An Aussie taking on the Netherlands , one klompje at at time…
Given my previous experiences in blogging about doctors in this country, I really should have learned my lesson by now and stopped when I had the thought ‘Hey, this could be a super funny post!’ Continue reading “The one about the trip to the doctors … (again)”
Since I arrived, I've heard a lot of funny stories about people who go to the doctor's here and are merely told to go home, take 2 paracetamol and rest. In fact, I'm pretty sure that if you turned up with bubonic plague, or an axe in your head, you'd be told to take 2 paracetamol and come back if it's not better.
Recently my poor husband went to basketball training and dislocated his index finger by catching a rogue ball. I remember vaguely waking up at around 11pm with him standing by the bed, sporting a plaster cast and telling me 'It's not as bad as it looks …' Of course it's not. IT'S A PLASTER CAST! Slightly a little bit of overkill once I got the story out of him, but still enough to give you that small moment of panic…
Which brings me to last night's story.
My lack of coordination is not news. I've managed to fall over my own feet so many times I now get up, take a bow and laugh. So it should be no surprise to you all that I managed to slip on my stairs (there's a reason the Dutch word for staircase is "trap") but regain my balance. I don't recall doing anything to my foot, but I did notice it was a little uncomfortable when wandering back upstairs to bed.
My feet aren't the prettiest to start with – I'll freely admit that – but when you have to call in your husband to come look because you're not sure of exactly how deformed they are I admit they're probably never going to be modelling matierial. With my foot rapidly swelling and discolouring, he decided I should probably head into the hospital with him and get it checked.
Have I mentioned how hard it is to hobble/hop/limp in snow? That's right, it started snowing as we left the house, so I'm trying to get to the car without falling on my arse or causing myself more damage. By the time we reached the hospital, the snow is bucketing down.
Once inside, it was your standard questions about where you live, health insurance etc. With full marks to the hospital, I was in and out in under half an hour. However, it was confirmed I had broken my little toe. (You don't realise how much you use that little guy until you break it, really!). There wasn't a lot that can be done, but I was sent home strapped, told to rest, and that if I needed to use painkillers, I could take 2 paracetamol.
That's right, Paracetamol.