No, different tonto

No, different tonto

No… NOT that Tonto!

Portuguese ‘tonto‘ means dizzy.

It’s a long story, but the crux is that I felt dizzy last night at the bar. Now had a consumed in excess of my normal self-imposed limit (3x600ml bottles max) I would not have been surprised; but I had drunk only one.

This dizziness was entirely out of character, and sent me reeling (literally) home, after one of the regulars going to fetch my bengala (walking stick) that was hung on the outside of the front door, it’s usual place.

The dizziness abated, and all was well, I watched TV, I blogged and I went to bed.

This was, I had hoped, to be the end of the story. I woke twice during the night, about normal for me, and woke at 6:30 feeling great, made coffee, settled in for a marathon blog.

7:30 I took some sticks that I had trimmed and were sprouting new growths to the land by the canal; returning, I began to lose my equilibrium again. By the time I sat in front of the computer, I couldn’t move, for more than a half hour I sat still. I desperately wanted to get up and get a drink of water, but felt the task was beyond me doing it with any form of grace.

Worrying. This was much worse than the previous night.

I phoned my neighbour, who had felt my pulse last night (retired nurse) and declared I had low blood pressure. Then she and another neighbour, the one who parks his car in my garage, appeared and whisked me off to a UPA (medical centre). I have good neighbours who look after me. It’s been more than seven years since I have sought medical attention.

My first brush with the Brazilian medical system. The first UPA didn’t have any doctors, a common complaint here, so was effectively shut.

The second, I was efficiently whisked in, my details were efficiently extracted, my name was efficiently displayed on the TV screen and I was ushered in to see an efficient, but pretty young, Doctorette. No that’s not Portuguese, it is as English as the American’s ‘Bachelorette,’ which doesn’t exist either. Ushered out, whisked along the corridor and plonked into a chair, all efficiently mind, by a nurse, who subsequently called me for an injection in the bum with an efficient ‘this won’t hurt a bit’ as I lowered my tracksuit pants, while correcting her, “You mean this won’t hurt YOU a bit!” She was very efficient and I hardly felt the needle. But I did like the way she rubbed the tender bit and asked her if she didn’t have another jab to give me… Come on, I am a man, and one with a lot of experience, “You never let a chance go by… Oh Lord!” he sings the chorus of a bawdy Australian spoof of Cinderella.

So here I am, having slept most of the day away, sitting on a tenderly rubbed rump, telling you of my woes.

I was fortunate in that I had prepared some scheduled posts last night and the one I managed before becoming Tonto, or there wouldn’t have been much blogging done today at all.

Football soon, the dry version. My confidence has been knocked a little, and while my head’s still a little thick, so I won’t have my traditional two beers. All a sign that I am not getting any younger.

Staggering right along, in the direction of the botequim


Here is the aforementioned bawdy Australian spoof The Newcastle Song, which includes the Cinderella bit: