Walking wounded

When we woke on day five and our first full day in Riga I thought it would be  best to get our swollen limbs checked out by some sort of physician. I asked at reception if they could contact a doctor and 5 minutes into easting breakfast they arrived, two paramedics, one young woman who spoke just enough English and a much shorter plump lady with fingers more swollen than my own. They carried with them some relic from the cold war, a wooden medicine box. We took the up to our room where they sprayed us about five times with antiseptic before reaching quite quickly for some needles and before we had time to refuse they'd empties whole kegs of some happy-time fluid into our veins and left after we turned down their offer of a trip to the hospital (they said it would take about 7 hours). Thanks to the European health card we go treated as locals and didn't pay anything. Once they'd left we stumbled downstairs to have the rest of our breakfast and stumbled back up like two fat (swollen) drunks and fell into bed still buzzing. It was an hour or two later when we eventually woke and I quickly drew up a plan to make the most of the day. The paramedics had told us to stay in bed all day. Like that was going to happen.