If I’m being honest, I didn’t realize we were taking a second class on this trip until I got to the Edinburgh Airport and heard my non-BME classmates talking about their reasons for coming. I don’t know how, since I saw the title several times. Little did I know that we would be studying the NHS in Scotland, and getting firsthand experience. Or in my case, first-foot.
On June 7th, we hiked up to Law Hill in Dundee. Shockingly enough, it wasn’t the steep, unpaved slope up to the hill that got me, nor was it the very unstable shed roof that we climbed onto for *aesthetic pictures*. No, I just landed wrong trying to get off of a tire swing, heard a cracking sound, and found myself on the ground in pain. I spent a good five minutes trying to convince everyone (myself included) that I was fine and could walk in just a few minutes. Long story short, I was very much incorrect and ended up getting a piggyback ride all the way back to my hotel room, where I thanked and dismissed my faithful steed (shoutout to Michael and Iv), then promptly started crying from the pain.
Skip (or hop on one foot) forward a good 18 hours, to when I finally told Kenny. He had me call NHS24- here begins my actual journey with the NHS. I dialed 111 and sat through about 20 minutes of their hold music and announcements before a strong Scottish accent answered me. I decided only about half of what he said was English, and it boiled down to “continue self-treatment: rest, ice, elevate.” So I hopped around for another day and a half before we decided that this needed an actual doctor’s visit.
With some help, I made it to Accident and Emergency (A&E). I filled out some basic forms at the counter, then went into the waiting room. It was pretty empty- a mom with her kid, an older gentleman, and another woman walking out. Maybe five minutes later, a nurse called me into a side office to ask me more details about my injury, then put me back out in the waiting room. Frankly, I’m not sure how long we waited. I was a bit distracted by the guy who came in, bandaged fingers dripping blood, hyperventilating, and shouting profanity. From the concrete stains on his pants, my guess is he was a construction worker who had an unfortunate incident with some machinery. The receptionist very calmly asked him some questions, which he not so calmly answered, and then had him wait. I tried to distract myself from his frantic pacing by studying the flowchart infographic on the wall. It was surprisingly comprehensive, including their pathways divided by severity of need and more. Did you know they have color-coded scrubs for different roles? Maybe ten minutes later, a nurse finally took the bleeding construction worker into the back for treatment. Apparently imminent loss of fingers is higher priority than a several day old foot injury.
A while later, a nurse in teal scrubs called me into the back and wheeled me into a treatment bay. Another nurse came in and inspected my foot, told me it was probably just a sprain or a torn ligament, then sent me to some precautionary x-rays. By the time I got back from the x-ray and waited until they returned with my results, probably 30-45 minutes had passed. A doctor (not wearing teal) stopped by, informed me that I had a few minor fractures, then turned me back over to yet another nurse. She gave me a boot, some painkillers, and then sent me on my way. I hobbled out to the lobby and was utterly shocked when the receptionist told me I didn’t need to do anything for payment or checkout info. Thanks, universal healthcare.
This trip might have started off on the wrong foot, but it worked out for me. I’ve always been a hands-on learner… but I guess breaking my foot in Scotland was close enough.