Just a quick update, as I am currently in my bed, taking it easy after an exciting 13 hours in a Quebec hospital!
Only recently, I posted that I wasn't going to waste the hospital's time going in for a stomach ache, and that I would eventually get to see a doctor at the clinic, rude receptionist or not. Luckily my friends made me go to A&E on Sunday evening, as it turns out my simple stomach ache is not, as the first doctor suggested 3 weeks ago, constipation, but is in fact kidney stones! How exciting.
Going to the hospital for non-serious injuries and illnesses is much more acceptable here (culture of entitlement I guess). Most of the people in the waiting room on Sunday evening didn't seem all that sick to me. I suppose the human kebabs of my last post were probably brought in by ambulance and not made to sit in a waiting room.
I spent 7 hours in A&E on Sunday evening (I eventually left at 3.30 am) having various tests. I now have some very exciting bruises to show for a simple blood test - it took both arms and the back of my hand to get enough blood to fill a wee test tube or two. I suppose I'll be grateful for slow moving blood if I ever sever an artery! Every cloud has a silver lining, eh? I was also x-rayed, poked and prodded but to no avail. It wasn't my gall bladder, uterus, stomach, liver... almost every organ had been checked off the list when the doctor sent me home at 3.30 and told me to come back the next day for more tests.
So, after 2 hours nap, I presented myself to the receptionist again at 8 am the next morning. At which point I was presented with a cup and pointed towards the water fountain. My instructions? The literal translation was "drink until your eyes turn yellow" which I translated as drink until you think your bladder is about to burst. So, following orders, and much to everyone in the waiting room's amusement, I proceeded to drink about 3 litres of water in an exceedingly short space of time. Then I was whisked off to another waiting room upstairs to have an ultrasound. But not until I had sat there for at least half an hour, my legs crossed, grimacing and squirming uncontrollably from all the water. The ultrasound revealed I have an inflamed right kidney, probably caused by kidney stones.
So, I was prescribed lots of tasty tablets to aid the removal of said stone and I have to go back in 2 weeks to see if it has gone. If not? Well, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. I feel much better now I know what the problem is and I have some medicine which seems to be doing the trick.
I've had the day off school today, catching up on sleep and having some much needed rest and relaxation before going back to school tomorrow (I am nothing if not dedicated to my kids - they will improve, come hell or high water!) Although when I say relaxing, I have actually been planning lessons all day - the poor little things are going to get some culture in the form of Shakespeare. Even the film version of Romeo and Juliet has got to be better than nothing!
5 Feb 2010
God bless the NHS... and may he help all those who find themselves ill in North America!
Warning: This post contains a rant which some readers may find offensive. Or funny.
The NHS is chronically under-funded, overstretched and full of senior managers who wouldn't know their arse from their elbow but boy, do I miss it over here! I'm sure you've all heard about Obama's healthcare reforms and his struggle to push through policy which would seemingly bring nothing but benefits to the country's poorest. And, somewhat predictably perhaps, the very people the reforms are set out to help are violently opposed to any such (communist/hippy/left-wing/socialist etc. etc.) plans. Now, general consensus from abroad is that the American health care system is a nightmare, with vast swathes of the population unable to afford even the most basic of medical care, or falling into financial ruin whilst struggling to pay for extortionate medical bills. But my main point for today's blog is this: how does the system north of the border in Canada compare?
Well, I have been lucky enough to have been a victim of the Canadian health care system. Or I should say, the Quebec health care system, as it is not standard across all the provinces. After having had a stomach ache for 5 days, I went to the walk-in clinic. It sounds so simple on paper, doesn't it? Walk in, see doctor, leave. No. On my first visit, I spent 3 hours at the clinic. I went in, presented myself to the receptionist, was given a ticket with a number (like at the deli counter) and told to sit in the waiting room. When my number was called, I had to go back to the desk, fill in forms with my entire life history, answer lots of questions about why I wasn't Canadian, then was sent back to the waiting room.
After an hours wait, my name was finally called (twice, because the poor woman hadn't a clue how to pronounce it and I didn't realise she was calling me at first) and I went in to see... a triage nurse. I spent 10 minutes explaining to the nurse what was wrong, what medication I was on (half of which isn't legal in North America apparently) before being sent back out to the waiting room. Another half hour later, and I was called to see the doctor. The doctor didn't even look at the file the nurse had written, and asked me exactly the same questions all over again (begs the question why they bother with the nurse really), prodded my stomach, then prescribed me some tablets and sent me on my merry way.
Then it was off to the Pharmacy to get my tablets. A simple task, I thought. Not so. I arrived at the Pharmacy, handed over my prescription and my state health insurance card and then the questioning began.
Was I registered with them or somewhere else? (You have to register with a Pharmacy? Really?)
I explained I was from England and hadn't registered anywhere.
How did I get a health insurance card if I was foreign?
(How is that any of their business. As long as I have one, what does it matter?)
Do you usually pay for your prescriptions?
