Itsara

When I decided to write about what we did today, it was because I thought you’d be interested in our first doctor visit, and because I thought the image of Cindy teaching improper fractions on the way to the hospital was interesting. As it turns out, today became interesting for a different reason altogether.

We woke up late this morning. In addition to the problems Cindy has had sleeping lately, Sandra had a bad dream last night and slept with us. So far, it has proven more difficult for us to sleep when she’s with us, and last night was no different. After getting up, I played the banjo and the guitar a little bit. Nothing interesting. I only know three chords on the banjo, but fortunately those chords can be used to play the theme from “Dukes of Hazzard”.

After breakfast and devotion, we left for the day’s errands. Today we were going to visit the doctor, go to the library, reserve tickets for our trip back to the States in August, and go to the market. In the end, only one of these really got done.

On the way to the hospital, Cindy gave Sandra a math lesson in the car. She learned how to turn improper fractions into mixed numbers, and she was adding fractions into whole numbers by the time we arrived. After much waiting at the hospital, they determined that Cindy really and truly is pregnant, but we couldn’t see the doctor yet. He wouldn’t be available until later so we decided to come back. Instead, we went to the library to return some of the 50+ books that Cindy and Sandra checked out two weeks before, renew some, and check out some new ones. This was the first time I had visited this library. I discovered they are woefully lacking in speculative fiction, but I did find an old fantasy novel by Terry Brooks and checked it out. We left with almost as many books as we arrived with.

On the way back to the hospital, our day changed completely. Cindy was looking at the map, trying to find a shortcut back to the main highway. She found one and said, “Turn here!” I turned hastily. Too hastily. And I cut off a man on a bike, knocking him to the ground.

I won’t leave you in suspense about the results. After ten stitches, the man is fine. After a few thousand baht, his bike will be fine. Our truck is fine too - maybe we’ll fix it later.

But I wasn’t fine. I was angry - a white-hot anger. I was angry at Cindy for telling me to turn so quickly. I was angry at the man and his father and the police for assuming I was a stupid farang who couldn’t speak Thai nor follow normal driving laws. I was angry at myself for being a stupid farang who couldn’t follow normal driving laws nor be bothered to look in his side-view mirror. I was angry at myself more than anyone. In truth, it was my fault, and I told Cindy as much after my white-hot anger settled into a mere molten red. I was driving after all. I should’ve known I couldn’t have made that turn safely, or at least I should have known who was behind me and to my left.

I was so angry that I became virtually immobile and useless. I hate being a farang sometimes because of the assumptions made about me, and I hate it even more when I prove those assumptions to be true. On the other hand, if I want to I can always let conversations happen around me while people assume that I cannot speak nor understand Thai. This is what I did today until I was calm enough to interact with people. Unfortunately for Cindy, the assumptions are just the opposite. Although we can both speak and understand approximately the same amount of Thai, everyone will assume she can speak fluently. Even when they find out the truth they will still prefer speaking with her rather than me. Today my amazing wife suffered from this assumption because I was too angry to tell them their assumptions were wrong, and she bore the brunt of the conversation.

The police witnessed the accident too. This was fortunate, because they are used to dealing with accidents involving foreigners and they handled all of the procedural business. It was unfortunate because it tacked on a fine for turning without signalling in addition to everything else that had happened. It was also unfortunate because we had to wait for a couple of hours at the police station while they did paperwork, and I had to be told multiple times how to drive safely in Thailand. This didn’t help my mood. Of course I know how to drive safely! I thought. But if I knew, I wouldn’t have done it, and so I felt even worse about myself.

After the reports were done and the fine was paid at the police station, we went with the man and his father to the bike shop where they would estimate the damage and we would pay for it. The man’s father agreed that we would pay for the repair costs, but he said that his son had health insurance that would cover the doctor’s fees so we didn’t have to worry about that. He was insistent. Thais are like that.

It took a while for the mechanics to estimate the repairs. We were there for another couple of hours, and none of us had eaten lunch. I was starving and had a headache, which again only served to worsen my mood. Then the father did something that truly surprised me: he bought us lunch.

In America, had this happened, the victim would be indignant. He would demand restitution, trump up the injuries, and maybe even take me to court so he could receive money for emotional stress as well. In contrast, the father of the man who I had hit said his son’s insurance would pay for the doctor and then bought us lunch at the bike shop. It wasn’t a big lunch nor fancy, but it was lunch. I mean, I hit the man’s son. Because of me, both he and his son had wasted over half the day dealing with paperwork and repairs. Yet the man still bought us dumplings and orange juice. He didn’t ask, he just did it. When Cindy offered to pay he refused. He was insistent. Thais are like that.

And four hours after it happened, everything was over. His bike is in the shop, but it’s paid for. Our truck needs to be fixed, but it drives fine. One other contrast is that, in America, both parties - even the party at fault - would be left with a deep enmity towards the other person. Even though they may never see each other in person again, they will still feel bitter everytime they notice the scratch in their car or the increase in their insurance bill. But with this man and his father, I am actually glad for having met them. I enjoyed talking with them, even amidst my emotional devastation. If I saw them again, I would gladly talk with them and maybe even buy them lunch, and I’m certain they would do the same with me (Thais are like that).

By comparison, the rest of the day was not interesting. It took me a couple of hours of alone time to finally return to a rational emotional state, at which point I apologized to my unconditionally loving wife for my attitude throughout the day, and thanked her for how well she handled everything - for how well she handled me. Writing this post did a lot for my attitude as well. Maybe tomorrow we’ll actually get to see that doctor.