Practicalities Issue 2: Nemocnica

Because I just took my second trip there in 10 days, today's "Practicalities" is about going to the hospital. Please don't fret; I'm fine, though stupid and clumsy, and I will certainly live through this particular injury.

For that story, let's journey back in time to the Sunday before last. A group of us went to the salaš at Zbojská on Sunday afternoon, and, due to events conspiring against us, had to walk back to Tisovec. It was light when we started, and we were expecting about a 45-minute walk. About two and a half hours later I stumbled into a ditch in the dark and turned my left ankle rather badly. (I could feel it start swelling right away. By the time we got home it was huge. I'd include a picture, but my feet looked pretty manky.) Luckily, I was with a wilderness guide, an Eagle Scout, someone with athletic training instruction, and a kid who dresses really well,* so they got me home in once piece and wrapped my ankle up.

On Monday morning it was less swollen, but it hurt pretty badly; and while we knew it wasn't broken, I still felt it best to see a doctor. The school called the hospital, arranged the car, and rounded up a student to translate for me. We only went to the small hospital in Hnúšťa, so the drive wasn't long. I'd like to note that when I describe the hospital and my experiences there, I'm not trying to be condescending and all "This would never happen in the U.S." I'm just telling you what happened.

The horror-movie-waiting-to-happen theme from our long walk in the dark continued at the hospital. At best, the outside of the hospital looks uninviting and in need of work; at worst, it looks like there are homicidal maniacs lurking inside. There are uneven steps leading up to the front door, and the overall architecture is Communist-Gothic. Inside, there are yet more steps. Once you've made it into the hospital, there is a sign directing you where to go: radiology, the emergency surgery, and some other places that I can't remember. The emergency surgery is, you guessed it, up a short flight of stairs. There is an elevator inside the building, but I don't know how much it's for patients and how much it's just for moving things. The interior is decorated in classic green and white.

We went to radiology first to x-ray my ankle. Natália, my translator, gave someone there my insurance card (yes, I have Slovak insurance, so I didn't have to pay to visit the hospital) and some other information, and then we waited. After maybe seven minutes they called me in. I hesitate to estimate as to the x-ray machine's age, but it wasn't new. Once the x-rays were taken, we went upstairs to wait outside the emergency surgery. This is what you do: You go up to the door and knock, and then you wait. Then the radiology tech will come up and hand you your x-ray, and you'll peer at it and determine that all of the bones in your foot are indeed sound and unbroken, in your expert medical opinion. Some people will go in and out of the door without asking you what you need or if you've been helped. More people will show up and sit on the benches in the hall, some of them definitely looking worse off than you. After some period of time someone will open the door and take whatever information you have for them, and then go back in. And then you wait some more, and finally they call you in.

We probably waited twenty minutes or half an hour before they called me (and I was the first one). I went into the examining room, which was part examining room and part office. A doctor, two nurses, and an orderly were in there. I sat on the table and took off my shoe and sock and the wrapping, and displayed my swollen, discolored foot to the room. They looked at my foot for about two seconds before proclaiming that I had torn a ligament, and promptly got me a brace out of a cabinet. They told me to elevate it, rest, wear the brace, use some topical analgesic cream, and come back in 10 days. I for one doubt that I actually tore the ligament, just for the record.

When I went back this afternoon we only waited outside the closed door for about five minutes before the nurses came back from lunch and checked me out. Again, once I was actually inside it was a very short visit. The nurse asked me a few questions, looked at my foot (which is more or less back to the proper colors now), and told me to keep elevating it and wearing the brace. I'm supposed to go back again in two weeks, but we'll see if that's necessary.

Perhaps part of this is the fact that I don't understand the language, but I found it very odd going to the hospital. It seems to be almost deliberately obtuse, like they don't really want you to find out where you should go and who can help you. Even Natália said today that she wouldn't want to have to go to the hospital in a real emergency, and that "even if you were dying, they would make you wait." Of course, not all hospitals in Slovakia can be like this. And I have no real reason to complain, since, as I said earlier, I wasn't paying for any of it, and my complaint was nothing life-threatening. But I also feel that I don't really want to risk having a big-time medical problem while I'm here. In that way it's just like rush hour in the Bronx.

*It should go without saying that I have absolutely no skills that would help in this kind of situation, except for my long hours getting iced and taped and whatnot in the training room.