ERs and phone cards

“Back to the hospital today, eh?” I asked Mel, focusing on the nutella-covered toast in my hand.

“Yeah, 12pm appointment. Hopefully it won’t be as long today as yesterday.” She responds.

Instead of trekking the mile, as we did 3 times yesterday, we opt for a cheap cap. “GBH” I tell the driver, and he looks at me quizzically. “CBH” Mel corrects me. “The base hospital?” asks the driver, and our response is an in unison “yes”.

I never do get names right.

We arrive at the hospital and head up to the first floor, where Mel checks in, taking a number from an automated machine. “I feel like I’m at a deli”, she exclaims.

I head downstairs with a 500 minute calling card that she obtained yesterday, and has graciously offered to let me use in the meantime. I find a bank of pay phones (my gosh, how long has it been since I’ve used a legit pay phone?) and try to figure out how to work this calling card. I sigh inwardly as I realize that I only have a $2 coin, which means I’ll be losing $1.50 because it doesn’t return change.

Later, I’ll realize it was worth every nickel of that $2 coin. (Oz doesn’t have pennies.)

I punch in the familiar number, hearing the phone ring 4 times, and the answering machine pick up. Doing a mental calculation in my head, I figure it can’t be much past 10:30pm on Sunday night, so I roll my eyes at her call screening. I know she’s sitting on the sofa with the TV volume turned down to see if the caller left a message.

“Pick up, it’s me. Helllllo? Pick up!” I say in my much-hated recording voice.

“Hello?” I hear her say, clearly unsure who is on my end of the phone.

“Heeeeeeeeeeeey!” I say emphatically, incredibly overjoyed that at this connection. I still hear my southern accent, despite the fact that we’ve been in Australia for a month and a half.

“Who is this?”

“Your daughter! Who else?”

“Jeannie! Is that you?”

And thus begins a 20 minute phone call to my mom and brother, followed up with a brief 10 minute phone call to my sister.

How it heals my heart, my heart which has been so homesick as of late. These voices! I haven’t heard these voices, unless you count the pathetic Skype attempts, in far too long. The voices that persisted throughout my childhood, into my teenage years, and now my twenties. These voices that I undoubtedly wish to continue far into my future, lavishing hope and joy and love into my life on a frequent basis.

I wander back upstairs into the waiting room to find Walt reading a book. “Hey!” I say to him, “Is Mel in with the doctor?” He responds with a yes, and we start chatting about random topics.

“You are so happy!” He says to me, “It’s contagious!”

I try to explain how the conversation with my family was like a much needed illegal drug - like ecstasy, I suppose - heightening my happiness infinitely, while possibly coming down later with an increased longing for them. As I try to direct the conversation to a new topic, he stops me, saying he wants to hear more about these phone calls.

“Do it. Go call YOUR family! Get some happiness of your own!” I laugh at him.

He tells me that all the phone numbers he knows, except 1, are in his cell phone, back at the hotel. He occasionally looks a bit preoccupied, and I think he’s pondering the phone call I know he wants to make.

Finally, I give him the calling card and he heads downstairs himself, to find his own little piece of earth-bound heaven. Little do I know that about 30 minutes later, I’ll be blessed, even more, with two brief conversations with those that he was able to reach.

I look at Mel as she comes out of the doctor’s office, sunnies on despite the indoor fluorescence. “You really need to call Mim” I tell her, convinced that it will cure her homesick heart to talk to her sister. “I know.”

Later, as we stride down the street towards Macca’s for a late lunch, I wonder aloud, “Why in the heck have we not bought calling cards before?” and vow to try to make more time in the future for calling home when phones are nearby.

Americans, we miss the hell out of you.