Not a clue, love. In England, yes, they're £7.40 a time.
Eventually the Spanish Inquisition stopped, I paid my $5 and was on my way again. They even printed the label for me in English, despite the fact that at no point had I spoken anything other than French with the woman. Sigh.
This morning when I woke up, the stomach pain was back, and to top it off I had an asthma attack, which took more than the prescribed 2 puffs of my inhaler to calm down. So I rang school, apologised and said I wouldn't be in, and that I had to go to the doctors.
What happened next was so completely ridiculous, I still can't quite believe it. I'm hoping I lost something in translation somewhere along the line!
In the clinic.
Stereotypically rude French receptionist: Can I help you?
Me: Yes, I'm here for the clinic.
Receptionist: We close at four o'clock, I'm sorry. You'll have to come back on Monday.
Me: But it's only twenty past one? (The clinic only opened at one o'clock.)
R: Well, we're closed now. Come back on Monday.
Me: Alright. Is it possible to make an appointment to see a doctor and not come to the walk-in clinic?
R: You need to be registered with a doctor first.
Me: OK, well can I register with one now then?
R: Where are you from?
Me: England (Thoroughly bemused by this point)
R: Well you need to be a resident to register with a doctor.
Me: I am a resident. I have an address, a job, bank account, social security number, health insurance and a work permit.
R: But you aren't Canadian. You could go to the hospital, to Accident and Emergency.
Me: Sigh. I'll come back on Monday. (Exit, stage right)
So that was that. I refuse to go to accident and emergency for a simple stomach ache, unless said ache was cause by having fallen on a metal spike and turning myself into a giant human kebab. This does however mean that I have wasted school's time, not to mention my own, only to have to repeat the whole process again on Monday, and have even more classes to make up the time with afterwards.
I miss being able to ring my GP and be told to come in at 10.30 the same day. I miss the out-of-hours doctors, the fact that you can take your prescription wherever you like and not face a Spanish inquisition about it and I especially like the fact that all of this is provided free of charge.
So, my earth shattering point for today: everyone should have access to quality, free medical care whenever and wherever they need it. No exceptions. And for that reason, I am extremely grateful we have the NHS, despite its many shortcomings, and I will defend it to the last.
On to more general news and views.
My friends and I booked our skiing holiday for spring break. A weeks skiing and chalet at Mont Tremblant just outside Montreal. It should be fantastic, although I still have never skied in my life. But really, how hard can it be? Surely I have gravity on my side at least?
School days still tick over quite nicely. I finally had a good lesson with my Sec. 5 (Lower 6th) class on Monday, only for it to be ruined on Thursday by having to send one of them out for bad language. The boy's excuse? "But it's song lyrics, miss!" Well, I don't care if you are quoting the Pope, you know full well you aren't allowed to use language like that in school. With my next group one of them was complaining about being bored. To which my reply was "Maybe you are, but going to PASS is more boring" (PASS being the isolation detention during school) and he shut up and got on with the work.
As much as Sec. 5 drive me round the bend, my younger classes more than make up for it. I had a breakthrough with 3 of my worst kids in Sec. 3 this week, not only were they behaving but they were speaking more English than I thought they even knew! We'll see how long it lasts anyway! I even taught my Sec. 1 class some proper British slang, although one poor boy got a bit confused when someone told him to put a sock in it, he screwed up his paper and put it in his mouth, then looked expectantly at me. Never have I wanted to laugh so much in my life!
Just to finish off, I have another food to add to my list of bizzare things eaten: beaver tail.
Before any animal rights activists out there start jumping up and down, I should explain that it's not really beaver. There isn't a farm for rehabilitating beavers who have had their tails cut off to feed the hungry Quebec masses. It is actually just deep-fried pastry in the shape of a beaver tail, smothered in hot maple syrup and nuts. Yum yum.
A bientôt!
The NHS is chronically under-funded, overstretched and full of senior managers who wouldn't know their arse from their elbow but boy, do I miss it over here! I'm sure you've all heard about Obama's healthcare reforms and his struggle to push through policy which would seemingly bring nothing but benefits to the country's poorest. And, somewhat predictably perhaps, the very people the reforms are set out to help are violently opposed to any such (communist/hippy/left-wing/socialist etc. etc.) plans. Now, general consensus from abroad is that the American health care system is a nightmare, with vast swathes of the population unable to afford even the most basic of medical care, or falling into financial ruin whilst struggling to pay for extortionate medical bills. But my main point for today's blog is this: how does the system north of the border in Canada compare?
Well, I have been lucky enough to have been a victim of the Canadian health care system. Or I should say, the Quebec health care system, as it is not standard across all the provinces. After having had a stomach ache for 5 days, I went to the walk-in clinic. It sounds so simple on paper, doesn't it? Walk in, see doctor, leave. No. On my first visit, I spent 3 hours at the clinic. I went in, presented myself to the receptionist, was given a ticket with a number (like at the deli counter) and told to sit in the waiting room. When my number was called, I had to go back to the desk, fill in forms with my entire life history, answer lots of questions about why I wasn't Canadian, then was sent back to the waiting room.
