Alive, well, thrilled and grateful.

Part dream. Part nightmare. Spent 8 days in an Italian hospital. The good news. I've lived to tell the tale. I'm alive. And well. Albeit, there are no longtime guarantees. Life is full of surprises. From day to day. Looks like it's going to be a blessing. That I decided to check into the emergency room. At the municipal hospital. In the city of Carbonia. On the island of Sardinia,  nestled 120 miles off the Italian boot. In the crystal clear waters of the Mediterranean Sea.  Believe me. It's an idyllic place. The homeland, too, of Cristina, my beautiful and brilliant Italiana true love, also known as amore mio. Got to admit, however, that I had fearful moments. Of ever being heard from again. Imagined being held. In communicado. For the rest of my life. A prisoner. Never heard from again. Lost in a Kafkaesque Italian bureaucratic jungle. Made me wonder if I would have been better off in an American hospital. Now I have no regrets.  Long live the Italian medical system.  Despite a medieval bureaucracy.  That temporaily scared the hell out of me.  Until I learned  how to negotiate through the labyrinth. In unperturbed Italian style. At first, I was exasperated. Losing my cool. Which ain't good. Because I was in the hospital for a heart-related problem. Thank heavens, the medical staff, and especially the cardiologists,  know how to skirt the administrative logjams and get things done. Medically. And effectively. For the patient.  Yes, I was made to feel that my care and health came first and foremost.  Didn't matter that I was a foreigner. A non-citizen. With a language handicap. Didn't matter whether I could pay the bill. Until, of course, I was  on the mend and ready for release. And had to endure the bureaucracy.  Long enough for my stay to be extended for two days beyond medical necessity.  But I can live with that. Because the medical care in the Carbonia hospital is good. Really, downright wonderful. At least in the cardiac wing. Staffed with an abundance of talented and well-trained cardiologists. Most of them young and enthusiastic. Many of whom speak English. As did my cardiologist, Stefania Palmas. Anyway, I'm going to write more about Stefania. And all the amazing  people I met in the hospital. Including fellow patients. Stay tuned. To learn how I came out alive and well and thrilled and grateful from the Italian medical system. --Jim Broede