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For reasons you probably wouldn't find particularly interesting, in a week or so my wife and I are going to Haiti. This wouldn't be noteworthy, except that Haiti is apparently a place where diseases go to honeymoon. Expert advice told us we should probably take some precautions, particularly since the place we're going doesn't have running water or electricity and is a couple hours drive by pickup from medical care.
Upon further investigation, “some precautions” translated into five shots and six pills.
No problem. We called our local clinic. They could help us out with some, but not all, of the vaccinations. Typhoid fever and malaria are apparently not big issues here in Big Stone County and, frankly, even if it complicates my life, I'm okay with that.
Still, no problem. I called the next closest clinic and the young woman I spoke with thought she could fix us up. There were some conditions. First, we needed to make an appointment to see a doctor.
“Why?” I asked.
“It's policy.” she said.
Here's the thing about policies. I'm a believer in policies, but there needs to be a reason for them and usually that reason is easy to explain. If it isn't, it's probably a bad policy. She really couldn't explain it. Just a simple “it's policy,” appeared to satisfy her. It dawned on me that the policy could probably be easily explained as, “It's a way for us to make a little more money. It's a hard old world and we need all we can get.”
I said, “Okay. Let's make an appointment.”
I felt like I was being taken advantage of and I cared a little, but not enough to make a fuss.
She said, “We can't. The doctor is busy for a week or ten days. You really should have called a month ago.”
I said, “I didn't know I was going to Haiti a month ago.” This seemed a reasonable point, at least to me. I added, “Are you sure I need to see the doctor?”
“Yes,” she said, “it's policy. You need to meet with a doctor. I mean, have you ever traveled?”
I'm not sure what she was saying, but what I heard was a tone that could only be described as “snippy.” It's the sort of word I've heard my mother use in the past, but I find it's beginning to seem more and more appropriate in more and more cases. I'm pretty sure it isn't a symptom of advancing age.
What popped into my head to say was, “Listen, honey, not only do I have shoes older than you, those shoes have been more places than you've been.”
I did not say that. It has been my experience that when I yearn to start conversations with, “listen, honey,” there's no good ending on the horizon.
She went on. “We've had a problem with people knowing about trips for months and months and then calling and demanding we fit them in on short notice.”
I didn't think I'd been demanding anything, and I said so.
She said, “Oh, I didn't mean YOU had been demanding.”
Except, you know, it seemed...oh, never mind.
The conversation didn't seem to be going anywhere, so we parted ways, more or less amiably. I called another clinic, an hour away, and they fit us in the next day. We didn't need to see a doctor and the nurse who gave us our shots complimented my wife on her deltoids, which was apparently a gratifying pay off for years of early morning exercising.
I didn't get compliments of any kind. In fact, I didn't get anything, except two sore arms.
Of course, “not getting anything” is pretty much the whole point.
Copyright 2011 Brent Olson
