Mrs. C has been a bit under the weather in recent months, coming down with what seems like chronic fatigue. Although she was getting slightly better over the past month, a rogue pizza brought her down to square one. And then a bad case of congestive flu followed. This, after a bit of cajoling, meant a trip to the doctors - and another new experience for me.
In the UK, we would go to our local General Practitioner (translation for Canadians and other aliens: fammm-i-lyy doc-torr), and he would recommend that we go to a hospital to get ourselves sorted out, if needs be. An appointment would come in through the post six weeks later to go to the hospital, then the doctor there would look at you again, say the exact same things as the GP, then give you another appointment to have more tests carried out etc. in say... a month's time. I'm not having a go at the NHS, since they have saved my life at least twice, but both of those times were an emergency situation. And the second time around I saw seven doctors, all of them getting more and more senior until I saw a guy in a suit. I'm just glad he wasn't wearing a top hat and carrying a tape measure with him. The third time I was there I was given the full force of NHS beauracracy, and I had to throw my proverbial toys out of the metaphorical pram in order to get treatment faster. My dig was this:
‘How come that you're giving me an appointment for an appointment in three weeks time, when my wife-to-be in the Central European country of Slovakia (NB. This was several months ago) can get seen within two weeks AND have surgery?’
This figurative plastic dog hit its mark and I was seen to after the weekend. Treatment went well, nurses and doctors were extremely nice, even the anestilologist had a chat with me before I was put under. Once you get there, the NHS does great work. So I was slightly surprised by Slovakia's 'do-it-all' method.
In two days, we saw the same doctor four times, one doctor for x-rays and another for ears, nose, and lung examination (three for the price of one!). No surgery was needed, antibiotics and a treatment plan was given. And that was it. Right now, Mrs C has the extremely pleasant experience of stuffing a spritzer up her nose and another one for oral use. For the latter, it seems that no-one could be bothered to add 'banana flavour' or something, as it apparently tastes disgusting. At least that's what I've deduced from the exclamations 'bleuuugh!’, ‘arrrgh!’ and my personal favourite, ‘yeuuuch!' that came from Mrs C.
So - Slovak medical health seems to be just fine, with the paperwork cut down and the level of care a good level. It's slightly frustrating being pushed from pillar to post with going from doctor to doctor, but I kind of expected that. And one of the female doctors said that I was good-looking. What's more to add?
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