Life in the UK

It’s already been two years since we moved to the UK. The time has flown by. So now it’s time for me to renew my visa. Two weeks ago, I downloaded the visa application. Much to my dismay, I discovered that I needed to take a test called the Life in the UK Test before I could apply for my visa. So I bought the study book online and commenced to a rigid program of  half-hearted studying that involved skimming the book nightly whilst listening to some of my favorite podcasts.

A couple days before the test date I decided I was ready to take the official online practice test. Let’s just say that it was harder than I expected. It contained questions like:

What percentage of the population of the UK is Mulsim?

a. 2.5%

b. 2.6%

c.2.7%

d. 2.8%

They’ve got to be kidding me with this, I thought. Usually when you take a multiple choice test if you have the vague notion about what the answer is you can guess correctly. The answer choices are usually like:

a. 0%

b. 92.6%

c. 2.7%

d. 53.2%

These are the kinds of choices I’m used to seeing.

I failed the practice test badly. Needless to say I actually had to study and I had three days to learn all the population information, land mass, government system and basic history contained  in the 148 page study guide.

The day of the big test arrived and I knew it was not my day when I couldn’t even figure out how to get into the testing center. I pulled and pulled on the door. Everyone sitting in the waiting room inside watched me struggle. Then the woman behind the counter motioned to me. I thought she was telling me that there was some kind of buzzer that I needed to push to get let in. So I started looking next to the door for a buzzer that wasn’t there. Then she started motioning even more. It was like some kind of strange dance. I responded by doing my own strange dance. Than a woman who was sitting in the waiting room came over and opened the door for me.

“You have to push the door,” she said, “not pull–push.” She made a pushing motion with her free hand.

“Oh,” I said.

When I told the receptionist that I was there to take the Life in the UK Test, she motioned to the seats in the waiting room and told me to wait there. She was probably thinking that I’d never pass the test because I couldn’t even manage to open the door. Luckily, I knew that there was no door opening section on the exam. That’s why I hadn’t studied that.

Everyone in the waiting room was waiting to take the Life in the UK Test. They all sat quietly looking through their study guides quizzing themselves on all those useful facts and figures that would make all of our lives in the UK much easier–like how long the UK is from its farthest point from end to end. I didn’t have my study guide with me so I read a fashion magazine instead. Learning whether it is best to wear high heel boots or strapy heels with a knit minidress is much more useful for my UK life then knowing that 92% of the population in the UK is white.

When it was finally time to take the test we were all led into the testing room and told to find a seat at one of the 12 computers. When the person giving us the test started passing out scrap paper and pencils I panicked. My study guide didn’t mention anything about math. Maybe that was covered in the part of the study guide I didn’t bother reading. I’m terrible at math.

Before taking the real test we took a 4 question practice test to familarize ourselves with the computer and how to answer the questions. Let’s just say that I didn’t get 100% on the practice test. So I took it again and again and still couldn’t get all 4 questions right. Finally I gave up and took the real test.

Somehow I passed! When I left the testing center I pulled the door open with no problem. I didn’t even fall down the steps outside. I even managed to cross the parking lot without getting hit by a car. I guess I’m really am ready for  life in the UK.

Have You Ever Had an MRI Before?

“Have you ever gotten an MRI before?” The only other person in the waiting room in a hospital wheelchair asked me. He wore a pair of large glasses. The left lens was frosted over like the glass to a shower door.

“No I haven’t,” I replied.

He leaned forward a bit and said, “It’s nothing really. It makes a lot of noise but all you have to do is close your eyes and pretend you’re somewhere else. That’s what I did.”

“Good idea,” I said.

“It works,” he leaned back in his wheelchair and crossed his hands in his lap.

The MRI section of the hospital was sterile and space-aged– so unlike the rest of the hospital I’d seen. Workers dressed in black and white went in and out a vacuumed sealed door plastered with red warning stickers. Across the top of the door was written, “Warning high powered magnet in use.” The other stickers had pictures of objects you couldn’t take into the room like a screw driver, fire extinguisher, joint replacements, and credit card. While I sat there wondering if I’ve had any joint replacements, shrapnel, or metal fragments in my eyes that I’ve forgotten about the waiting room cleaned out and I was alone.

The MRI person finally came into the waiting room and asked me a series of questions. She quickly ran down the list checking my answers off on a clipboard. “Have you had an operation in the past month?”

“Yes.”

“How long ago?”

“Yesterday.”

Apparently this was the wrong answer because she stopped reading and said, “Yesterday? Do you have staples?”

“I don’t know my incisions are still bandaged up, but I assume not.”

She disappeared into another room to call my doctor. In a few minutes she was back.

“You didn’t have an operation. You had laparoscopy.”

“It felt like an operation to me.”

“But it wasn’t.”

She then asked me if I had any metal on my clothes and if I was wearing any jewelery. When I said I was and slipped off my wedding ring she took a good look at it and then said I could leave it on, but I’d have to take off my glasses. I felt like she was thinking that looks like plastic to me you can leave it on.

“Are you sure?” I asked.

“Yes. Leave it on.”

