Medical miracle

There was an op-ed piece in the Strib the other day about the writer's encounter with the Chinese medical system. He marvelled at its primitive (to our eyes) nature, its ready availability and its cheapness. All true, no doubt, but I can top that.

In 2006, I fell and busted my nose on the High Street in Dalkeith, Scotland. I didn't think it was broken, but it wouldn't stop bleeding, and being vain, I was worried about scarring. It was a Bank Holiday, and the local clinic was closed. So, off I went in a taxi to the Royal Infirmary of Edinburgh casualty ward. The taxi was by far the most expensive part of the experience.

I presented myself at the desk, where the admissions clerk asked me my name and my age. That was it. Than I waited for about 45 minutes -- it was a holiday, after all -- and was then seen by a nurse, who asked me my name, my age, and whether I was allergic to anything. I then waited about 10 minutes more and was called back to a cube where I saw the great man himself, the head of the famous internship program. Apparently the most senior staff pull shifts on holidays. He was busy, trying to secure a place at some hospital in England for one of his students and kept darting in and out. But he was clearly tickled to have a Yank on his couch. "You're not from around here," was his little Scottish joke.

But here's the thing: he patched me up, lectured me about why stitches wouldn't work on a nose, and sent me on my way. It cost nothing except the cab ride. Think about the hours of paperwork saved. Why is it so difficult for us to even think about a system along these lines? The only people who benefit now are the insurance claim processing companies and their parent corporations. Do we care so much about them?

And the blood spots stayed on the High Street pavement for many weeks, despite the daily drizzle.