The Questionable Nature of Socialist Medicine

So I have failed you friends and family. I promised to update on Sudays come hell or high water. Neither came and I didn’t update. So I'm updating with a cautionary tale against the follies of socialist medicine. 

Yesterday, I foolishly posted a facebook status outlining the nature of socialist medicine in this country, and concerned my friends and family with the content therein. If you’re wondering, I may have broken my foot a few weeks ago jumping over a fence. Actually I was peeing in the bushes behind the fence when a full family came walking toward me. I was finished, but didn’t want anyone to know where I had been, so I made a break for the fence. Hesitating at the last moment, I plummeted over onto the other side, catching my foot on the top rung on the way down, landing on my knees. Said family witnessed the whole scene, so I picked myself up and started sprinting away in, dare I say it, shame. But because I can’t take myself seriously, this episode will probably make me laugh until I die. Today I went to the A&E clinic to get the foot in question checked out. I didn’t want to. My mother just talked some sense into me over Skype. Because that’s what mothers are good at. The staff didn’t believe that it was broken. I probably wouldn’t either, given how little pain I’m in as of now. And given the fact that I’ve been walking on it several miles a day for three weeks. But that’s just how we roll in my family. Maybe if socialist medicine functioned as an industrial model, I would have seen a doctor soon enough to diagnose the break that I am so certain I had. But they have better things to do with their time then tend to mostly mended feet, so I am crazy. Here’s how my conversations went with the professionals at the clinic:

Man: “What do you think is wrong with you?”

Me: “I think I may have broken my foot.”

Man: “And how did you do that?”

Me: “I was jumping over a fence. But I caught my foot on the top rung on the way down and landed on my knees. I happened about two to three weeks ago.”

Man: “And why do you think it’s broken?”

Me: “BECAUSE IT HURT MAN. AND THEN IT SWELLED MAN. AND IT ALSO BRUISED MAN. AND I COULD FEEL IT RUBBING AGAINST ITSELF MAN!” (Disclaimer: Not my actual words)

Man: “Well, let me have a look at it *pokes and prods* Yeah, I don’t think it’s broken. It’s probably very unlikely that it is, but I’ll send you to the X-ray clinic, just take this form, go out of the A&E clinic, turn yourself left and continue until you run into the Urgent Care clinic.” 

Me: *follows directions, waits fifteen minutes to get x-rays taken, waits a good long while to be seen by anyone*

Female Nurse: “What’s wrong with you? *looks at my form* You think your foot’s broken?”

Me: “Yes, I think maybe it is.”

Female Nurse: “Which foot? Oh, left.”

Me: “Yes, left foot.”

Female Nurse: “Why are you in the UK?”

Me: “(Do you think maybe we should get back to the fact that one of my appendages has been potentially broken for three weeks?) I’m studying at the university.”

Female Nurse: “What are you studying?”

Me: “Piano Performance”

Female Nurse: “Oh, really? Do you have any allergies, prescription medications, have you had any operations, or been diagnosed with any illnesses?”

Me: *answers questions*

Female Nurse: “Well I haven’t actually looked at your x-ray, but I’m going to go ahead and check your feet and compare them side by side, so if you could remove your wellies and socks again…”

Me: *thinks quietly to self about hour long wait for x-ray results in reception, removes socks and rain boots again.”

Female Nurse: “What are your symptoms?”

Me: “Well, it bruised, and swelled, and when I touched one place, I could feel the sensation in another place, and it felt like a creaking door when I moved it, and it has a dull ache along the second phalange, and it really really hurt, but it’s been three weeks and it doesn’t hurt anymore.”

Female Nurse: “So it doesn’t hurt anymore? *pokes and prods, feels around, takes other foot , pokes, prods, requests I walk back and forth in front of her* It’s probably just soft tissue damage, but I’ll take a look at the x-ray to make sure it’s not broken. I don’t expect I’ll find anything. If it was broken, you would be reacting very differently. There would be sharp pains and you would probably jump. I’ll have a look.”

Me: *thinks to self* Yeah, kind of like the pains I had a week and a half ago that I was trying to tell you about? Maybe kind of like those ones.” *waits another 15 minutes in urgent care hospital room while security guards and nurses peek in to see if more room can be procured for other patients*

Female Nurse: “ So I can’t find anything on your x-rays. They look clear to me. Your foot isn’t broken. It could be soft tissue damage, but we can’t help you with that here. Normally soft-tissue damage is diagnosed six weeks after the incident, so I would wait another week before you call your doctor and then see about whether you should get that checked out with an ultrasound.

Me: “Thank you.” *walks out*

This whole interaction front to back aside from the lovely x-ray technician left me wondering if that diagnosis was preemptive. And whether they were even listening at all. What I do know is that between the symptoms the professionals thought I should be exhibiting and the symptoms I told them I had exhibited, it’s pretty safe to say that my foot was indeed broken. Whether it was a hairline fracture that healed itself, or whether I’m going to find out that actually I need medical attention when I go home, I’m plenty happy to take this somewhat controversial diagnosis and live with my injuries if it means I never have to set foot in a socialist medical practice again. I refuse. If it’s the death of me, I will die outside of a socialist medical practice rather than wait three hours for them to diagnose me with hypochondria.