My brain, more busy than the labouring spider...

The other day a spider bit me. I never saw the little culprit but it certainly left a mark on my right forefinger. After a few hours it began to swell and turn red.
Curses! I haven’t reached the chapter in my Italian book that deals with doctors and health! So off I went to the pharmacy, tried to explain and failed miserably. I was forced to ask if anyone spoke English or German. One girl’s English was good and she started dragging out books with photos of spiders. The spiders in these photos looked like the cousins of my friend Brad’s window guest in Vancouver (pictured above ~shudder~). Anyhoo, when I told her I didn’t see the thing, pleasant pharmacy girl looked at my finger, then turned and started speaking to her colleagues in fast, unintelligible and what sounded to me like panicked Italian. Since I don’t know what she said I only imagine that they were calling the ambulance, the poison control centre, my mother and I’m pretty sure she mentioned the priest twice.

She marked the edges of the itchy area, which had now spread to my hand and had me sit down for a few minutes to see if the red area grew. Then she applied a patch thing and had me sit in the corner of the shop. What a great opportunity to people watch! You have to ask for almost every item you need, as the only things on the counter in this Italian Farmacia were cellulite creams and candy. ~I thought that was a pretty funny combo.~ It’s the same absolutely no-self-service system in Germany, as why would you pick out drugs for yourself when you never went to school to study them? It’s a totally different health care mentality and takes some getting used to. I’m a rebel and bring everything I think I would ever need from Canada and restock regularly. You have to ask even for aspirin here and if you don’t speak the language, it’s difficult. My friend Suz says pointing to the affected area and grimacing helps. Abject fear of losing my hand aside, I found the whole experience to be pleasantly organized. - Everyone keeps a good idea of who is where in the line to be served and then when it is your turn, the pharmacist greets you, at least in this area, by politely saying "mi dica, signora." (Tell me, Madame) and then you’re up. There was no privacy as the store is small and crowded and I had to speak pretty loudly to be heard over the din. If they didn’t already know me from my previous tortured attempts at Italian at the bakery and butcher’s, they knew me now. It’s a small town.

I ended up getting some cortisone cream for the itch and advice to go to the doctor if the swelling did not decrease. After a little research on the net, and some advice from my Ma, a bread poultice and some Tiger Balm has brought my finger almost down to its normal size. I didn’t even have to break into my extensive store of Canadian import aspirins.