After an hours wait, my name was finally called (twice, because the poor woman hadn't a clue how to pronounce it and I didn't realise she was calling me at first) and I went in to see... a triage nurse. I spent 10 minutes explaining to the nurse what was wrong, what medication I was on (half of which isn't legal in North America apparently) before being sent back out to the waiting room. Another half hour later, and I was called to see the doctor. The doctor didn't even look at the file the nurse had written, and asked me exactly the same questions all over again (begs the question why they bother with the nurse really), prodded my stomach, then prescribed me some tablets and sent me on my merry way.
Then it was off to the Pharmacy to get my tablets. A simple task, I thought. Not so. I arrived at the Pharmacy, handed over my prescription and my state health insurance card and then the questioning began.
Was I registered with them or somewhere else? (You have to register with a Pharmacy? Really?)
I explained I was from England and hadn't registered anywhere.
How did I get a health insurance card if I was foreign?
(How is that any of their business. As long as I have one, what does it matter?)
Do you usually pay for your prescriptions?
Not a clue, love. In England, yes, they're £7.40 a time.
Eventually the Spanish Inquisition stopped, I paid my $5 and was on my way again. They even printed the label for me in English, despite the fact that at no point had I spoken anything other than French with the woman. Sigh.
This morning when I woke up, the stomach pain was back, and to top it off I had an asthma attack, which took more than the prescribed 2 puffs of my inhaler to calm down. So I rang school, apologised and said I wouldn't be in, and that I had to go to the doctors.
What happened next was so completely ridiculous, I still can't quite believe it. I'm hoping I lost something in translation somewhere along the line!
In the clinic.
Stereotypically rude French receptionist: Can I help you?
Me: Yes, I'm here for the clinic.
Receptionist: We close at four o'clock, I'm sorry. You'll have to come back on Monday.
Me: But it's only twenty past one? (The clinic only opened at one o'clock.)
R: Well, we're closed now. Come back on Monday.
Me: Alright. Is it possible to make an appointment to see a doctor and not come to the walk-in clinic?
R: You need to be registered with a doctor first.
Me: OK, well can I register with one now then?
R: Where are you from?
Me: England (Thoroughly bemused by this point)
R: Well you need to be a resident to register with a doctor.
Me: I am a resident. I have an address, a job, bank account, social security number, health insurance and a work permit.
R: But you aren't Canadian. You could go to the hospital, to Accident and Emergency.
Me: Sigh. I'll come back on Monday. (Exit, stage right)
So that was that. I refuse to go to accident and emergency for a simple stomach ache, unless said ache was cause by having fallen on a metal spike and turning myself into a giant human kebab. This does however mean that I have wasted school's time, not to mention my own, only to have to repeat the whole process again on Monday, and have even more classes to make up the time with afterwards.
I miss being able to ring my GP and be told to come in at 10.30 the same day. I miss the out-of-hours doctors, the fact that you can take your prescription wherever you like and not face a Spanish inquisition about it and I especially like the fact that all of this is provided free of charge.
So, my earth shattering point for today: everyone should have access to quality, free medical care whenever and wherever they need it. No exceptions. And for that reason, I am extremely grateful we have the NHS, despite its many shortcomings, and I will defend it to the last.
On to more general news and views.
My friends and I booked our skiing holiday for spring break. A weeks skiing and chalet at Mont Tremblant just outside Montreal. It should be fantastic, although I still have never skied in my life. But really, how hard can it be? Surely I have gravity on my side at least?
School days still tick over quite nicely. I finally had a good lesson with my Sec. 5 (Lower 6th) class on Monday, only for it to be ruined on Thursday by having to send one of them out for bad language. The boy's excuse? "But it's song lyrics, miss!" Well, I don't care if you are quoting the Pope, you know full well you aren't allowed to use language like that in school. With my next group one of them was complaining about being bored. To which my reply was "Maybe you are, but going to PASS is more boring" (PASS being the isolation detention during school) and he shut up and got on with the work.
As much as Sec. 5 drive me round the bend, my younger classes more than make up for it. I had a breakthrough with 3 of my worst kids in Sec. 3 this week, not only were they behaving but they were speaking more English than I thought they even knew! We'll see how long it lasts anyway! I even taught my Sec. 1 class some proper British slang, although one poor boy got a bit confused when someone told him to put a sock in it, he screwed up his paper and put it in his mouth, then looked expectantly at me. Never have I wanted to laugh so much in my life!
Just to finish off, I have another food to add to my list of bizzare things eaten: beaver tail.
Before any animal rights activists out there start jumping up and down, I should explain that it's not really beaver. There isn't a farm for rehabilitating beavers who have had their tails cut off to feed the hungry Quebec masses. It is actually just deep-fried pastry in the shape of a beaver tail, smothered in hot maple syrup and nuts. Yum yum.
A bientôt!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)