Tuesday, August 28, 2012

First World Health Care, Come Again?

I had the dubious pleasure of trialing the UK private health system this summer.  I tried to get a routine appointment with a dermatologist, only to be told that I needed a GP referral.  When I said that I don't have a GP in the UK, the private hospital kindly told me that they could furnish me with a referral for a fee.  Given the choice of paying for a referral or paying for physical in which I could get a (fee-free) referral, I opted for the physical since I haven't had one in a few years. 

I booked in for the first available appointment, about five full weeks later.  I was told to fast for 9-12 hours before, counting backwards from the start of my appointment as my blood tests would be done first.  I arrived at the private hospital to find that the examining room was a fourth floor walk-up, in a building with no elevator.  That wasn't a problem for me but I figured that for some patients in the hospital, that could be problematic.  After a brief wait, I was shown to an examining room where the nurse told me she would examine me first, then I would have my blood tests done and then I would see the doctor.  I figured that was fine, despite the fact that I had passed hour 12 with no food.

The nurse asked me to remove my top for an EKG and apologized that they didn't have robes but said that they get in the way for an EKG anyway.  I could kind of see her point and didn't take huge issue with being half dressed.  After doing two EKGs, repeating a couple of other tests that she seemed to struggle doing, and talking me out of an eye exam, she sent me to see the doctor.  At this point I asked about doing my blood test first, since I was fasting and had been told that it would be done first thing.  She told me to see the doctor first.

The doctor told me to remove all of my clothes (she didn't even apologize for not having robes, I guess they don't have them ever) and did a cursory exam.  She tried to talk me out of the gynecological exam, saying that in the UK, those are done every three years but she knows the "American ladies' like to have them done every year.  Given that in the United States, those are done annually for a reason, and that my physical cost would not be reduced if I didn't have one, I asked her to do one.  Following a cursory exam in which she called me 'the patient' directly, I was sent on my merry way to the blood lab.

The blood lab actually did a great, quick job, despite the hair covered pillow they gave me to rest my arm on.  When they finished, I settled my bill, which cost the same exact amount that a full physical would cost in the U.S. with no insurance.  I was told that I could expect my results in the mail within two weeks.

The next day I received a second bill.  I called to remind the hospital that I had paid upfront for all costs and was told that the query would be settled within two weeks.  Three weeks later, I got an updated bill with a zero balance owed.  A month later, I was still waiting for the results of my physical itself and called the hospital to follow-up.  After three rounds of phone calls, I finally got in touch with the right department who told me that the doctor had not yet reviewed the results of my physical and would do it later that week since it was past when it should have been done.  The next week, I finally received my results.

If that was the private healthcare system, I am seriously afraid of what the public healthcare system in the UK is like.

At dinner last night, H made an offhand comment about how medicine here isn't exactly first rate and one of our dinner companions chimed in with how great he thinks it is.  When I asked why he felt that way he said that:
  • He can use the public or private system so if he doesn't want to wait six months for an appointment, he can go with the private hospital and wait two months for an appointment.
  • His doctor seems to remember him after reviewing his file during the appointment, despite having so many patients and not knowing his name.
  • Once they lost his blood test so he had to go in and get it done again.  Then it took about six weeks to get the results, but they never lost his blood test again.
  • He can go see a doctor in the private hospital whenever he wants, even if it is not a concrete illness but something he's just concerned about, once he waits two months for an appointment and pays a relatively high fee out of pocket.
I guess 'good' healthcare all depends on one's baseline.  

Saturday, August 25, 2012

Questioning Equality

During a recent trip on a Scandinavian airline, H and I wondered how social democratic countries that promote making everybody equal can then offer multi class cabins on the aircraft?  Even if business class only offers the same seating as economy but with the provision of free snacks.  We were surprised to see that countries whose fiscal policies have such a focus on redistribution of wealth to equalize the quality of life, and even the lifestyles, of everybody, can then offer a service that blatantly emphasizes class and wealth divides.  Unless of course, everybody's economy class tickets cost a bit more than necessary to enable those in business class to pay the same, or less, for more.

All was well though; once the ground crew came off of their government mandated break and loaded the luggage onto the plane, we were able to reach our next destination only about two hours late.  Again, laws that protect the employee but not the customer, or perhaps even the employer, is that fair in the Nordic model?

Friday, August 17, 2012

Food for Thought

H and I recently spent a few hours in Denmark.  While there we shared a danish and pondered if eating a danish in Denmark made us cannibals?