An MRI is just like a techno dance party except there’s no one else there and you have to lay completely still. I tried closing my eyes and pretending I was somewhere else, but no matter how much I pretended I was still there. When it was finally over I felt like I deserved a treat, but there was no bowl of candy by the door. Instead of a lollipop I got a ride in my wheelchair through the hospital basic and back to my room.

Hide the Fetus

I haven’t written a post in a long time and I guess I should give you some sort of explanation. Let’s just say that I’ve been a bit busy since coming back to the UK.

About a week after we got back, I found out I was pregnant. I had a whole week to celebrate and feel really excited until things started going wrong again. Since then I’ve had numerous ultra-sound scans,  laparoscopic surgery(I like to call it lascopity) , a totally unnecessary uterus vacuuming procedure, an MRI and some crazy medication injected into my rear end.

My sister says that my body likes to play a little game called Hide the Fetus. Last time it discovered that the fallopian tube isn’t really a good hiding place–too obvious. So this time it’s chosen a much better place that has all the doctors stumped. My pregnancy hormone levels keep going up, but they can’t find the pregnancy anywhere. As long as this magical hidden pregnancy progresses apparently I’m in danger.

I’m on a drug that’s supposed to make me have a miscarriage. It makes me feel really nauseous, but only if I eat something. As long as my stomach is empty I feel pretty good. The problem is that I love to eat.

There’s Something About Texas

We went to Florida for Christmas again this year. Usually, we fly through Atlanta, but this year the cheapest tickets took us through Dallas. I never understand why it costs so much more to fly direct. The more layovers you have the cheaper the flight, but doesn’t it seem like it should be the other way around?

Besides adding a significant number of hours to our trip, the Dallas airport provided us with entertainment every time. My stepson, dressed like some kind of foreign dignitary, found joy in riding the monorail between terminals. The monorail is known as Skylink to us in the know.



Lovelyn | MySpace Video

On our return trip layover, we got off the plane and were greeted by a lovely Texas scene complete with camp fire, bales of hay, and rocking chairs chained together to prevent theft.

New Year’s Resolutions

Me: Are you going to make any resolutions for next year?

My husband: No. I think I did pretty good this year.

A Night Out

Christmas on a Budget

Times are economically tough, or at least that’s what I keep hearing. In these lean times, holiday shopping may be stretching the budget a bit. You still want to give Uncle Louie a present, but you can’t really afford to splash out on a bottle of Old Spice again this year. Don’t fret. I have the perfect solution. Try donating some fake money to a fake charity in Uncle Louie’s name. It’s a win win situation. Some fake people get help for their fake problem. Uncle Louie gets a fake present. You both have a laugh and best of all  your money stays in your wallet. Isn’t that what the holidays are all about?  Check out this link to find out more.

National Curry Week

I love curry. Most people who know me know that, including the management of Camden Lake Apartments who charged me a large sum of money when I moved out because my apartment smelled like “spices.” That’s why it’s so shocking that I completely missed National Curry Week. Last week was dedicated to celebrating all things curry. I don’t even think I ate any curry last week.

Morris Dancing

“Have you heard of Morris dancing?” my husband asked.

Curious I looked it up. Morris dancing a a type of English folk dancing in which the dancers wield sticks, swords or handkerchiefs. This description intrigued me even more so I watched a video of it on You Tube.

“See. This is your heritage,” I said to my husband.

“Yeah, no wonder I have such bad time,” he laughed.

My Little Run Away

“I think I’m getting fat,” my husband announced. He pulled up his t-shirt to expose his flat, white stomach,  pinched a bunch of skin and said, “See.”

My husband is very thin, so I’m not sure how to take this. “Are you making fun of me?” I ask.

“You’re paranoid,” he said. “I’m not making fun of you. I’m just telling you that I’m getting fat. I need to start running again.”

When we got up the next morning, I suggested that we go for a run. I really want to run and haven’t been able to successfully make myself a runner yet. You can read my running chronicles here and here and here. I didn’t do any better at this whole running thing this morning either.

We went the hilly way. After running over the bridge near our flat, I’d already had just about enough of this whole running thing. “How long have we been running?” I asked my husband. I was so sure that we were halfway finished and it was time to turn around and head back home.

“Four minutes and thirty seconds,” he said as he bounced along.

I stopped. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” I looked down the street that was all down hill and kept thinking I’m going to have to run back up it. “I’m walking. Go ahead. I’ll catch up.”

He jogged away. He kept getting farther and farther away until he was out of site.

I figured he’d be coming back soon so I sat on a bench and waited and waited. He didn’t come back. So I walked all the way down the hill to the roundabout. I didn’t see him anywhere down their either. So I went back to the bench and waited some more.

Then I started to get mad because he had the keys to the house and the cold wind was giving me an earache. “I can’t believe he just ran off and left me out here to freeze with no coat,” I thought. “He didn’t even tell  me which way he was going.” I figured the best thing to do was go back to our flat and wait for him on the front stairs.

After walking for a little while my anger started to turn into worry. “What if he gets hit by a car or has a heart attack? How will I know what’s going on? I can’t even get in the house.” This is how my brain works. Before I got too deeply into panic mode he came bounding up behind me and all was forgiven.

That’s the last time I’ll be running  outside in this cold. Apartment running will suit me just fine until the weather warms up.