No trip to the UK is complete without...

...A foray into the NHS for medical attention. I finally went to see a doctor today. I probably would not have gone except that one of my classmates told me that if I was coughing up green lung butter, then that could be pneumonia or other really bad things and I should get a professional opinion. She had walking pneumonia once so she was speaking from experience. Last night I hopped online and did a google search and sure enough, green stuff is bad. So the next step was seeing a doctor.

I didn't want to go to an emergency room; that seemed like a waste since I would be triaged out of there. But the NHS has something we Americans would probably call "urgent care facilities" which basically involves seeing a nurse, waiting 3 hours, then seeing a doctor. I located one of these walk-in clinics relatively close to where i live and marched down there. It also happened to be located in the hospital, so if there was anything really wrong with me or any significant tests needed to be done, they would have that on site.

The woman at the desk looked at me skeptically when I explained my symptoms. I could see "you don't look sick to me, yank" on the edge of her lips, but she swallowed those words and took my information. Expecting the worst, I had brought a book and some schoolwork with me. After a short 30-minute wait, I was ushered into a back room and seen by a nurse (a cute one too!). This is how they triage you. If you're not an emergency, then you can wait. Then the nurse determines the severity - more serious go to the front of the queue. I remained in the back. She took my temperature as well. In the states I believe there would have been blood pressure taken, but hey, when in Rome...

After my quick jaunt into the "staging area" I was dismissed back to the waiting room until a doctor was available to examine me. I waited and waited and waited. Three hours later, I'm still waiting. There's something about being in that type of facility that makes you think. No one there is on an emergency or they would be right next door in the emergency room. So, one starts to wonder - what is she here for?

One woman said that she couldn't feel her right leg and she walked in a limp-drag sort of motion that earned her a wheelchair from the staff, but not speedy attention. Numb legs generally don't get much worse, so you can wait with the rest of us plebes. Another woman came in and promptly passed out cold on the floor. The receptionist calmly sat there wondering what to do as several people rushed to her aid. I never did find out what happened to her as I was faced the wrong way and was feeling particularly assilicious at the moment. Another woman, who was quite cute in a 30ish sort of way, I diagnosed with a urinary tract infection. She was too healthy to have anything else and the diagnosis seemed clear after she gave a urine sample. The piecé de resistance, however, was the obviously drunk homeless guy that came in shouting, "I'm in pain here, real pain" ad nauseum. He shuffled up to the desk and explained to the receptionist that he had "fallen" on his face, broke his tooth on the sidewalk, tried to rip it out on his own, failed, and now needed some "pain medicine" all the while pointing at a jagged tooth that looked to have been broken years ago, not moments ago. After she calmly explained to him that the emergency dental clinic was closed and that he would have to go to another facility, he lamely copped, "can't you just give me something for the pain?" How 'bout some heroin, big guy?

Finally, my wait came to an end when they called my name. Five minutes with a doctor and he had correctly diagnosed the problem - whiny, snot nosed American abusing the NHS system when he's barely sick. Oh, wait, no that wasn't what he said at all. Instead, he said that it's good that my secondary symptoms are receding, that means it's probably not serious, but he can hear something in my lungs and it's likely I have a respiratory infection. Seven days of antibiotics should do the trick - if you feel better in 5, stop taking them. Cha-ching, £6.50 for the antibiotics and I'm on my way. All in all, I've had better Saturdays, but it was good to get some medicine. I haven't been to a doctor in a long time and I think my body could use a regime of antibiotics anyway. Plus, that green stuff coming from my lungs is really gross.

So, in the end, the NHS worked like it was supposed to. Of course, if this had been the US, I would have probably received that chest x-ray that the doctor wanted to give me but didn't because there was a 4-hour wait and he didn't think it was worth that kind of delay. But still, what do you expect from a national health care service anyway? And, since I don't want to have a repeat performance, I think I'll spend Tuesday at work trying to find a regular doctor so that I won't have to go to any more clinics (Monday is a Bank Holiday).

And since I'm sick, I treated myself to some chocolate ice cream with fresh strawberries on the way home.