If I Didn’t Know Better...

Now able to use both my intact arm and my damaged one – whoa! Talk about typing speeds!, I think it is high time to tell you exactly what happened during those days when, by necessity, I was forced to become a permanent right hander.

Note: as a result of a series of bone breaks in my childhood, I had the privilege of operating among the 1% of the world’s population who is ambidextrous. These days, while I can use my left hand to type and perform certain manual tasks – handwriting among them, I can no longer wash my hair with both hands or even feed myself with that hand.

That makes it danged hard to eat a burger or any other food that requires two hands... but that’s another story!

When I’d gone a few days beyond the fall that so severely jammed my elbow and discolored my skin in that area, I should have realized that my arm was broken rather than severely bruised, swallowed my lumps and gone to a doctor.

I might have, if I had known where to find one.

It was not until a dinner with friends Luisa and Ewelina, both of whom expressed such deep concern for the state of my swollen arm – and with them cutting up my food so I could eat (with my clumsy right hand) that I discovered a private medical clinic.

You might be wondering why I didn’t search such a facility out online... I did, actually.

The trouble is that Poland in general and Szczecin in particular is not exactly a mecca for expats seeking a new place to hang their hats. I believe I’ve commented on the fact that, as opposed to other countries, very little – from traffic signs to government offices, is in any other language than Polish.

It could be because this country is just starting to welcome expats. Or it could be that expats aren’t warmly welcome. The jury is still out on that subject.

Searching online, I found cosmetic surgery clinics and cosmetic dentistry clinics but no health clinics. If hospitals here have websites, I was not able to locate them – probably because I was searching in English.

Hospitals here do have websites, incidentally, but they do require you to know their names and type in Polish. I learned this the next day, when Luisa and Ewelina accompanied me to the private clinic, Medicus, to get my arm X-rayed.

Interpreting that film, the doctor prescribed immediate surgery to correct the jammed elbow and set the broken radius.

And here is where the tale really takes off.

Reporting for surgery, the intake physician’s first question was: “Can you go back to your country for this operation?”

When I assured him I couldn’t and asked how much this arm repair would cost, he hedged: “Oh, about 20,000 Złoty”.

That being a bit steep – and 10 times more than the initial doctor quoted, the intake doc temporized: “We’ll put a splint on to stablilize it and I’ll schedule you for an appointment for 2 weeks hence. If you can get insurance by that time...”

My ultra-helpful friends swung into action, soon finding me a most reasonable insurance policy that would cover the surgery.

I reported to the hospital on the scheduled date with my insurance, only to be informed I needed insurance to cover the surgery. When I proferred my insurance policy, I was told that was the wrong kind of insurance... but I really need the surgery, so I should get busy getting insurance.

The insurance in question is no doubt the National Insurance which is denied me until I gain the residence status I am still waiting for.

And that’s how I came to lose membership in the elite club of ambidexterity. Still, I have usage of my arm and that’s better than it hanging, limp and useless... right?

I count myself among the fortunate to have four appendages that work.

I am also a member of another, less exclusive club: hypothyroidism. It is not a fun club but it is manageable as long as I take my meds.

Thyroid disease is not necessarily deadly but if such patients don’t take their medicine, they are likely to suffer a host of symptoms that can lead to fatal conditions.

As I have no desire to feel crappy all the time, continuously fall down, have a heart attack due to high cholesterol, suffer thin hair and a thick waistline, I prefer to take my meds. In fact, those meds were a great source of concern upon my getting established here.

Such tablets are not an over-the-counter purchase; one must have a prescription and endure periodic blood tests to assure the prescribed dosage remains the same.

Discovering Medicus was a boon to my thyroid management: they have doctors for everything!

Shortly after my disastrous attempt to get my arm fixed, I visited an endocrinologist to get a supply of thyroid meds. There was no problem in doing so.

Naturally, I had to show my passport to get registered but then, it was a simple matter of explaining that I have been a thryroid patient for more than two decades, this is my dosage and, voila! A prescription was promptly printed out and I had meds for 6 months.

That time is nearly up.

Two weeks ago, again at Medicus, I discovered that they have changed their services to an appointment regimen. Whereas I had anticipated seeing the doctor that day, I ended up being scheduled for a week out.

Yesterday was my appointment. I showed up on time and was promptly ushered into the doctor’s office.

This was a different doctor than the last time. No problem, though, the record of my last visit should be in their computer system; he should be able to see my dosage, ect., and dash off a prescription.

Instead, upon learning that I speak very little Polish, he averred he could speak neither English nor German and terminated the appointment.

Through sign language, I offered to call a friend and use the phone’s speaker feature so that she may translate the consultation. He refused, wrote something on my appointment card and dismissed me.

Back in the lobby, I returned to the receptionist, who read what he had written and started to refund the fee I had paid for the visit.

Wait a minute! NO!!! I need these meds!!!

Quickly I called my friend and explained the situation. She asked that I hand the phone to the receptionist, who left her desk to talk with the doctor and, lo and behold! I will get treated... tomorrow.

If I didn’t know better, I would think that my inability to speak more than rudimentary Polish is keeping me from obtaining needed medical care.

Fortunately, I do know better. Here, everyone is at risk of disregard by the medical community.

Reeling from the implications of this treatment – would that doctor seriously withhold treatment from someone with a chronic disease?, I went on to language class but was unable to concentrate.

I told my teacher about the situation; she averred that she, too, had suffered such neglectful handling.

Stricken with the flu while in college, she reported to the campus medical unit only to be told that, because her health card is registered in her home town, she should return there for treatment.

Traveling over 100 km on public transportation while raging with influenza! Did that nurse know the potential health hazard she was setting up?

It’s not uncommon, in some parts of the world, to be denied medical treatment if you don’t have the money to pay for it.

It is downright shocking to discover that medical treatment can (and will!) be refused for such flimsy reasons as language and registration.

Indeed, my teacher was registered in her home town, as were all of the other students at that college, but universities in Poland provide their students with supplemental health insurance and an on-site clinic in the event that they fall ill while on campus.

I find it hard to believe that the doctor who turned me away, unlike other doctors I’ve seen since I’ve been here, did not speak any English, especially considering the fact that studying English from primary school on is mandatory in this country – whether you intend to be a doctor or not.     

What does all of this mean for Poland’s ageing population? What if they have nobody to advocate for them?

Update:

The next morning I reported to the lab. The phlebotomist, who spoke English, told me I could collect the results of my blood test after 1500.

After getting off work, Luisa rushed to meet me at the clinic. There, she did double duty as an interpreter and a great source of comfort to me.

The same doctor that turned me away was saddled with me again.

Impressively, he did a throrough intake interview and an abbreviated physical, where he discovered my blood pressure was sky high!

After a dosing of some meds to bring my heart rate down and receiving  a prescription for an elevated dose of thyroid meds, we were free to leave.

There is much more to be said about healthcare in Szczecin but that will have to be the subject of a future article.