This is a lengthy post, (my first here, in fact...) and I'm sorry about that. I hope this story contributes to the current health care debate, as I've often read here and elsewhere about the poor care and service people are getting in other countries with universal health care.
So I'm in England, Brighton to be exact. I've been here in Europe since May, working in various towns and countries.
It's late afternoon, and I go downstairs to the pub on the ground floor that belongs to the local Hilton I'm staying in. It happens to be right on the water.
One of the defining characteristics of Brighton, and it's beach, is that it is very unlike your typical beach. It's not really warm or beachy, even though the thermometer says otherwise. It's usually so windy that you're still wearing jeans and a light jacket. Well, yesterday, it was every bit of that and more.
So I'm out on the terrace, having a pint. After finishing it up, I decide it's too windy to sit out there and I head inside. I grab a door and step inside, instinctively putting my right hand out to the stop the door. Well, the door was defective, as it's slowing mechanism failed to slow. Additionally, the wind caught the door and flung it shut. It caught the very tip of my pinky finger, and BANG, it was a disgusting bloody pulp. I was so shocked that it was still attached. (Pics for anyone who has the stomach and interest for it...)
I immediately began to bleed everywhere, and my finger was a gruesome sight, and the hotel employees were not enjoying it.
After some pointless but well meaning first-aid, they pop me into the first cab with a bag of ice, and told the cabbie to take me to the Brighton and Essex university hospital, where minutes later, I was walking into the ER.
I stand in line, waiting to check in. Ten minutes later after getting my birth date and name, they tell me to sit down and I'll be seen later. There is a chalkboard on the wall saying it will be 2.5 hrs before the real doctor can see me. After 30 mins, i get an initial consultation with one of the nurses. She immediately refers me to their X-ray dept, where I sit down for 15 mins before having my finger zapped there. Then back to main waiting room, which is full by the way.
Another half hour goes by, and the same nurse calls me back in and says the finger is broken. (She failed to tell me how broken though, seeing how I'm squeamish already. It turns out the last digit was pulverized.)
She then says I will need surgery. Great. I was holding out hope that they could just tape it up, but that wishful thought was dashed. But the problem then was, the orthopedics on staff there couldn't fit me in that night. It would have to be done the next day or the day after that.
Well, as a person who's in Europe as a worker, and not just vacationing, I tell her this is just not possible. I won't even be in Brighton tomorrow, and it's far from ideal to let this thing sit anyway. (The thing is, I'm a musician, and I'm on tour, and there is a show tomorrow night in London, that must happen. Every show is important of course. And after that show is done, we move on to the next city. There's just no room in the schedule to accommodate a surgery in coming days without canceling a show...)
So these people come to understand my predicament, and say then the best I can hope for is that I have a consultation in a couple hours with the orthopedist on staff that night. They promised me nothing, but said they'd try.
So a couple hours later, with visits from my colleagues to deliver phone chargers and friendly company, I finally get called in to one of the rooms. I have to explain why this surgery "must happen" tonight, and he simply accepts my schedule predicament and says "ok, let's do it..."
He prepares the table, tells me what he going to do (but undersells the actual procedure...it was gnarly and he rightfully kept the info limited...) and he gets to work. It takes about an hour. He's chatting away the whole time, asking me about myself etc and keeps me and mind focused other things. I always say I'm from Indiana, and it usually gets followed up by "so is that near...??" "Yes, near Chicago."
Then, it's done. He asks if I have any allergies, and whatnot, and tells me what to expect with follow up visits and how it will heal, and then in walks the pharmacist with ten days worth of penicillin in a box, along with extra bandages, tape etc.
We come to the point in the transaction where I'm wondering (dreading) what the bill might be, as up until now, there's been no mention of it whatsoever.
I say "so what now?"
He says "That's it. You can leave."
Me: "Really? Nothing? Not even something to sign? Or pay for the medicine?"
Him: "Nope. That's it. You're good to go. Leave."
M: "Is this how it is for every British citizen?"
H: "Yep".
So that's my story of how I got treated in a British hospital. The whole experience from walking in, to having the surgery and walking out, took 4.5 hours. And the surgery was done by what turned out to be an orthopedic hand specialist. And it didn't cost me neither a British or American penny. Hopefully the finger heals properly.
