Classic Argentine gestures indicating:
Frustration, Ridiculousness and Watch Out!
Maybe I’m a bit nervous to begin with, but it’s been a little traumatic trying to navigate Argentine medicine. Let’s start with the good news: I have absolutely amazing medical insurance. Everything has been completely free, and that’s phenomenal. I suppose I can’t really complain too much considering the above-mentioned detail, but I’m going to anyway.
We’ll start with routine medical care. As soon as I got insurance, I scheduled a regular doctor visit and just picked a clinic conveniently located next to my house. I should have known better: Randomly picking a doctor in any country is a bad idea. So I found myself in a dirty, old clinic waiting next to howling children for hours. Finally, I was called into my new doctor’s office—and he was impressively old. I mean, people that old don’t normally leave their beds in the morning, let alone practice medicine. As much as I’d love to adopt him as my new grandfather, his medical advice was far past expiration date and I think I’ll continue shopping around.
Going to the gynecologist, on the other hand, was a lovely experience. I got a cute, chatty porteña who told me to drop my panties and began the routine items we ladies are all used to. The only odd detail: instead of her keeping my cultures, she gave them to me to carry to the laboratory nearby. While I did my best to keep them safe in my giant purse, I couldn’t help thinking that in the US we’d be a little concerned about contamination. However, I liked her enough I’m not going to whine too much.
As I mentioned, I’ve also been sick. In fact, I’ve been really sick. For a long time. After developing a stuffy nose and a cough for the third time in the last two months I decided I wanted some good drugs and asked my co-workers what they do when they’re sick. Apparently here you don’t go visit your doctor for a cold; instead you have two options: (a) either “order-in” and a doctor will come to your house or (b) go to the emergency room. While option (a) sounds convenient, there’s a 48-hour window so if you’re like me and can’t stay in your house for 48 consecutive hours, you’re left with option (b).
My first ancient practioner experience demonstrated that random point-and-choose isn't the best technique for choosing a medical facility, so I asked around and ended up in an ER my friend recommended. It was filled with stuffy noses, appalling coughs and all other manner of strange afflictions. After waiting an hour and a half the youngest little doctor I have ever seen called me into a back room where I timidly purched on the edge of a cot, next to a convulsing man. While she tried to figure out how to turn on the light to look at my throat, I described my on-and-off illness and told her I was worried that I might have some problem that I couldn’t shake with my own immune system. She nodded gravely and then told me we were going to do some tests.
Armed with little slips of paper, I ventured off, asking directions to different sections of the hospital. First, I had a throat culture to verify I didn’t have strep throat (this seems normal enough). Next, I wandered downstairs… for x-rays? Since they’re called “ecolograms” here I didn’t actually realize that’s what I was getting into. Interestingly enough, I’ve never had anyone x-ray me for a sore throat and a cough before, but apparently in Argentina they need to see your skull to diagnose a cold. The x-ray technician was a young kid with a euro-mullet who began hitting on me shamelessly. “Please put your arms over your head, stand sideways, and by the way, do you have a boyfriend?” When we were done he let me know that my photos had turned out absolutely beautiful and that he had all my information “except your phone number!” I coughed and gave him my loveliest sick-face smile.
Returning to the main floor clutching my sexy x-rays and throat culture results, I began searching for my little tiny doctor. Apparently, she was done for the day. Instead, I was attended to by another young male doctor. Unfortunately, this one wasn’t charmed and didn’t want my phone number. Instead, he seemed infuriated by my inability to speak quickly. Due to the masses of people waiting, he was obviously in a hurry. At this point I had been there about three hours, I felt awful and I had a doctor huffing at me as I attempted to explain, in my nervous Spanish, why I was in his office. So I did something really productive: I started crying. The doctor didn’t care: in fact, he seemed even more irritated. How dare I cry when he had other people to attend to? He glanced at my x-rays, ordered me to breath, listened to my chest, prescribed me some allergy medicine and ceremoniously shoved me out the door. Three pharmacies later I finally managed to purchase my medicine and headed home on the bus with my x-ray souvenirs. Maybe next time I’ll try option (a).
This week I was also privileged enough to experience even more interesting Argentine medicine. My first ancient doctor had ordered blood tests and my lovely gynecologist informed me that uterus ultrasounds are a routine part of feminine healthcare. So Thursday morning I found myself in a bustling laboratory, with a urine sample in my purse, prepared for uncomfortable poking and prodding.
Actually, I have to say that the uterus ultrasound is a good idea since often feminine maladies aren’t discovered until you’ve got a serious problem. It was incredibly painless (although I couldn’t help but giggle like a 15 year-old when she put a lubricated condom on a wand and stuck it up my vagina) and I even got to see my special lady parts on TV. I left with more souvenir photos—even sexier than the chest x-rays! I get to go back for the blood test results in a few days and then I can schedule my follow-up visits…
It seems like the entire medical experience is not just the system, or the insurance, or the practitioner… but also a bit of random luck. At first I was feeling terrified by the whole experience, but I have to admit that my fear has morphed into curiosity as I’ve discovered they do so many odd new little things here. I suppose there are good and bad doctors everywhere… and getting all of the routine items checked off is a pain no matter where you live.
Next up? The dentist. I’ll let you know how it goes.
