Now her crutches match her sunglasses
I don't know if I've ever explained how amazingly resilient my daughter is. By morning we were pretty sure that plan C was to go into place. She was not up to walking to the bus stop even. So the very nice young man at the reception desk made a number of calls for us and found out which hospital you're supposed to take yourself to when you are a foreigner who doesn't speak Czech and you don't have EU insurance, and then he called us a cab. By now Emma was already cheering up, though the pain was a bit worse. Nobody told her she had to cheer up, but she was cracking jokes.
The hospital in question (which I misunderstood the receptionist to have said was a wing of Motol Hospital -- in reality it was a separate hospital, in Motol, which is a suburban part of Prague, and is separated by geographic features and some other buildings as well as a different access road from the hospital where Frank has most of his classes) is 1970s-modern like a lot of other buildings here. For the particular clinic we went to, which is specifically for private patients and patients with EU insurance and patients from outside the EU, you enter at the top of the building. The very nice cab driver walked us right up to the reception office and introduced us to the receptionist there. She took Emma's information in English and explained coherently what the process would be. She led us to the correct lift and then took off in another direction. We arrived at the Poliklinika Urg(something I forget) Ambulance without incident, and the recptionist there took our paperwork, did stuff, and gave it back to Emma. We waited I think forty-five minutes to be called -- there were about six people in front of us, so that's what? seven and a half minutes between patients called? We got to watch a bit of a dubbed "Murder She Wrote" and some really odd commercials including a Tesco one featuring fluffy baby chicks chasing each other with beribboned spanking sticks.
The Czechs are really, really into their ancient Easter customs, apparently.
The room in which we saw the doctor and his two nurses is labelled something box some abbreviation. It has an examining table, two desks, a bunch of counter and cabinet action, and trays of instruments and bottles of stuff, most of which look like antiseptics and handwashing stuff. It has neutral tile up to about my height on the walls, and the top part of the walls, the ceiling, and the door jambs are bright, bright, chrome yellow.
We had been told the doctor would be fluent English speaking He was not, but his influency was the picturesque kind and not the confusing kind. He asked questions, examined Emma's ankle in about the same way that Frank had done, and, after much fussing on his computer and consulting with his two norse, announced that we must make picture. A distinguished looking man in a long white coat and scrubs produced a wheelchair and off we went.
Getting to xray and parking in front of these cute little doors with elaborate lit signs on them, we waited for another little while. I did not attempt to follow Emma into the xray room, but she sad that she didn't get a lead blanket Frank says these xrays are tightly directional). Emma had been asked a couple of times in different ways if she was not pregnant.
Then the distinguished looking guy took us back to the poliklinik and we waited another reasonable time before the nurse called us back into the doctor's box, where the doctor announced that the ankle ws not broken, it was twisted, and also that Emma would get sticks and an elastic and a CD with the picture to show her doctor in the States. That made me ask if she needed to be seen again, and he said not really. The distinguished looking man took us back to the fourth floor where we collected her elastic -- actually one of those pressure bandages that is sort of lke a toeless and heelless sock -- and her sticks, which are the kind of crutches which have an elbow rest and a hand grip, not the kind that go under the armpits, and have bright red plastic for the grips and rests and tips. As luck would have it, this matches her sunglasses and cowl-scarf, so now when we go out she's a fashionplate.
We had left a 300 crown fee and a 1500 crown deposit. The orthopedic stuff cost 500 crowns. The ibuprofen (and some acetaminophen for me) and the ice pack came to another 250 crowns. We got a hundred crowns back at reception and some more paperwork in case Emma had insurance back home. The cab ride was another 250 crowns or so, and we took the (wrong) bus away because Emma could walk now. The entire cost, in US dollars, was about $165.
Supposing you had the average insurance in the US and you had an urgent care visit, an xray, some drugs, and some crutches. Okay? You would not have gotten away for so little. Emma has no insurance. I can't even begin to face what that trip would have cost.
Anyway, Emma has crutches and we're back in business. In a big way. We wandered all ove town the rest of the afternoon, hitting up Easter markets at Andel and around the corner from the Astronomical Clock (which is not working today but should be working before we leave, according to the sign on it), crossing a bridge over the Vltava (not the Charles Bridge, the one next to it), we ate food couple of times and looked at a lot of crazy buildings, and she's cheerful as a bug.
It's the wee hours of the morning: I can't sleep, so I'm writing this.
