Yesterday we had lunch with Hubby’s dad, uncle, brother, sister-in-law, and nephews–two sweet, silly boys who tried to impress me by counting in English, with words for “butt” and “pee-pee” in their own language thrown in for laughs. Unfortunately, other than the word for “horse,” those were the only words they said all day that I was able to understand. The language barrier is a huge hurdle for me here, one that I keep telling myself I’ll surmount when and if we ever live here full time. That’s looking more and more like a possibility, since Hubby’s recent interview here and still hearing nothing from his other prospects. Hubby keeps telling me, as his brother did yesterday, that lots of people here speak English, and I shouldn’t have any trouble getting by until I learn the language. The problem is that my nephews don’t. My father-in-law doesn’t very well, or is too embarrassed to exchange more than a couple of polite words with me at one time. I feel the same way. The few words and phrases I do know, I don’t like to use because I’m afraid I’ll say something wrong, or in the wrong context.
I know it’ll be different if we make a home here. I’ll take language courses and make more of an effort to immerse myself. A trip every year or two for a couple of weeks isn’t worth all the effort of learning a new language, and I wouldn’t get the practice I need to keep it up. I’ve tried before and fizzled out.
On another note, I was worried our attempts to get cheap meds here would also fizzle out. We were able to get an appointment to see the same doctor Hubby’s brother and sister-in-law went to, even though we were first told it wouldn’t be possible to see him for prescriptions only. The appointment was at 10:30–pm. Yes, you read that right. Thanks to the public/private health insurance systems at work in this country. When we arrived–more than 30 minutes early–we were told they were running about 45 minutes late. Hubby and I filled out paperwork, read magazines, and nearly an hour and a half after our original appointment time–pushing midnight–we met the doctor. He asked us about our history and our plans for the next cycle. He asked where we were planning to have treatment and what medications had been prescribed. With no hesitation, he wrote us out what we needed, told us he agreed with Dr. C that the first round was probably just bad luck, and sent us on our way.
One hurdle conquered. Next up: paying for these prescriptions and the rest of our IVF cycle. Hubby is currently in “negotiations” with his brother to figure out where this money is going to come from and how much we’ll get. I’m not involved in this discussion at all, but I told Hubby that if we couldn’t get the full amount from his dad and/or uncle, I would be fine with borrowing a small amount to cover the rest. That’s assuming he has a job lined up for this fall.
So many details. All of which have to be perfectly aligned for this cycle to work out. But I’m trying to stay optimistic. To look at these potential barriers as opportunities–or some crazy shit like that?