Rain, Dust and a Visit to the Doctor

I was upstairs running the bath for JJ when he came running up the stairs wailing like he had broken 3 limbs and a big toe. I asked him what was wrong to which he replied 'It's raaaaaaining...waaaah!' Of course, I did not believe him so I raced down the stairs and out the door where I was assaulted by the heady smell of a thunderstorm and, sure enough, massive drops of rain were falling and the low grumble of thunder confirming what my eyes refused to believe. To make utterly certain I had to walk in the rain and breathe in that unmistakable 'wet' aroma to my neighbour's house where we shrieked in joy at each other over the rain.

There is a downside to a rainstorm, however, and that is the truckloads of dust that get blown about. If you haven't sealed off your windows and doors with 'wide gap tape' and/or silicon, you will experience mini sand dunes under said windows and doors. My washing happened to be happily drying on my balcony and acquired a lovely layer of dust (those items that weren't blown down the driveway by the gale force wind, that is) which I had to shake out this morning.

Just as quickly as it had come, so it was over. Fifteen minutes of water falling from the sky had managed to lift my spirits to new heights after at least 4 months of not seeing a single drop.

In other news, I had to take DH to the doctor a few days ago as he managed to injure himself after exercising for the first time in about 4 years (does golf actually count as exercise though??) and has been bitching about it for the past 3 weeks. I'm so glad I have never needed any kind of urgent medical treatment here, touch wood, as it is quite a process to see a doctor. First, you wait for a cashier to be free, then you have to assist them in filling out a form for you, afterwhich you pay Dhs 50 (before you've had any kind of treatment). Then you go and wait in the waiting room, or waiting rooms as the case may be if you happen to be of differing genders. Thankfully I remembered to bring my book as we sat there for about 15 minutes before they called DH through to triage. They checked his blood pressure, oxygen levels, weight, height and finally, found out why he was there. Then, back to the waiting rooms for another half hour or so. I think I actually managed to doze off at one point as I was nice and private and alone but for one other in the 'women's waiting room' while DH sat with the many men in the 'men's waiting room'. At last they call him through.

The doctor is a nice enough Indian fellow that asked many, many questions to establish that he has an inflammation of the muscle between the ribs and that he is to do NOTHING for the next 3 weeks, except breathe. I, of course, found this hilarious as that was obviously not going to happen and DH looked so pleased to be getting medical permission for being the lazy sod that he already is (just kidding love!). I don't think the doctor appreciated my hearty laughter at his medical advice though.

So, we're done right? Noooo. Now you must go back to the cashier and have them check if you owe anymore money. Then we're done right? Wrong again! Go and wait at the pharmacy while they haul out a bucket load of drugs (no jokes). Finally, we are done! What a process.