This is probably not a good habit. We’re getting more skilled and fearless at being at the outpatient side of a hospital later into the night. And now, past midnight. As foreigners. With signage in a foreign language. The international department closed. Hallways that are always intensely bustling, reflecting the pace of a metropolitan city, now dark and empty. Queue ticket number machines and screens powered off. Registration desks empty.

This was the scene two weeks ago. It is past our normal bedtime, so I feel hazy, yet alert. It feels like a movie scene comprised of stumbling into a deserted hospital in a post apocalyptic city. We wander towards the outpatient blood draw department. The whirring sounds of machines absent. We were told there would be a bell to ring at the blood draw check-in desk. No bell. A few signs, obviously propped up on the desk for the night, that we couldn’t read. One of which would surely provide the information for reaching an on-call person. The dim light a challenge for the camera option of Google Translate. Too lazy to do the two phone solution of flashlight plus translate, guessing seemed more fun. Our first haunch proved comedic, choosing a narrow side path that led to urine collection bathrooms.

Somehow, it worked out as it has so far. Tubes of blood got drawn and we then headed for the 1:00 am MRI appointment. Yes 0100. We had laughed and thought it a language miscommunication when we were first offered, “Miss, there are two available times, one a.m., or four twenty a.m.”

Medical adventures in a foreign land. As I wait out her long MRI, my restlessness brings me to wander the empty basement hallway.

Some time later, in the quiet hours of the dark winter night, with the nippy -5C temps keeping us awake, we head home.

In the wee small hours of the morning
That’s the time you miss her most of all.
~ Frank Sinatra, In The Wee Small Hours Of The Morning