Tuesday, August 7, 2012

Salaam, or Should I Say Shukran

This afternoon I went over to a solicitor to get copies of my passport and H's passport notarized for some Australian paperwork that we're finishing.  I called the solicitor in advance to make sure that he would notarize H's passport copy without H being there.  The solicitor said that he could since he was certifying it as a true copy, but said that he would prefer that I bring a second photo identification with me for H.

Unfortunately, H had already driven to work with his UK driver's license.  I quickly thought about what other photo identifications would be in the house.

"Umm, would you accept a Qatari driver's license as the second proof of photo identification?"

"Sure, no problem," responded my new best friend Mr. Solicitor.

So off I went to the lawyer's office with our passports and my favorite driver's license to-date, courtesy of the Emir on his stallion:


The solicitor was rather excited when I arrived because he had "never seen a U.S. passport before."  He immediately began paging through one and reading aloud the first quote by Abe Lincoln.  The Qatari driver's license didn't even register on his 'cool' scale; I wonder if he's seen one of those before.  The last time I pulled one out outside of the Middle East was to rent a car at Newark Airport.  And the Hertz woman didn't even blink. 



Tuesday, July 31, 2012

Confused

After almost half a year of living in the UK, and almost half a year of near daily rain, I'm really confused as to why most people appear to have and use laundry drying racks in their yards.
I understand the concept of outdoor drying racks but what's the point of putting out wet clothes to dry in the rain?  Yes, yes, I'm sure people usually hang their wet clothes outside when it's not raining, but I can pretty much guarantee that before the laundry gets taken in, the weather is bound to do this:

 
Beautiful but not really conducive to laundry drying.  Perhaps there is a business opportunity awaiting in selling dryers in Great Britain.


Wednesday, July 4, 2012

There's Something Wrong with This Picture

It's currently 'summer' in the United Kingdom and winter in Australia.  It's also currently the middle of the afternoon in the United Kingdom and the late evening on the west coast of Australia.  But the weather looks like this:




There's definitely something wrong with this picture.  Currently missing the sunshine but loving the green everywhere.  I just can't win, can I?

Friday, June 22, 2012

When Staying Silent is Because You Have Nothing to Contribute

What do you do when you're in a room full of Arabic speakers and they're throwing out baby girl name suggestions for one of the pregnant woman in the room?  Particularly when she's leaning towards an Arabic name and most of the ones you are familiar with have already have been raised: Noor, Malak, Malakah, Jasmin, Jasmina, Aisha, Layla, Leena, Sabina, Rana, etc.

Apparently smiling, nodding and saying which ones are particularly nice isn't good enough.  H and I did just that and the father-to-be accused us of holding out on him by 'hoarding our baby name list for ourselves.'  It didn't cross his mind that maybe we just don't have a baby name list.  We're not saving the name Seven a la George Costanza.  Salaam.

Saturday, June 16, 2012

Paris Loves Me

During my last trip to Paris, I was standing on the Champs Elysees waiting for Cartier to open.  It just happened to be the day of Francois Hollande's inauguration and the street was covered in police and there were snipers atop of the Arc de Triomphe.  As the clock ticked past 10:30, I started to wonder if the store was going to delay its opening for the inauguration.  Meanwhile, the police standing nearby were starting to worry why I was still standing on the corner.  In French they demanded,

"Why are you loitering on this corner?"

"Umm, I'm waiting for Cartier to open."

"Hmm," they looked at one another before deciding, "ok, that's ok.  Carry on." 

First I get accused of stroller theft / child forgetting then I get viewed as a terrorist threat for 'loitering' outside of Cartier.  It's not like terrorists shop at Cartier...oh wait, Gaddafi did.

Tuesday, June 12, 2012

Another Good Reason to Get a Hairy Coo

Gchat with H this morning: 

H [10:33 AM]: "What are you up to?"

Wife, Anonymous [10:34 AM]: "I just walked two miles round trip to get a pint of milk.  I feel like Laura Ingalls in Little House on the Prairie."

H [10:37 AM]: "To be like Laura Ingalls you would have to milk a cow."

Touché H, touché.  I guess I really should restart my efforts to learn how to drive our manual.  Otherwise, if anyone wants to get me a baby hairy coo, I bet I can learn how to milk a cow faster than I can learn how to drive a manual.


Seriously, how cute is that face?

Monday, June 11, 2012

Bringing the Mountain to Mohammed

Why yes, that is a rice cooker bubbling away in my living room.


Why no, I don't live in a studio apartment.  

