Socialism Behind la Manche?

For those who do not have experience with tonsillitis it is an inflammation of tonsils caused by bacteria or viral infection. Ever since I was little I have been battling with tonsillitis every year. Therefore, I am able to predict with deadly precision when I am going to get tonsillitis. For example, this year one evening I decided to organize my medical cabinet and just by an accident I have found pills Strepsils, took them out and put them next to my bed. Next morning I have woken up with tonsillitis. Who would have thought right? Well, unfortunately...me.

Two days later I have realized that this year I will not manage my illness without a professional help, thus I have made my way to a local doctor. For the first time in three years.

Very young and good-looking receptionist, surrounded by four pc monitors and 2 landlines.

Receptionist: Good afternoon, how can I help you?

With my rasping voice.

Me: I believe I have contracted tonsillitis and I would like to see a doctor about it.

Receptionist: Your full name please?

Me: I am pretty sure that I am not registered in your system; this is my first visit in three years.

Handing me a piece of paper and a pen.

Receptionist: Here, fill this student form for me please and we shall have a look if we can squeeze you in for today.

After ten minutes I am bringing a filled out application form back to the reception.

Me: I apologize, but I do not remember the dates of my vaccination.

Receptionist: That is absolutely alright, where are from?

Me: Czech Republic

Receptionist: O.K., would you hang on a minute? Ah! Here we go, everything is fine. Please, take a seat. As soon as your name pops up on the display, the doctor will be expecting you.

I froze for about 10 seconds right after I heard that everything checks up. I have travelled a lot and covered ground from Ontario to Kuala Lumpur, but I have never experienced a situation where the fact that I come from the Czech Republic would play in my favor. Almost every time it meant more bureaucratic problems. And now, this girl is telling me that ‘everything is fine’? Did I just wake up into a sci-fi future where the Czech Republic is a symbol of trustworthiness and reliability?

 Me: O.K, thank you very much. Yea and you should probably bin that pen.

 Receptionist: Ehm...Why?

Me: Because I have put it in my mouth.

I was not thinking to be honest when answering that question. The question was in the air and I just fired out an answer. Most probably, I should have explained that by putting that pen in my mouth I meant that bad habit from school that a lot of adults retain, the habit of sometimes unconsciously sucking on the pen or pencil one is writing with. Of course I have not even considered explaining this phenomenon, for some reason I have hoped that the receptionist knew what I meant and that I am not some weirdo who just randomly sticks borrowed pens up his disease ridden throat and then boasts about it. This time, it was the receptionist who froze for ten seconds, staring at me, until she slowly slid her eyes between her four monitors and two landlines. I felt embarrassed enough for one day, so instead of the waiting room I have made my way to the closest pillar and lean against it inconspicuously looking for an angle where I would be invisible to the receptionist who still from time to time lifted her eyes and gazed around the waiting room probably looking for the sneaky pen-sucking maniac.

Fifteen minutes later, my name popped up on the display which reminded me one of those incredibly huge screens from concerts or football matches: Kudela, Consulting room A12.

Inside of the consulting room a doctor have welcomed me by waving his hand toward a chair on a left side perpendicular to his desk. I do not know why, but I feel that every single doctor I have ever visited uses the same arranging system of positioning his or her desk and the chair for the patients. Patient always sits on a sturdy uncomfortable chair and looks into the abyss, while the doctor sits in an extremely comfortable spinning chair and taps something into the pc even after the patient have entered his room. After some two minutes he will turn to the patient and ask some question: ‘How are we today’?  I had to suppress laughter, because the doctor that was assigned to me was named Kumar and he was Indian. For those who do not see why this is funny shall watch Harold and Kumar go to White Castle. After a short conversation about my illness and my studies during which Kumar had stuck a wooden spatula down my throat and vacuumed my chest and back with a stethoscope, he handed me a prescription for antibiotics and a throat spray. After the consultation I asked Kumar where do I pay if either here or at the reception. He just smiled and said: ‘You do not have to pay, boy’. I though immediately – what did he mean by that? Because it sounded like I do not have to pay anything. Confused I have made my way to the pharmacy where I have received a paper bag with the goodies that Kumar had prescribed me. The paper bag reminded me of those paper bags that dog owners take with them when taking their pets for a walk. ‘What do I own you?’ I asked. ‘Nothing, students have free health care in the UK.’ She replied.

Ah... now it all makes sense.