So today, probably, a museum or two, and tonight, the opera, and we finally meet Hana in person.
Any missing letters are due to the fact that I am using Emma's laptop which apparently would like me to beat it bloody in order to get a keystroke to register in its proprietary little brain.
The hospital in question (which I misunderstood the receptionist to have said was a wing of Motol Hospital -- in reality it was a separate hospital, in Motol, which is a suburban part of Prague, and is separated by geographic features and some other buildings as well as a different access road from the hospital where Frank has most of his classes) is 1970s-modern like a lot of other buildings here. For the particular clinic we went to, which is specifically for private patients and patients with EU insurance and patients from outside the EU, you enter at the top of the building. The very nice cab driver walked us right up to the reception office and introduced us to the receptionist there. She took Emma's information in English and explained coherently what the process would be. She led us to the correct lift and then took off in another direction. We arrived at the Poliklinika Urg(something I forget) Ambulance without incident, and the recptionist there took our paperwork, did stuff, and gave it back to Emma. We waited I think forty-five minutes to be called -- there were about six people in front of us, so that's what? seven and a half minutes between patients called? We got to watch a bit of a dubbed "Murder She Wrote" and some really odd commercials including a Tesco one featuring fluffy baby chicks chasing each other with beribboned spanking sticks.
The Czechs are really, really into their ancient Easter customs, apparently.
The room in which we saw the doctor and his two nurses is labelled something box some abbreviation. It has an examining table, two desks, a bunch of counter and cabinet action, and trays of instruments and bottles of stuff, most of which look like antiseptics and handwashing stuff. It has neutral tile up to about my height on the walls, and the top part of the walls, the ceiling, and the door jambs are bright, bright, chrome yellow.
We had been told the doctor would be fluent English speaking He was not, but his influency was the picturesque kind and not the confusing kind. He asked questions, examined Emma's ankle in about the same way that Frank had done, and, after much fussing on his computer and consulting with his two norse, announced that we must make picture. A distinguished looking man in a long white coat and scrubs produced a wheelchair and off we went.
Getting to xray and parking in front of these cute little doors with elaborate lit signs on them, we waited for another little while. I did not attempt to follow Emma into the xray room, but she sad that she didn't get a lead blanket Frank says these xrays are tightly directional). Emma had been asked a couple of times in different ways if she was not pregnant.
Then the distinguished looking guy took us back to the poliklinik and we waited another reasonable time before the nurse called us back into the doctor's box, where the doctor announced that the ankle ws not broken, it was twisted, and also that Emma would get sticks and an elastic and a CD with the picture to show her doctor in the States. That made me ask if she needed to be seen again, and he said not really. The distinguished looking man took us back to the fourth floor where we collected her elastic -- actually one of those pressure bandages that is sort of lke a toeless and heelless sock -- and her sticks, which are the kind of crutches which have an elbow rest and a hand grip, not the kind that go under the armpits, and have bright red plastic for the grips and rests and tips. As luck would have it, this matches her sunglasses and cowl-scarf, so now when we go out she's a fashionplate.
We had left a 300 crown fee and a 1500 crown deposit. The orthopedic stuff cost 500 crowns. The ibuprofen (and some acetaminophen for me) and the ice pack came to another 250 crowns. We got a hundred crowns back at reception and some more paperwork in case Emma had insurance back home. The cab ride was another 250 crowns or so, and we took the (wrong) bus away because Emma could walk now. The entire cost, in US dollars, was about $165.
Supposing you had the average insurance in the US and you had an urgent care visit, an xray, some drugs, and some crutches. Okay? You would not have gotten away for so little. Emma has no insurance. I can't even begin to face what that trip would have cost.
Anyway, Emma has crutches and we're back in business. In a big way. We wandered all ove town the rest of the afternoon, hitting up Easter markets at Andel and around the corner from the Astronomical Clock (which is not working today but should be working before we leave, according to the sign on it), crossing a bridge over the Vltava (not the Charles Bridge, the one next to it), we ate food couple of times and looked at a lot of crazy buildings, and she's cheerful as a bug.
It's the wee hours of the morning: I can't sleep, so I'm writing this.
So today, probably, a museum or two, and tonight, the opera, and we finally meet Hana in person.
Any missing letters are due to the fact that I am using Emma's laptop which apparently would like me to beat it bloody in order to get a keystroke to register in its proprietary little brain.