Which begs the question, why is there a rice cooker bubbling away next to the television in the living room?  Well that would be because that's currently where the only unpacked power strip is plugged in, a power strip that allows Australian and U.S. plug ends and is plugged into a power adapter for our British outlet.  This is what happens when we have appliances / electrical goods from three continents with four different plug ends.

In a few months H will likely get around to replacing the plug ends on compatible appliances so they can plug directly into our British outlets.  With each location, the wires on our electrical goods get shorter and shorter; when they get too short to change the plug ends, does that mean it's time to retire?

Thursday, June 7, 2012

Sorry H, It's Too Late for a Dowry

Yesterday retirement looked like this:

homemade marmalade filled 'doughnut muffins'

and like this:


Today retirement looks like this:


You might be wondering what the above photograph depicts.  Well, that would be my flooded kitchen floor from me mistakenly thinking my washing machine was finished and opening the machine door before it had drained, not once, not twice, but THREE times.

If H keeps up his track record of late nights at the office the floor might by dry by the time he gets home.  If not maybe a muffin will distract him...too bad they are currently unreachable without rain boots.

Tuesday, June 5, 2012

Où Est Votre Bébé? AKA Dude Where's Your Baby?

A couple of weeks ago, while abroad, I met up with an old friend and her baby.  Given that we were in a nice city, instead of catching up at home, we took the city by storm and spent our days packed full of site-seeing and shopping.  At one point, my friend took her son into the restroom and I kept walking around with the stroller, which may or may not have been laden down with my shopping bags.  As I meandered around the site, another tourist stopped me and said,

"Pardon, où est votre bébé?"

"Umm, with his mother, my friend, in the bathroom."

Did you think I was stealing a stroller or that I forgot my child?  I'm not sure which is worse.

Thursday, May 17, 2012

[Colonial] Breakfast of Champions

H and I were recently introduced to Brew Dog, a craft brewery in Scotland.  Not only is the beer incredibly delicious, but it's also actually served cold aka at proper beer drinking temperature.  The last time we went, they had a chalkboard full of beer cocktails.  Despite looking like a hangover waiting to happen, I decided to try one that was a hand mashed mix of:
  • fresh blueberries
  • fresh raspberries
  • two shots of 5 AM Saint beer
  • one shot of gin
  • one shot of Shiraz
It was so good that I quickly ordered a second one and would have had a third had there been time before dinner.  Despite the odd and copious mix of alcohol, the drink tasted like a fortified fruit smoothie.  I immediately decided that it would be the perfect breakfast of champions. 

H told me I could have one every morning if we move to Africa.  The last time he worked there, the wives spent their days drinking by the compound swimming pool.  At least with this drink, everybody can be sure to fulfill their fruit requirements everyday.  So H, if we move to Africa, I want a mercenary and freshly made beer cocktails everyday.  Oh, and please don't forget the baby elephant.  Deal?

Monday, April 30, 2012

Chapter 1: Basic Necessities [An Infidel's Guide to Living in the Middle East]

The saying that you always want what you can't have holds true in the Middle East.  When alcohol and pork become haraam, attachment to both of the aforementioned items increases exponentially.  Unlike places in the UAE, pork is forbidden in Qatar.  Being an expat in desperate need of pork means you need to do three things:
  1. Make friends at military bases; pork is sold there and if you're nice enough, you may get someone to share their monthly ration with you.  My ability to do this resulted in H's favorite birthday present ever.
  2.  Go to embassy parties as often as possible; make friends with other nationalities so you can go to their embassy parties too.  Pay attention when the 'secret' room in the back of the parties is opened, where platters of various pork delicacies can be found.  My mouth is watering just thinking about this; kind of strange given that pork is easily accessible to me now in the United Kingdom.
  3. Pork sausages and vacuum packed prosciutto travel well.  Fold some into your clothes when returning to Qatar.  Just be sure to take the labels off.  If there's nothing saying it's pork, you can always say it's beef if customs opens your luggage.  
Rumors abound that at certain restaurants, pork is available to those who order the right menu item or use a certain phrase.  I was never successful with this, but keep your eyes and ears open in case this myth is actually real.

Alcohol is available from the single distribution center and hotel bars and restaurants except during Ramadan.  In the month prior to Ramadan, alcohol allowances at the distribution center double so everybody can stock up prior to the holiday.  Always, always get your Ramadan stock at least two months before Ramadan.  The month before Ramadan the alcohol distribution center is a total zoo, with lines stretching down the road to even get into the parking lot.  In addition to queues, items sell out.  There is also the annual rumor that the distribution center won't reopen following Ramadan, creating marginally controlled mayhem.  So be prepared, stock up early, and stock up well.

