You better have good veins

So toilets. I’ve come to realise it’s extremely important to know where your nearest toilet is at all times. First of all, never ask, “where’s the toilets?” in America. You’ll be met with a dirty look. Please use the words Bathroom, Restroom or Facilities. These words are less offensive to the American ear. Also expect to find an Employees Must Wash Hands sign in every bathroom you see. Apparently Americans need to be reminded to not be filthy pigs.

I am writing on the subject as I found myself in this very situation the other week. I was walking to meet a friend downtown on the east side, when I felt as though I had been punched in the guts. I have no idea what it was that I ate but I knew that I needed a toilet and I needed it now. Of course, neither of us had been in this neighbourhood before and weren’t exactly sure which way we were heading to get to our restaurant. After five minutes and being no closer to our destination, I started to seriously think; I may need to lie down in the street. Also, what would I do if I shat myself? It was that serious. Luckily, I saw a bar and ran inside. Keep in mind though, if I did have to end up lying down in the street, it would not even raise an eyebrow from your follow New Yorker as they stepped over you. I know this for a fact because of the following.
My fellow aussie Loren was not feeling particularly well on the way to class one morning and was made to feel worse by the rocking of the subway, as she also suffers from motion sickness. And then she vomited. On the subway. So of course she decided to get off at the next stop and vomit into the bin on the platform instead. This woman who couldn’t look further from a junkie had people continue to walk by her with not one person stopping to ask if she was ok- which she clearly wasn’t. The only looks she did get were daggers from a mother on the subway as she pulled her son in close.

Speaking of being unwell in New York (or the good ol’ US of A for that matter), I’m sure everyone is aware of their appalling health care system. I have always known that if even I could somehow get a visa to live there, I would have to do some serious thinking before accepting because of this. Now I have experienced this system first hand- lucky me.

Yesterday while sitting in a very Melbourne-style trendy café Culture (in midtown if you wanted to know and as it turns out it’s Australian owned or something) and started to feel a tingling in my hand and foot, both on the left hand side. Now I am somewhat of a hypochondriac, so when it didn’t go away I started to get quite worried. I began to think about all the stories I’d ever heard about people ignoring warning signs of strokes etc. I worked myself up on my way to class and once I got there I was told maybe I should see a GP, even if it’s only to put my mind at ease. Off to the clinic I went.

I felt like I was in a movie. Seriously. “Fill out this form and take a seat.” Once I had signed away my life, paid $125US on credit (thank you travel insurance) and remembered to reverse the day and month when writing the date, I was ready. That’s when I received the Patient’s Bill of Rights. A thick document with every last detail about your rights and records, thus preventing anyone from suing the clinic. My personal favourite was the Pain Rating Scale (pictures to come). The only upside was that I only had to wait about 10 minutes for a walk-in appointment which would never happen in Australia. But of course any one can go to the doctors and not even have to worry about paying in Australia, so it stands to reason that our waiting rooms are going to be busier.

My number was called (ok, it was actually my name) and I entered a rather small room and was told to sit on the end of the bed. No friendly office with a doctor sitting behind their desk typing your symptoms into the computer. The woman asked me about my symptoms, took my blood pressure and just as I was about to ask what she thought was going on, she told me that the doctor would be in shortly. Right. That was the nurse not the doctor. Ok, fine. She left and that’s when I noticed the sign on the wall reading; If you are left in this room for more than 15 minutes, please tell someone at Reception. Good to know that they’re in the habit of forgetting people. Then in walked the doctor and in walked the cliché. White lab coat and everything. She confirmed everything that the nurse had recorded and checked my vital signs and seemed to want to have no part in quelling my fears, instead she ordered I get blood work done and see a neurologist. A neurologist. I’ve had these symptoms for a few hours now and she’s demanding a neurologist. Jumping to conclusions much? She would have booked me an appointment right then and there except in was Friday afternoon and the neurologist would not be in until Monday. She gave me the neurologists number and said to call him on Monday. I just kept trying to think, “what would an Australian doctor do?” Even if they thought it should be acted on straight away, they calm you down. It’s never a big deal. I now get why Americans are so terrified- because their own doctors are putting the fear of god in them. After getting my blood work done by another person with a terrible bedside manner (“You better have good veins”), I was done.

Will I call the neurologist? I don’t know. But I’ve googled my symptoms and it’s currently down to low electrolyte levels, anxiety, diabetes, thyroid disorder, Lyme disease and MS. Fan-fucking-tastic.

No, I’m not paranoid and yes, of course I’m paranoid.