Loved by National Health
Amazing. I believe this is the first time that I have felt truly cared for by a nationalized health service. Well, this is partly due to the fact that my country doesn't feature a national health service. But still. Just another reason to plug for one now.
I recently paid a visit to the local health centre associated with Oriel. I had quite the Michael Moore "Sicko" moment when I realized "No, indeed, there is no payment desk." Why? Because you don't have to pay.
Let's all take a moment to do the free health service happy dance.
Anyways, beside the point.
This initial visit led to a referral to a dermatologist (thanks so much inherited "I'm so white I'm clear" gene pool).
I was told official referral to said specialist would arrive in the mail.
Indeed it did.
Filled with many oh-so-official ways of making future appointments. (Since when did I need a username and password to make a doctor's appointment? Welcome to 21st century health care)
I, being my usual procrastinating self, have neglected to utilize the oh-so-helpful form as of yet. I've just been so busy doing....things. Other things.
This apparently has worried the "Powers That Be" in the English National Health Service, as I received another letter today, politely asking if I had received the previous form or if I had any problems booking an appointment using said form. Oh the Britishness!! Oh the tactful way of telling me to get off my ass and book an appointment!! I love it! I feel so wonderful that the NHS is taking time out of its (I'm sure) very busy schedule to make sure that I book my appointment! It's like having a nice grandmother reminding you to clean your room while offering you freshly baked cookies. I can't even express the slightly anxious yet polite tone of this letter. Oh Barry Evans, who is the Head of Operations for (I'm not making this up) The Appointments Line division of the NHS, you care about me. You really do. Even though I'm a crazy American immigrant to your land, taking up your resources and mooching off the system. You care. And that makes my little Yankee heart sing.
You know, one of these days, I will get off this strange Anglo-phile anecdotal kick in my journal entries. But for some reason, actual events seem so much less interesting than odd tidbits relating to nothing whatsoever. Eh. I haven't gotten any complaints yet.
I recently paid a visit to the local health centre associated with Oriel. I had quite the Michael Moore "Sicko" moment when I realized "No, indeed, there is no payment desk." Why? Because you don't have to pay.
Let's all take a moment to do the free health service happy dance.
Anyways, beside the point.
This initial visit led to a referral to a dermatologist (thanks so much inherited "I'm so white I'm clear" gene pool).
I was told official referral to said specialist would arrive in the mail.
Indeed it did.
Filled with many oh-so-official ways of making future appointments. (Since when did I need a username and password to make a doctor's appointment? Welcome to 21st century health care)
I, being my usual procrastinating self, have neglected to utilize the oh-so-helpful form as of yet. I've just been so busy doing....things. Other things.
This apparently has worried the "Powers That Be" in the English National Health Service, as I received another letter today, politely asking if I had received the previous form or if I had any problems booking an appointment using said form. Oh the Britishness!! Oh the tactful way of telling me to get off my ass and book an appointment!! I love it! I feel so wonderful that the NHS is taking time out of its (I'm sure) very busy schedule to make sure that I book my appointment! It's like having a nice grandmother reminding you to clean your room while offering you freshly baked cookies. I can't even express the slightly anxious yet polite tone of this letter. Oh Barry Evans, who is the Head of Operations for (I'm not making this up) The Appointments Line division of the NHS, you care about me. You really do. Even though I'm a crazy American immigrant to your land, taking up your resources and mooching off the system. You care. And that makes my little Yankee heart sing.
You know, one of these days, I will get off this strange Anglo-phile anecdotal kick in my journal entries. But for some reason, actual events seem so much less interesting than odd tidbits relating to nothing whatsoever. Eh. I haven't gotten any complaints yet.