By following these tips, you can help make your life in the desert just a bit more enjoyable. 


Friday, April 27, 2012

An Infidel’s Guide to Living in the Middle East


Our friends came over for drinks last night; fortunately we tippled so much that I don’t think they minded the overwhelming scents I was exuding from spending the afternoon slathering myself with all of the samples at Lush.  H came home and Anonymous Friend started telling him how I walked home doing jazz hands courtesy of my gold glitter coated hands that came from picking up a glitter encrusted bath bomb to smell. 

“Actually,” she said,  “you have a little bit of the stripper dust left on your face.”

I went to wipe it off and remembered the nice face cream(s) I had sampled at Lush.  So I promptly stuck my face in front of H’s and made him feel how soft my skin was.  Which promoted a Middle East flashback, this time not triggered by the pervasive smell of pork.

 “If you guys ever get transferred to the Middle East, you must promise to do one thing.”

“What?” Anonymous Friends asked.

“Well, you know how Chanel and La Mer and all of the other expensive face products are always behind lock and key at cosmetic counters and you can never sample them?  In Doha, Sephora has all of that stuff out and every time I went to the mall (which was at least once per day since that’s all there was to do in Doha), I used to slather very generous quantities of them all over my face.”

H piped in, “One day I finally asked AE why she didn’t just buy the creams and then I saw that they were a couple hundred dollars each.  So sampling them in store was a much better option and one of the limited perks of living in Qatar.

Anonyomous Friend, “Haha, that’s amazing.  You guys should write an insider’s guide of tips for living in the Middle East.”

H, “Wow, that would be fun….we could call it “An Infidel’s Guide to Living in the Middle East.”

Me, “Done.  High end face cream samples at Sephora will get it’s very own chapter.  Now if only we can think of enough other perks to write a book; perhaps we should aim for a pamphlet instead.”

Wednesday, April 25, 2012

What True Love Looks Like aka Our Laundry Machine Takes 4+ Hours to Wash and Dry a Single Load

True love is when H thanks me for doing the laundry, when his undershirts go into the dresser drawer looking like this:

 
And he means it.

True love is also when H doesn't mind that I hang my underwear to dry from his (in use) shirt hangers.  Fingers crossed that we don't have any static cling emergencies.

Monday, April 23, 2012

Pound Land: The Most Depressing Place on Earth


I should preface this entry by saying that I actually enjoy bargain shopping and that lots of fun can be had in dollar stores and their international equivalents.  One of my fondest college memories is buying toy jewelry at the local dollar shop for my “pirate who has been on a very successful looting mission” Halloween costume.  And H and I went into a 99 Pence store here after well over 30 hours of traveling from Perth.  We touched everything in the shop and ended up buying soap.*

So today, while walking through the city, I remembered that we needed trash bags and popped into Pound Land to pick some up.  Biggest mistake ever.  The ‘Home’ aisle was full of crazy people.  One woman was spraying all of the cleaning products in the air and then smelling them.  She may have been trying to find a nice scent or doing something else but those things will stain your clothes.  One under 18 couple had a cart full of cleaning products and a large baby bump; I guess they were setting up house together?  And then there was the senior citizen brigade who could not stop jostling at the check-out queue, complaining about how the store ‘wasn’t doing the queue right,’ and other general grumpiness.  This was before one guy broke out into song; possibly to make it harder to hear his very loud, very grumpy wife?  I am definitely going to have to find a new place to bargain shop.


*Possibly not as weird as it sounds given that every drug store and grocery store that we’ve gone into in the UK has 1-3 bar soap options and the nicest one we found was actually at the 99 Pence store.  We had also spent about 26 of the previous 32 hours on airplanes and soap = clean = luxury.

Friday, April 20, 2012

Acclimatizing


Today I felt like a true local; I went for a run this morning in the rain, in about 9°C weather.  Then I realized that I had on many more layers than the real locals who were out exercising in their t-shirts and shorts.  I was wearing:
  • Fleece leggings
  • A long sleeved shirt
  • A fleece jacket
  • A raincoat, with the hood up
  • Gloves
  • Wool socks

I’ll see how I’m doing next spring.  Speaking of spring, it’s April and it has snowed multiple times!  I would be horrified if I wasn’t so excited by seeing snow after multiple years of living in very hot weather.  Unfortunately with the cold weather, I really feel like we’re nearing the holidays in November / December.  This has the potential to feel like a very long year if that keeps up.  Somehow I don’t think H would object to having a pre-Thanksgiving, Thanksgiving dinner in June though.