NHS (No.Help.Soz) Dramz Part 1 of Undefinite

by brokenrecordbaby

I moved to London three years ago. I knew to expect bad food even worse teeth and rainy weather. What I didn’t expect when moving to one of the most avant garde, fast paced cities in the world is third worldesque, backward medical treatment. The NHS. It’s free but oh wow how they make you pay for it.

When I started university I was signed up to a Doctor Harris, why I remember this name even though I never met the person I don’t know. A mixture of constant partying, dirty living conditions and adjusting to a new country meant that I was perma sick. I’m a super sickly person anyway so visits to the doctors where inevitable. Soon enough I had a really bad cold and called the medical centre for an appointment only to be told:


“You will have to call tomorrow to make an appointment.”

“But can’t I make an appointment now if I know I need to see the doctor tomorrow?”

“No, you will have to call tomorrow at 8am.”

Oh, right but actually…why? I am sick today, know I will still be sick if not worse tomorrow and would like to ensure that I am getting seen. But no, lets make a sick person wake up quarter to eight and wait on the line for half an hour only to get hung up on. So unimpressed.

A couple of weeks later I woke up to complete darkness. And this was after I had tried to open my eyes. I had to use my fingers to force my gooey/crusty eyelids apart. It was like my eyes had turned into a virus infested nose. A few wipes and rinses later I discovered I was still able to see but had developed a severe case of conjunctivitis. I was flying to Hamburg to attend a ball the next day. Not cool, crusty eyes, not cool. I decided to skip uni to go to the doctors. I stumbled in the door, my eye sight terribly restricted by copious amounts of goop and asked to see my doctor.

“Do you have an appointment?”

“No, but I really need to someone to see me as I can’t see anything.”

“Without an appointment there isn’t anything we can do.”

I turned and looked at an empty waiting room. Turned back and focused my crusty eye on the little evil shit that called herself a receptionist and said, in tears, “I really need to see someone. I’m catching a flight tomorrow.”

“If it’s an emergency you can call in at 3pm and we might be able to squeeze you in.”

Squeeze me in where? Between the doctors tea and ciggy break? Because I sure as hell don’t see any other patients here.

The NHS is so unreliable that I had my friend send me a 50 euro package of medical goodness to me, my holidays in Germany are fun filled with doc appointments that are the reason why I am well enough to write this article today and I would rather spent my time with a painful, unidentifiable bump underneath my chin than see a doctor.