Today is medical check up day at the Punta Pacifica "John Hopkins affiliated" Hospital in Panama. The highest standard health facilities in the country, courtesy of the corporate world. It is normal procedure for a guy my age so nothing to worry or joke about; apart from the now traditional Panamanian hiccups of "your name does not appear on our register" at the 7am check in, followed 15 minutes later by the legendary "now you appear but you were not born on the birthdate you indicate on your forms". At which point, the really nice lady of the "programa ejecutivo" offers to take all your info by hand and then type them in the form for you. First victory on the system, you can now get in and hand your body fluids samples to a lady you will probably meet with embarassement at the cafeteria at lunchtime. Who ever forgot to think of embarassement as a motive not to get tested for stuff !...even if it is true that when you actually are sick, embarassement tends to rank very low on the scale but what if it were a factor for actually getting sick ?
The rest of the day is supposed to be rather uneventful, which does not match with Alexandra`s twinkling eyes when she wished me good luck on my way out this morning. It starts in a routine that offers nothing to the inspired blogger...until I get to the echography room ! Now, so that you know, the only echography I experienced so far where the - not so few- ones granted to get to know Pala and Titide ( how did Alexandra manage to get one a month and still get it covered by the insurance is still a mystery to me?). So imagine me lying there whilst the lady rubs the gel on my belly and rolls her scan on me, pushing hard on my ribcage and whilst still not moving her eyes from her screenw asks " sure it does not hurt?" in Spanish. At which point I confess I do not speak spanish to limit the interactions between Cruella and me. THEN...THEN....she mutters " the radiologist will see you in a minute" , "el radiologo va a llegar en un minuto".
So, here is me thinking "why do I need to see the radiologo? I thought I just needed a radio! "Have they found a foetus in my belly? Paloma would be thrilled but I am not convinced this is how I want to make the headlines of the local newspaper...has she seen something that is so bad she cannot even discuss it herself and needs UN DOCTOR.....Just with 5 words, the nurse transports me from the world of the healthy to the world of the sick. In the next 10 minutes, waiting for the radiologist - who will never come in the end so do not expect a Dr House moment with me today- I will be thinking of my Parkinson suffering dad ( which one obviously diagnoses with an echography of the lower parts of the human body), my granny who only went to hospital because the food was better than at home, and all other things that tie me in to the hospital scene.
I know the medical world, I know some doctors, I watch Dr House and Grey's Anatomy and Private Practice. I even once had a fling for a woman who would come home at lunchtime and announce in the most charming voice.."I just told a 25year old he had leukemia...what is for lunch?" I should not be surprised nor obsessed.
But everytime I am confronted to the harshness of the medical way of saying things...I am puzzled. And I am even more certain that at least one of my child has to be a doctor. The other one, in true Guadeloupean way, being destined to become a lawyer and the third one whe he comes a famous football player ( no plans yet if it is a girl, as he / she is not even conceived so we have some time). When I enter an hospital, I dream to be talked to as a normal individual. I long for transparency and honesty and empathy. Why should the radiologist come in to sign the examination scans if there is nothing to examine or if he / she has nothing to tell me? as we say in my line of work, "if it ain't broken, don`t fix it". And then why does the doctor not come in the end when I have been told the doctor would come.
See, I am not even sick and I already when to get out of here asap.
It is time to go out for lunch. I am dreading the encounter with the samples lady. I shall pretend I do not have body functions and come from a strange planet called France where they put dicators in prison and behead the kings. That was my moment of hospital terror. Even less eventful than an episode of Shwarzwaldklinik. Mental note to self : never ever use your professional jargon with the beotians. Or call in a more senior expert if you can handle the situation. EVER. Even if I do not plan to heal or kill anybody with advertising anytime soon.
Here is to the experts fo their trade, whatever that might be. And those who always want the senior guy to sign on on the report. Live from Punta Pacifica Hospital which I prefer to remember as the place where Aristide was offically named Touchaud Touchaud by an officer of the Panamanian registro civil.
Good night and good luck.
The rest of the day is supposed to be rather uneventful, which does not match with Alexandra`s twinkling eyes when she wished me good luck on my way out this morning. It starts in a routine that offers nothing to the inspired blogger...until I get to the echography room ! Now, so that you know, the only echography I experienced so far where the - not so few- ones granted to get to know Pala and Titide ( how did Alexandra manage to get one a month and still get it covered by the insurance is still a mystery to me?). So imagine me lying there whilst the lady rubs the gel on my belly and rolls her scan on me, pushing hard on my ribcage and whilst still not moving her eyes from her screenw asks " sure it does not hurt?" in Spanish. At which point I confess I do not speak spanish to limit the interactions between Cruella and me. THEN...THEN....she mutters " the radiologist will see you in a minute" , "el radiologo va a llegar en un minuto".
So, here is me thinking "why do I need to see the radiologo? I thought I just needed a radio! "Have they found a foetus in my belly? Paloma would be thrilled but I am not convinced this is how I want to make the headlines of the local newspaper...has she seen something that is so bad she cannot even discuss it herself and needs UN DOCTOR.....Just with 5 words, the nurse transports me from the world of the healthy to the world of the sick. In the next 10 minutes, waiting for the radiologist - who will never come in the end so do not expect a Dr House moment with me today- I will be thinking of my Parkinson suffering dad ( which one obviously diagnoses with an echography of the lower parts of the human body), my granny who only went to hospital because the food was better than at home, and all other things that tie me in to the hospital scene.
I know the medical world, I know some doctors, I watch Dr House and Grey's Anatomy and Private Practice. I even once had a fling for a woman who would come home at lunchtime and announce in the most charming voice.."I just told a 25year old he had leukemia...what is for lunch?" I should not be surprised nor obsessed.
But everytime I am confronted to the harshness of the medical way of saying things...I am puzzled. And I am even more certain that at least one of my child has to be a doctor. The other one, in true Guadeloupean way, being destined to become a lawyer and the third one whe he comes a famous football player ( no plans yet if it is a girl, as he / she is not even conceived so we have some time). When I enter an hospital, I dream to be talked to as a normal individual. I long for transparency and honesty and empathy. Why should the radiologist come in to sign the examination scans if there is nothing to examine or if he / she has nothing to tell me? as we say in my line of work, "if it ain't broken, don`t fix it". And then why does the doctor not come in the end when I have been told the doctor would come.
See, I am not even sick and I already when to get out of here asap.
It is time to go out for lunch. I am dreading the encounter with the samples lady. I shall pretend I do not have body functions and come from a strange planet called France where they put dicators in prison and behead the kings. That was my moment of hospital terror. Even less eventful than an episode of Shwarzwaldklinik. Mental note to self : never ever use your professional jargon with the beotians. Or call in a more senior expert if you can handle the situation. EVER. Even if I do not plan to heal or kill anybody with advertising anytime soon.
Here is to the experts fo their trade, whatever that might be. And those who always want the senior guy to sign on on the report. Live from Punta Pacifica Hospital which I prefer to remember as the place where Aristide was offically named Touchaud Touchaud by an officer of the Panamanian registro civil.
Good night and good luck.
No comments:
Post a Comment