P.L.U.

A while ago, Batgung had an article about 'white people' it was amusing at the time. On Tuesday, after we arrived in Barcelona I had plenty of opportunity to think about a related topic - "people like us" or P.L.U

I'd asked the hotel where we could find a hospital with x-ray facilities for the follow up of R and my arms and they'd pointed me to the local hospital near the beach. After unpacking we decided to head there immediately to get it all out of the way so it didn't interfere too much with the rest of the holidays - particularly I was tired of the plaster cast and swollen and painful thumb where the cast was particularly tight. The GP in Switzerland had said she wasn't sure if it was sprained or fractured and only a scan would tell and only after 10 days. So with that in mind we arrived at the hospital at the emergency section. We explained it wasn't an emergency, just needed to be checked on and that R's cast was about ready for removal but he needed one extra x-ray to confirm it was all in order. We were pleasantly met, handed over ID and credit cards to guarantee our ability to pay and were ushered into the system. Or as I prefer to think of it, into the first circle of hell.

H and the kids were told to go to a paediatric waiting room and I suddenly found myself alone in the adult waiting room. There were 10 other assorted people around me. White walls with posters advertising the helpline for women who were the subject of domestic abuse, plastic seats bolted to the filthy floor. Which was black. But that didn't hide the fact that it was dirty. The aircon was set to HK levels. In the far corner what appeared to be a long haired emaciated women in a string vest sat in a semi-conscious stupor. Swollen feet in white worn havanianas. Across my way was a swarthy greying man with a beard, blowing into his hands and sniffing - to check if his breath smelt of alcohol? On each of his 10 fingers he had a large golden ring, several of which appeared to depict the heads of animals. He was flanked by a youngish chap in a wheelchair and a large cast covering his head who looked a little worse for wear. In the far corner, past an electronic sliding door, sat an older man moaning in the corner, the moans varied in intensity depending on whether an orderly was walking by or not. A lady in her 50's with an arm sling strode between that side and ours moaning about the cold, while another large lady with whispy wild hair and still in her duster coat sat on another wheel chair complaining. The doors between the entrance corridor and the the waiting room and the waiting room and the medical staff areas / doctors opened and shut intermittently admitting more people, doctors, stretchers, and more people. I was in a slight state of shock by now. An older man shuffled in with a bloodied nose with a wad of toilet paper stuck in it. He looked around in disgust. Asked for the newspapers and then complained that there weren't any. In fact there was nothing except the abuse posters. The cleaning ladies walk past. They drag their mops from the one sliding door to the next without managing to make any visible difference in the floor. It's still filthy. Two younger men had been admitted separately and were complaining bitterly about the waiting time, the standard of care and the fact this was Spain in the 21st century, those were the bits I could understand. I had nothing with me at all. No book, no sudokuipod, nothing. All in the bag that H had with the kids. Finally he ventured in. He brought me a sudoku book and said he had to rush back, he'd left the kids alone, they weren't allowed in the adult waiting room. Thank god I said. And indicated around me. Well, he said cheerfully, it must nearly be your turn. And then R is apparently just after you. The children's waiting room is ok, it has some books and things. And so I waited and waited. And more people came in and were seen and came and went. After 2 hours, the orderly saw me still sitting there and said - another minute or so, then you. I gave it 1/2 an hour, walked out, went to find H and the kids and said, we're out of here. It was shortly after one of the young guys walked back into the waiting room with half of his hand covered in plaster, with bits of plaster all over his hand. It looked like a kid had done the job. Maybe it was a temporary job while he waited for a specialist. I wasn't waiting to find out. The stupefied person in the corner had woken after 2.5 hours - sort of - and revealed a rather frightening figure, man or woman, it wasn't clear. puzzles, no phone, no money, no

We went back to the admissions and explained to lady and gentleman there that we were well aware that we weren't the first priority, but it was taking a little long and perhaps we'd be better off somewhere where we could make an appointment. They were very sweet about it, and de-admitted us and gave us the number of a private hospital, and even rang it to find out if they had the necessary x-ray and scanning equipment. While this was going on, R was standing at the door, transfixed by the ambulances coming and going, people being placed on stretchers, others standing smoking outside. I was trying to protect him from the the sights and he was having nothing of it. When we finally left, he made a very astute comment about the number of people on stretchers accompanied by a motorbike helmet.

By then it was getting late, we were all hungry and tired and decided to leave our next hospital experience for another day. I could well understand how medical dramas taking place in emergency rooms could be excellent TV fodder. Sitting as a passive observer, without much linguistic skills in Catalan, is another story altogether though. I sat trying to meditate. Trying to breathe, trying to observe lovingkindness and all the rest. And all I could think was "I don't belong here". Is that terribly elitist?

The next day we went to the Teknon hospital. A large private hospital on the hill. We started at emergency, but were quickly taken by the lady there to "customer services" who rang an orthopaedic surgeon in the out-patient section who agreed to see us. The hospital was spotless with vast beige marble floors, piped quiet music and an art exhibited on the walls. And more than that. It was filled with PLU. I've been thinking for the last 2 days about what it is. What is the difference between the population of a private and public hospital. Besides the obvious health insurance?

....

the hotel is shutting down the lobby. So more tomorrow.