Sick? Bulgarians Know Best

It is a sense of total frustration in Bulgaria when you are sick, times like this just can’t be avoided as everyone had a bout of illness at some point. It was my turn this week. How do the Bulgarians look after me? Too much fuss from my experience.


I had been ill before having impaled my foot with a pitch fork a couple of years ago, that was the last time I have had needed support. Even then I was fussed over from everyone, checking up every few hours doing all the chores I couldn‘t do on the farm, it was overbearing sometimes, but it was reassuring that the community would never let you be ill on your own.

After screwing my Lada headlamps back in – they had come loose driving over the pot-holed Yambol roads twice a day – I leant down to check the headlight windscreen wiper and in tandem with a big crack there was a sudden burst of pain in my lower back. I had slipped a disc and knew right then that this would be a long healing process – I had done this once before in 1990.

News was out as I was on my hands and knees crawling into the house to the amazement Galia and Baba, they thought at first I was up to my tricks, but soon realised that the acting was far too good. The trouble was that I knew exactly what the problem was and they didn’t, but they thought they did. Bulgarians are always so confident that they know best, especially so as I was a foreigner here. What’s that got to do with me not knowing what my injury is I’ll never know.

Being Bulgarian they took charge, it didn’t matter what my diagnosis and suggestions for a remedy, I was helpless to do anything about it. What I needed was a day or tow lying down with a couple of painkillers and heat rub and I’ll be right as rain by the weekend, but that opinion was never going to sway the opinion of Bulgarians.

It was off to a cousin who was a doctor for some advice, the advice that came back was a series of injection, one batch for killing the pain the other was a steroid based injection. I just hate injection and faint at the thought, but this is out of my control. These drugs can be bought over the counter with no prescription, which was a little worrying.

Next thing I know, I am having a needle Sir Lancelot would have been proud of stuck into my bum. Half any hour later I couldn’t feel a thing. This is not what I wanted. I now don’t know whether my back is getting better or not. The following night another dose of injections and later that second evening I was evening dancing a little bit before going to bed.

My fear was realised that third morning when I couldn’t even lift a leg to get out of bed. The painkiller had worn off and I was paralysed and that how I am right now. I am due for another final injection tonight, which I don’t want, but it will be administered. The dancing last night just must has dislodged something and not being able to feel a thing or realise it had now happened.

Who know what will become of me tomorrow?







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