My visit to the ER

A couple of months ago I burned my arm on the iron. I've done this before, but never quite this badly. I immediately ran cold water over it, but the damage was done.

I went next door to the apotheek and got some cream and bandages. I used this for a few days, but the wound was not getting better. In fact, in my opinion, it was getting worse.

Naturally, I did a self-diagnosis after surfing the net. It's always a good idea to diagnose yourself when you can. I mean, after all, physicians spend half their life in school and for what? When we can figure it all out for ourselves? WebMD is my home page.

So, I diagnosed myself with a potential infection. And I did the only thing I knew to do. I walk down the street and around the corner to the hospital. Yeah, it really is that close. I ask the nice lady at the desk - who, BTW speaks perfect English - if I can have someone take a look at my arm.

She points and directs me through the door labeled Spoedgevallen. It's not really an emergency, but apparently there is no non-urgent care area where I can just have a nurse take a look. The ER. My only option. Sound familiar?

I go to the ER check-in desk and show her my arm and ask if I can have someone take a look at it. Naturally, there's no language barrier, and she quickly finds me in the computer. Why? Because we've been to the ER before. You may remember this incident. Jim's kidney stone. Worse than childbirth. :-|

So she directs me to a waiting room where I assume I will camp out for the next 4 hrs. 7 min. (avg. wait time in the U S in 2010). And wishing I'd brought a novel or at least a pillow.

Much to my surprise, my chair wasn't even warm when my name was called. Less than 2 minutes, maybe. This young guy asks me, in perfect English, why I'm there. I show him my arm and tell him I've been Googling and am sure my arm is infected. He writes some things down on his chart (probably something like self-diagnosing moron and speaks only English) and I'm escorted to another exam room.

In an instant, a nurse comes in, takes a look at my arm, cleans it really good and says, in perfect English, the doctor will be right in. And he was. I almost thought the nurse had morphed into him, he was so quick. I explained my self-diagnosis procedure. He didn't stop me and say . . . "Oh, yeah, I see right here on the chart, self-diagnosing moron; speaks only English." He assessed my arm and, in perfect English, assured me there was no infection. He then asked how long it had been since I'd had a tetanus vaccine. I was pretty sure I had one when I stepped on that rusty nail when I was 11, but that was the last one I could recall. So in that case, he decided it would be prudent to have another one. Good to go for another decade. Bedankt.

He gave me enough medicated gel to last a week at least, a couple of extra water-proof bandages, instructions on how to take care of my wound and I was outta there. I believe the entire ordeal was a total of less than half an hour. Including walk time.

Naturally I was relieved there was no infection, but was concerned I'd just spent a fortune in the ER for no reason. After all, I'd seen a nurse, a doctor, been given all kinds of supplies, AND a tetanus vaccine.

Well, in Belgium, it takes close to 3 months for the bill to arrive.

So when I saw it in the mailbox this week, I was anxious and apprehensive about what this really unnecessary trip to the ER caused by my self-diagnosing Googling was gonna cost me.

I opened the envelope with anticipation of being shocked and sick at the total.

I was shocked all right.

Yeah, that's 5 Euro and 3 cents.

Let me break that down.

That 3 Euro 88 cents is for the tetanus vaccine.

(BTW - they use commas where we use periods - FYI)

Another 8 cents for the latex handschoen (glove). Apparently the rest of that whopping 1 Euro, 15 cents is the antibiotic gel and bandages.

Even with the crappy exchange rate, that's $6.89.

I almost feel guilty.