Part II - My Stay in a Public Hospital in Costa Rica - A Truly Cultural Experience
Off to the hospital:
A public hospital in Costa Rica is a truly interesting experience. It is essentially free medicine. Not totally free, since we do pay insurance. For our family of 5, we pay around $15.00 a month in health insurance. A neighbor comes by once a month and collects the payment and we carry around a little “carnet” or doubled over thick paper card that is our insurance card. With this we have access to the country’s public health system. Compared to anything that we had experienced in the States though, this was ‘free’. Sounds great, the thought of free medicine, and it really does provide a wonderful service to a country where a large number of people are agricultural and self sufficient, but short on cash.
The people around San Isidro live on farms well removed from the centro where you find the markets and shops and the hospital. They raise rice, beans, various fruits and vegetables, and have plenty of meat around in the form of chicken, pigs and cattle. So for these folks, although certainly not needy, they would likely not consider the monthly payment free.
The hospital in San Isidro is around 25 years old. Imagining the vast growth that has taken place in the area in the last 25 years, one can imagine the congestion in the hospital. Spend some time at the Emergency Entrance and you are likely to see a never ending line to the admin window, as well as the constant presence of the sick and recently injured. The frequently arriving ambulances disgorge their cargo of the un-well at what seem to be constant and nearly regular intervals. These are oftentimes gurneyed into this main waiting area where they too wait. The press of people and needs are such that it is nearly impossible to establish priority. The hospital workers are capable people, but are simply working in impossible conditions. Oddly enough though, it works - sort of.
When we arrive with my swollen, hot, red ankle, I am told to wait in the line, which I can’t do since to have my ankle down for any length of time is excruciating. So I sit while my wife waits in line. Typical Latin America: there are any number of topics being considered by the various waiters, and one gets that feeling that the line really doesn’t matter since there is so much to be discussed. The wait evidently gives the waiters an opportunity to get caught up on the latest with whomever they happen to be near. Everybody knows, or is related to, everybody, unless of course, you are a foreigner. So there we were, doing what us Gringos don’t do so well, waiting.
We came here to live in a different culture, and to enrich our lives doing so. I reminded myself of this as I waited, and decided to join in. So I look over at the person next to me and commence to conversing with them about life in Costa Rica, the weather, kids, my affliction, their affliction, what its like to be a gringo, and before I know it, my wife is signaling to me from the window that I need to get over there.
The person at the window checks my carnet, and asks to see a recent receipt of payment of my insurance, which we had with us thanks to previous experiences. She then directed us to a room where a doctor eventually came in and looked at my ankle and informed me that I would need to stay at the hospital for an intravenous antibiotic program. I was then given a robe that tied nicely in the back, and escorted up to the Men’s Orthopedic Room.
