| | Speaking of Greek Health Care
I received some health care in Greece back in 1997. It was ... um ... different than health care here. While climbing over a metal fence, my thigh got snagged (skewered) on a rusty metal spike. It didn't hurt (much), but I knew I could die without a tetanus shot and some stitches. I went to the clinic in town. It was almost 5pm. The doctor said he closes at 5pm so he can't treat me, but that he would help me -- by giving me directions to the next town 20 miles away (which stayed open later than he did).
I hopped on my scooter -- that's what you drive in Greece, a scooter -- and I rode to the next town, driving as fast as the scooter would take me, while my leg bled through a towel which I had wrapped around it as tight as I could. I was a little scared that I might get 'woozy' and pass out from loss of blood, while flying down the road on the scooter -- but the bleeding was slow and I thought I would still be able to get the shot in time and stay alive (as long as the scooter didn't get a flat tire or something).
I got to the next town. I limped into the clinic and took a seat. There was no receptionist or nurse or whatever. No one else was there. Then a little boy (about 7 or 8 years old) came out of the back. He was alone and very curious about the bloody towel wrapped around my thigh. He stared at the blood with inquisitive wonder. I felt like I was part of a circus show or something. I wondered why the boy was there. His curiosity was so focused that it wasn't normal even for a boy his age.
The boy went back into the back room and then the doctor came out of the same door.
I told him what had happened to my leg and he nodded that he had supplies of the tetanus vaccine and he grabbed it from a shelf. He drew the vaccine out of a vial with a syringe and then tried to squirt the syringe just a little in order to blow out the air.
As he tried, the syringe needle fell off the syringe (it wasn't screwed on tight).
His polite smile about that, and his "Oh, I guess I should've tightened the needle" comment, did not, however, dispel the new sense of fear I had that I was getting 3rd-world medical treatment (or what seemed 3rd-world to me). I couldn't leave to find a doctor who remembers to screw the needles on the syringe -- because there wasn't time. In less than an hour, all the clinics would be closed. Besides, I thought, after being embarrassed about the syringe, he would surely not treat me haphazardly.
Then it was time for the stitches.
I was lying face-down on the "operating table." It was the back-side of my thigh that had gotten punctured. I felt him cleaning the wound. Even after what I believe was a shot of novocaine (or other anesthetic), I could feel the stitches going in and tugging on my skin. All seemed to be going well.
Then I heard the doctor yell (in Greek) at the boy.
I thought I had noticed the boy in the room, but simply thought to myself: Well, it's probably the doctor's son and he's probably showing his kid what he does in case the kid wants to grow up to become a doctor, too. But then the doctor appeared to be lecturing the boy. While the doctor was talking, there'd be no tugging on my skin. As the tugging started up again, the doctor would make short comments which seemed like verbal coaching.
This 8 year-old was stitching up my leg!
Well, at least that's where my mind went. I'll never know, but the rough, raised scar on the back of my thigh makes me think that an amateur stitched me up. The moral of the story is to never get sick or hurt in a country with socialized medicine. Obama may soon make that less possible for us. I wish he'd skewer his own leg on a rusty spike in a poor, socialized country at the wrong time (when all the clinics are closing)!
:-)
Ed
(Edited by Ed Thompson on 7/29, 10:28pm)
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