Grey is the colour of health in Catalonia.
We are used to the particular shade of grey from our local health centre but yesterday we had the opportunity to experience it in other environments.
Paul Squared was complaining of swelling in his feet which appeared to be spreading slowly up his legs. We decided that he needed a medical opinion so we visited the health centre.
A suspiciously cheerful and even more suspiciously helpful receptionist took all the details and indicated that we should wait outside a particular door.
Paul was seen within 20 seconds which makes the Spanish system of Emergency Treatment something like 1,000 times faster than its equivalent in the UK – at least from my experience of sitting was wasted hours in soulless waiting rooms.
Paul was given a series of tests and then the doctor said that he would have to go to our nearest hospital emergency centre for further investigation. It was at this point that we made a fundamental mistake.
Given our excellent experience of speedy treatment in the local health centre we went straight to the hospital (courtesy of my eloquent and conversational GPS) and so began the long wait.
To be fair Paul was seen by a triage nurse within ten minutes but, when he went through that door with Toni as his interpreter, he did not return.
To keep the assorted fragments of humanity who were in stasis with us quiet the hospital had installed a high level television which ran a local government inspired programme which ran and ran on a tape loop. I personally never want to see the face of Carles Ruiz (the alcalde of Viledecans) ever again. A working television has a certain mesmeric quality even if you don’t want to look at it and I found myself drawn again and again to the colourful screen only to see the smiling face of the mayor beaming out at the disgruntled people praying for release.
Paul 1 and I had plenty of time to assess and dismiss the other prisoners in the waiting room. We were bemused at the turnover. Someone would appear, go through a door and reappear only to make a hurried exit through the main doors. A few minutes later the same person would turn up again and go through the same actions.
After the first hour we were no longer as impressed with the velocity of the Catalan health system. The second hour confirmed our suspicions that we were in familiar “you are only patients you can wait all night as far as we are concerned” territory.
And so time went on. After the third hour we were no longer concerned about Paul Squared’s health we were only concerned about our own sanity.
Perhaps a clue to our state of mind might be found in our reaction to the translation that I improvised from a Catalan health rights leaflet produced by the Departament de Salut for the Generalitat. Of the sentence, “Drets dells col·lectius més vulnerable davant d’actyuacions sanitàries especifiques,” I translated it as “You have the right to collect vulnerable deviants and auction them in specific toilets.”
This puerile attempt at humour at some ungodly hour of the morning reduced the pair of us to whimpering hysterics. God alone knows what the other walking wounded must have thought – but by that point we were beyond caring.
By the time we finally got home we were in a state in which sleep seemed like an impossible luxury.
But we slept – although today has been shall we say indolent.
The only definite thing we have done today is buy plastic shoes for the beach.
To which we have not yet been!
So it goes!
We are used to the particular shade of grey from our local health centre but yesterday we had the opportunity to experience it in other environments.
Paul Squared was complaining of swelling in his feet which appeared to be spreading slowly up his legs. We decided that he needed a medical opinion so we visited the health centre.
A suspiciously cheerful and even more suspiciously helpful receptionist took all the details and indicated that we should wait outside a particular door.
Paul was seen within 20 seconds which makes the Spanish system of Emergency Treatment something like 1,000 times faster than its equivalent in the UK – at least from my experience of sitting was wasted hours in soulless waiting rooms.
Paul was given a series of tests and then the doctor said that he would have to go to our nearest hospital emergency centre for further investigation. It was at this point that we made a fundamental mistake.
Given our excellent experience of speedy treatment in the local health centre we went straight to the hospital (courtesy of my eloquent and conversational GPS) and so began the long wait.
To be fair Paul was seen by a triage nurse within ten minutes but, when he went through that door with Toni as his interpreter, he did not return.
To keep the assorted fragments of humanity who were in stasis with us quiet the hospital had installed a high level television which ran a local government inspired programme which ran and ran on a tape loop. I personally never want to see the face of Carles Ruiz (the alcalde of Viledecans) ever again. A working television has a certain mesmeric quality even if you don’t want to look at it and I found myself drawn again and again to the colourful screen only to see the smiling face of the mayor beaming out at the disgruntled people praying for release.
Paul 1 and I had plenty of time to assess and dismiss the other prisoners in the waiting room. We were bemused at the turnover. Someone would appear, go through a door and reappear only to make a hurried exit through the main doors. A few minutes later the same person would turn up again and go through the same actions.
After the first hour we were no longer as impressed with the velocity of the Catalan health system. The second hour confirmed our suspicions that we were in familiar “you are only patients you can wait all night as far as we are concerned” territory.
And so time went on. After the third hour we were no longer concerned about Paul Squared’s health we were only concerned about our own sanity.
Perhaps a clue to our state of mind might be found in our reaction to the translation that I improvised from a Catalan health rights leaflet produced by the Departament de Salut for the Generalitat. Of the sentence, “Drets dells col·lectius més vulnerable davant d’actyuacions sanitàries especifiques,” I translated it as “You have the right to collect vulnerable deviants and auction them in specific toilets.”
This puerile attempt at humour at some ungodly hour of the morning reduced the pair of us to whimpering hysterics. God alone knows what the other walking wounded must have thought – but by that point we were beyond caring.
By the time we finally got home we were in a state in which sleep seemed like an impossible luxury.
But we slept – although today has been shall we say indolent.
The only definite thing we have done today is buy plastic shoes for the beach.
To which we have not yet been!
So it goes!
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