your spot nowadays. I was pushed into this filthy closet where the walls were quite literally falling apart and all of the old cardiac equipment was stored. I stayed in that closet for three hours. Three full hours. I try to block out of my brain as much of this waiting time as possible.

 

I had visitors come and go, but mustn't have been anyone that memorable because I couldn’t even tell you who. After that three hour period came to a close, the doctor returned. With his greasy looking long hair, he basically told me that he was certain it was a bad idea for me to stay there. Great, I thought, the one place I was sure I was going to be safe and now he’s telling me to leave. He said I didn’t require surgery, but could have it if I wanted to. Hell no, absolutely not here. He said the alternative would be wearing a back brace, which if that was the worst case scenario, I was fine with it. He also mentioned that it would be safe for me to go home, so I immediately told my parents to hold off on buying their plane tickets in a bout of panic.

 

I still really had no technically correct way of saying or knowing what was wrong with me, I just knew I was going to potentially be okay. I needed to be admitted to the hospital either way, but the state hospital, Majka Tereza, (where I was at the time) required that I had six other roommates in one small room. I was starting to fall into a haze, so I had missed that my Teta had already arranged for me to move to Acibadem Sistina, the private hospital in Skopje, and my new home for the next two weeks. I drifted in and out of memorable consciousness as we waited another hour for the next ambulance to arrive.