Old enough to have watched Johnny Carson on a semi-regular basis? Then you’ll be able to conjure up the images of Johnny as Carnac The Magnificent, the all-knowing magician, seer, conjurer. In his sketches, Johnny, decked out in a large and ill-fitting turban, would be handed a sealed white envelope handed to him by Ed McMahon, his straight man. Johnny would lift the envelope to the side of his head and pronounce the answer to the as yet unknown question.

Most of the time the segment worked and the audience laughed or groaned depending on the silliness of the question and its relevance to the answer.

I may have pushed this analogy to the outer limits, but here goes:

THE ANSWER

Corfu, Greece and Venice, Italy:

Narboni Hospital Visits.

One, each.

Gino’s was first so I’ll begin there: don’t ask the year. Lost in the mist of time, but probably in the mid-nineties. We had planned one of our elaborate trips, adding and subtracting friends as we moved through some of the best parts of Europe.

For this first episode of our medical encounters, Gino and I had met my dear friend Joanna and her daughter-in-law and I had come up with an incredible hotel on an island in the waterways around Venice.

The hotel motorboat had taken us across to the main island, if there is one in Venice. We stepped on shore, and got ready to plan our rendezvous with our pre-arranged guide (or at least that’s the way I remember the scenario).

Suddenly, I heard a loud thud; a noise significant enough to make everyone stop in their tracks.

I looked down and saw Gino, flat on his back, on the ground. Eyes closed, unresponsive. I’m sure my initial response was to scream. That did not bring a response. All I could think was, “That’s it. He’s gone.”

I knelt down and after just a few seconds, Gino opened his eyes and returned to reality. Relief!!!

We got him up from the pier and someone found a chair for him to rest and recover. After a few minutes, we decided that a “quick” trip to the emergency room. would be prudent.

Someone called for an ambulance. In Venice, they arrive by water. We loaded up and made the trip to what I think is Venice’s only hospital.

Here’s where it gets tricky. I have learned the hard way: avoid overseas hospitals if at all possible. There’s a strong chance you may never be discharged.

Surprisingly, away from the tourist areas, few Italians spoke English. (For years, Gino had made sweeping statements about his command of conversational Italian, but I am here to tell you that was an urban legend. His mother claimed the same language familiarity; also a myth.)

Back to the immediate problem: our journey to medical assistance. Within a short period of time, a vaporetto arrived. Gino and I managed to get on board and we promised our fellow travelers that we would see them back at the hotel.

I can’t say that water horns were used to mark our path through the Venice lagoon, but we managed to move through the multitude of vaporettos without incidence. I don’t remember how we made the transfer from water to dry land, but within 30 minutes, we arrived at the hospital.

Nor do I remember the admission procedure or why we did not just walk out, but we didn’t. We agreed to testing — chest x-ray, EKG, etc. Gino felt fine; he did not want to get stuck there, but somehow in order for the tests to be done, he had to be admitted.

Rule Number 1. Avoid inpatient care at all costs. 2. Avoid public holidays. In European cities, most Catholic Saints’ birthdays are observed. Being Italy, these occurred frequently.

Somehow or another Gino was admitted and placed in a room with three other men. The less said about his roommates, the better.

Towels, soap. Bring your own. That was a shock. As these unexpected visits always seemed to take place on a weekend, physician staffing, just as it is in its American counterpart, was minimal.

I can’t remember if they served meals or not — they must have, but it was not anything you would want to eat.

I had to leave Gino, but I promised to get help. Thanks to our hotel concierge, a woman aide was found who would sit by his bedside during the night. She was there to help him maneuver in and out of bed safely. As I remember, it cost a couple of hundred dollars. I did not care. I could just see Gino, trying to get out of bed and falling.

When I returned the next day to pay the sitter, I found a. very large link chain stretched across the hospital corridor, in order to keep visitors from intruding during. physicians’ rounds. (Try that in an American hospital.)

Once they have you, they never want to let you go.

I felt sorry for Gino. He felt fine; he was in an impossible situation. He had been tired and still jet lagged and he had simply fainted.

So, after one night, Gino signed himself out against doctor’s orders and we returned to the hotel.

There’s not much more to remember about this Venetian stay other than MasterCard was accepted for payment. The hospital may have used medieval chains for crowd control, but it had modern day plastic debt settling.

My turn:

Corfu, Greece.

Gino and I were aboard one of our favorite Seabourn cruise ships. At the time we were sailing through the Greek islands. Corfu was to be the next day’s stop.

I can’t remember the itinerary other than we would leave the ship at some point and fly to Paris before returning to the US.

While on board, we had connected with one of the cruise’s conversationalists (I imagine Seabourn doesn’t. want you to think of schooling in any way; hence the gentler term.)

The three of us were eating dinner. In the middle of the conversation, I suddenly lost the ability to finish my sentence. I could see the words and thoughts in my mind, but I couldn’t articulate them. Scary.

After dinner, I went to the sick bay where the very nice physician on board decided to keep me overnight. My symptoms had disappeared. She was more concerned about my sky high blood pressure.

Although I spent an uneventful night, she wanted me to be checked out in Corfu. As she pointed out, the ship was not scheduled to sail before 11 pm so I would have plenty of time to return.

Instead, I was admitted; it did not take long to realize we would not be rejoining the ship. Gino returned to gather our belongings before returning to my side.

I had managed to reach a cardiologist on call in San Antonio and after explaining the symptoms he felt that I would be good to go. (I have atrial fibrillation which occasionally leads to flights of fancy with my heart rate. Well controlled with medication.)

As usual with our little medical dramas, it was about to be the weekend. I knew I would be stuck there for a minimum of two nights.

So we did the usual Narboni Plan B. I checked myself out. Unfortunately, I had been medically disembarked; returning to Seabourn was not an option.

Instead, it was a taxi to the airport and a search for the best transport to Athens. Our final destination for this trip would be, as usual, Paris. We saw no reason to change our plans.

A lovely Greek desk agent offered to help. She was. about to schedule us for the Paris flight on Aegean Airlines with an Athens stop, when she realized that a tour group of French school children would be leaving shortly. Their chartered plane would fly directly to Paris. Better still, it would be going to Orly, the “close in” airport for the capital.

One phone call later, a couple of hundred dollars for two tickets to sit with noisy kids; I didn’t care. We were on our way.

What had started out as a lousy detour turned out to be a lovely adventure.

The remainder of the trip was uneventful and went into our memory bank as an opportunity to meet new people and make new memories.