A Hospital Visit

Yesterday, we met our friend, Tracey, pilates teacher and housemate at La Ceiba.  She'd just spent a week at Roatan enjoying paradise and scuba diving.    This morning at breakfast she happened to mention her blocked ears once too often and as Glenn and I both needed out blood pressure checked this was a good time for all of us to visit the local hospital where we could see a doctor.  I dragged Tracey and Glenn screaming behind me to the nearest taxi and we started on our journey for the day. 

It was quite a hastle driving through the maze of witches' hats and blocked gates to enter the hospital grounds but the taxi driver managed to get through with the help of all the attendants sitting, watching and calling out directions and we were dropped off at the front door of a reasonably modern building in much need of a paint job.   It was 8.45am in the morning and all the seats in the air-conditioned waiting room were taken up by a mottley selection of at least 30 poor people all in much more need of attention than us.   However, we joined the queue lined up at a glass and barred window where there was a sign that said we needed birth certificates or some form of identity.   Tracey was the only one of us who even had a credit card, we'd left our passports at our house and we had fun spelling out our names and giving details in Spanish to the 2 people at the desk behing the bars. When we couldn't remember the correct word they would throw in a few English words to help us out.   We returned to our seats and as I observed the dirty floor I was very hopeful that none of us needed serious medical care.

We then found a chair to sit down, expecting to have to wait hours but it was only half an hour before I was called in to have my blood pressure checked.   Meanwhile we observed the other patients.   There was beautiful couple in their mid-fifties, the man in a terrible amount of pain who couldn't sit or stand for long.   His wife soothed him, massaged his back while he held onto her like a baby.  He was probably a worker who'd injured his back while working. The love and care she showed him was wonderful to observe.

I was beckoned into the surgery of a young female doctor who checked me very efficiently and found me to be in good health with no blood pressure problems.   Glenn was prescribed antibiotics to clear up a cough he'd had for 3 weeks and Tracey was also prescribed antibiotics for the start of an ear infection.   Tracey had both Glenn and myself as interpreters but also managed very well with her Spanish after only 2 weeks of intensive study in  a language school in Antigua, Guatemala.   Our doctor had studied English and could read very well, wasn't happy about speaking the language but gave us the Spanish words we didn't know.   It was a lovely, friendly visit.

We were then sent outside the building to an office, where they asked our ages, to pay the bill and then to the chemist, still in the hospital grounds who turned out to be the father of 2 of my students and was very pleased to see us.   As he chattered away to us, Tracey muttered, I hope he's concentrating on those tablets he's putting into that bag.   None of us were charged for the visit because Glenn and I were 'third age' patients and it was too hard for them to work out a bill for Tracey even though she is young enough to be our daughter.

We then scrambled into another taxi and were back at our house in Venecia by 10.30 am in much shorter time that we would have taken in any medical clinic in Hobart.  Both Tracey and I were sorry that we couldn't take any photos to record the experience even though we both had our little digitial cameras in our bags!