The Doctor Is In

---

Feb 8, 2006

Well I started this blog out today intending it to be primarily about Frangipani flowers as a local fashion statement. But that’ll have to wait. Today I encountered the Australian Medical System and, as a card carrying member of the “10 Times or More” club, a group that counts how many times the American HMO/PPOs have made them burst into tears out of sheer frustration, I am obligated to recount the following.

I’m in the middle of the three part Hepatitis B shot series. It’s required by Massachusetts state law for everyone attending any sort of school - - I need it for my Masters. I had the first shot in America and needed to get the second down here. But I’ve put it off because the thought of slogging through red tape and lines, and explaining why I had one shot on one side of the world and needed the other here, and no, I didn’t have Australian Medicare, and no, I didn’t have a primary doctor, and no, I didn’t have paper work proving the first shot took place over 30 days ago . . . .GAH . . . it just did me in.

But registration for the Fall 2006 semester is coming up in a week and I need to email the seminary and tell them I’ve had this shot . . . or I won’t be allowed to register.

So I resolved myself to a wasted afternoon and went into a local doctor’s office. Let’s be clear as I set this up, I did not have an appointment. I literally just walked into a random doctor’s office down on Bondi’s main drag.

“Hi,” I said in my nicest, sweetest, please, please, please do not make me cry to get this shot, voice. “I’m wondering if you could help me.”
The receptionist looked at me with a chirpy smile. “’Course!”
Ok I thought, here we go. “I need to get the second shot in the three-shot Hep B series.” I paused. She still looked chirpy so I rushed on before she could lower the boom. “I left my paperwork about the first shot in America. I don’t have Australian Medicare and I don’t have a doctor down here.”
“Ok then, have a seat,” she said.

I sighed. I took a seat, wheeling Abby over where she could see out the window since I knew we were in for a long one.
“Just fill out this address sheet, and, let's see . . .” she scanned some paper, probably a list of the 80 forms I’d have to fill out along with some DNA samples, “ . . . yes I think the doctor could see you right now.”
I looked at her. “What will the doctor do?” I didn’t get it.
She didn’t get me. “What do you mean?”
“What do YOU mean?” I said.
“I thought you needed a shot . . .” she trailed off looking at me.
“Well I do, but I don’t see what the doctor has to do with it yet.”
The receptionist, still chirpy but a bit flustered, replied. “Well, she’ll give you the shot then won’t she?”
“Right now?” I asked a bit sternly.
The receptionist was clearly puzzled but nodded when a door opened in the back and through it I saw a women sitting down - - presumably the doctor. She motioned me into her office.

I rolled Abby in. I was ready to give my whole spiel again when she said, “Do you want the shot today?”
“What?” I was so lost. “Today? I mean…well yes, that’d be great, but really?”
The doctor just stared at me with a firm look. She wrote out a prescription and handed it to me. Aha! I thought, here is the catch.
I took the prescription and let out a big sigh. “And now, what should I do to get this filled?”
This doctor was not putting up with any of my continuing, confused, nonsense. “What do you think? Go to the chemist and get the shot!” She barked.
I babbled. “Wow. Wow that’s a great system, I had no idea I could get a shot from a chemist just like a prescription. So the chemist is allowed to inject me just like that eh? Wow.”
This time the doctor actually made a face at me like I was a total moron. “The chemist can’t inject you! He’ll just give you the shot and then when you want to get it injected you just bring it to a doctor, in this case I’m assuming that will be me.”

“What!?” Was I in the twilight zone?? This had become such a confusing situation to me I could hardly follow it. Meanwhile Abby started to eat the plastic wrapping on her granola bar and the doctor glared at me for clear, motherly incompetence.
“I’m sorry, I’m really confused.” I mumbled pulling the sticky mess out of Abby’s mouth and wadding it up into my pocket (where it still is). “You mean the chemist will give me the shot to just carry around like . . . like my groceries? Just out on the street? It’s a Hepatitis Vaccine! Are you sure that’s legal?”
The doctor was nonplussed. “How else would it work? I’m certainly not stocking the injections here! I don’t care when you get the shot, but if you don’t do it today you need to refrigerate it.”
And with that she made it clear she wanted me gone from her life until I managed to figure out if I wanted this shot or not.

So I went down to the chemist and bought my shot. Easy enough, and wildly cheap. This same shot cost me about $75 from my doctor in America. Down here at my neighborhood chemist it was about $20 bucks USD. I guess I could have charged myself a huge “transport fee,” US-style, but I didn’t. I just walked the shot back up the block to the doctor’s office for free.

Not that I had to, if I’d wanted, Abby and I could have gone to the mall. Abby and I and the shot that is. We could have gone to the Botanical Gardens. I could have hucked a Hepatitis B vial at the Flying Bats. The world was my oyster as far as how I wanted to conduct myself with this bit of vaccine. I simply could not get over it.

Back at the doctor’s office they whisked me right in. I handed over the little paper box I’d just bought and said. “This is the right one isn’t it? I mean, this is all happening so fast. This is the second Hep B shot right?”
The doctor looked at the box as she opened it. “RFL,” she paused and repeated, “RFL.” Then, lightening fast, she jabbed me in the arm with, presumably, my shot.
“Uh . . .I’m sorry, what? RF who?” I said rubbing my arm.
“Read the F-ing Label. It’s a useful way for doctors to make sure they are administering the right medicine.”

I’m not making this up.

“Right,” I said. “Well that’s a useful little acronym no doubt.” Whatever. I was just happy to have the shot.

“I suppose I can get a copy of my printout from the receptionist to show to my school as proof of the shot?” I asked, hoping to steer things to, really, any place a bit saner.
The doctor shrugged and then ripped the top off of the small box. She initialed and dated it on the back with her pen.
”Here.” She handed it to me. Then she stared at her door and actually said, “Have a nice life!”

I looked at the tic-tac size piece of paper mentally envisioning turning it in to the school's registrar office. But, I’d gotten my Hep B shot in less than 15 minutes, I wasn’t going to complain. And that was that. Weird. Oh SO weird! But wonderfully, blissfully efficient.

I’d trade cheapness and efficiency, with a touch of Hippocratic insanity, anytime over pricey bureaucracy and professional tedium. I'm dazzled.

Australia wins this round hands down.

---

Comments

[travelingbee]

You say that now...
...but let me assure you that if Oz's medical system is set up anything like the UK, then while it may be greatly efficient for getting vaccines and the like, it would NOT be such a pleasure cruise if you were to become seriously ill or need any kind of surgery. Don't...I repeat DON'T test them on that front!

[jen]

hilarious
This is hilarious! RFL!!!I'm forwarding this on to the medical people in my life

[Amanda]

so funny...
Esther, this is the funniest thing I've heard in a loooooong time! I think I've read it about 20 times. I'm going to print this out and make Mark and everyone else I know read it. Hats off to you for making it through your day.