So, why can't we Americans have this?
Aren't we supposed to be the best country in the world?
So I'm in England, Brighton to be exact. I've been here in Europe since May, working in various towns and countries.
It's late afternoon, and I go downstairs to the pub on the ground floor that belongs to the local Hilton I'm staying in. It happens to be right on the water.
One of the defining characteristics of Brighton, and it's beach, is that it is very unlike your typical beach. It's not really warm or beachy, even though the thermometer says otherwise. It's usually so windy that you're still wearing jeans and a light jacket. Well, yesterday, it was every bit of that and more.
So I'm out on the terrace, having a pint. After finishing it up, I decide it's too windy to sit out there and I head inside. I grab a door and step inside, instinctively putting my right hand out to the stop the door. Well, the door was defective, as it's slowing mechanism failed to slow. Additionally, the wind caught the door and flung it shut. It caught the very tip of my pinky finger, and BANG, it was a disgusting bloody pulp. I was so shocked that it was still attached. (Pics for anyone who has the stomach and interest for it...)
I immediately began to bleed everywhere, and my finger was a gruesome sight, and the hotel employees were not enjoying it.
After some pointless but well meaning first-aid, they pop me into the first cab with a bag of ice, and told the cabbie to take me to the Brighton and Essex university hospital, where minutes later, I was walking into the ER.
I stand in line, waiting to check in. Ten minutes later after getting my birth date and name, they tell me to sit down and I'll be seen later. There is a chalkboard on the wall saying it will be 2.5 hrs before the real doctor can see me. After 30 mins, i get an initial consultation with one of the nurses. She immediately refers me to their X-ray dept, where I sit down for 15 mins before having my finger zapped there. Then back to main waiting room, which is full by the way.
Another half hour goes by, and the same nurse calls me back in and says the finger is broken. (She failed to tell me how broken though, seeing how I'm squeamish already. It turns out the last digit was pulverized.)
She then says I will need surgery. Great. I was holding out hope that they could just tape it up, but that wishful thought was dashed. But the problem then was, the orthopedics on staff there couldn't fit me in that night. It would have to be done the next day or the day after that.
Well, as a person who's in Europe as a worker, and not just vacationing, I tell her this is just not possible. I won't even be in Brighton tomorrow, and it's far from ideal to let this thing sit anyway. (The thing is, I'm a musician, and I'm on tour, and there is a show tomorrow night in London, that must happen. Every show is important of course. And after that show is done, we move on to the next city. There's just no room in the schedule to accommodate a surgery in coming days without canceling a show...)
So these people come to understand my predicament, and say then the best I can hope for is that I have a consultation in a couple hours with the orthopedist on staff that night. They promised me nothing, but said they'd try.
So a couple hours later, with visits from my colleagues to deliver phone chargers and friendly company, I finally get called in to one of the rooms. I have to explain why this surgery "must happen" tonight, and he simply accepts my schedule predicament and says "ok, let's do it..."
He prepares the table, tells me what he going to do (but undersells the actual procedure...it was gnarly and he rightfully kept the info limited...) and he gets to work. It takes about an hour. He's chatting away the whole time, asking me about myself etc and keeps me and mind focused other things. I always say I'm from Indiana, and it usually gets followed up by "so is that near...??" "Yes, near Chicago."
Then, it's done. He asks if I have any allergies, and whatnot, and tells me what to expect with follow up visits and how it will heal, and then in walks the pharmacist with ten days worth of penicillin in a box, along with extra bandages, tape etc.
We come to the point in the transaction where I'm wondering (dreading) what the bill might be, as up until now, there's been no mention of it whatsoever.
I say "so what now?"
He says "That's it. You can leave."
Me: "Really? Nothing? Not even something to sign? Or pay for the medicine?"
Him: "Nope. That's it. You're good to go. Leave."
M: "Is this how it is for every British citizen?"
H: "Yep".
So that's my story of how I got treated in a British hospital. The whole experience from walking in, to having the surgery and walking out, took 4.5 hours. And the surgery was done by what turned out to be an orthopedic hand specialist. And it didn't cost me neither a British or American penny. Hopefully the finger heals properly.
So, why can't we Americans have this?
Aren't we supposed to be the best country in the world?