I burned my hand quite severely on cooking oil in a freak accident while working as a chef. I got quick help from the local hospital that saved my fingers, and I got some paid sick leave for a couple of months to recuperate. The nurse who took care of my poor hand said that I needed to get the wound redressed every day until someone told me otherwise.
I decided to use the time to visit some friends and relatives in the capital, to catch up while my hand healed. I went to a local clinic to get my wounds redressed. The line moved with the speed of a stoned slug, but after a few eons, it became my turn.
Part of the story is that I have a very “rural” west-Swedish accent that, despite my best efforts, is very pronounced and makes me sound like something of a yokel.
Me: “Hi! I need my hand redressed.”
Receptionist: “Do you have an appointment?”
Me: “No, unfortunately not. I’m not from here; I’m from [Town]. So—”
Receptionist: *Snorts* “Well, you need an appointment.”
Me: “Well… I can’t. I don’t live here, and I need my hand redressed. I thought that you maybe could help me?”
Receptionist: “We are very busy here. You can’t just barge in and demand healthcare.”
Me: “I’m not demanding. I’m sorry if it seems that way. I am just visiting here to see some friends since I cannot work right now. According to my nurse in [Town], my hand needs redressing every day.”
Receptionist: *In a condescending tone* “Well, maybe she should’ve checked with someone before telling you that?”
Me: “What?”
Receptionist: “How can she know that?”
Me: “Um… well… she was the one who bandaged my wound after my burn incident, after the doctor concluded that I didn’t suffer nerve damage.”
Receptionist: “Okay, then. Maybe they should also do the redressing, then? We are very busy.”
Me: “I’m… not currently in [Town]. I’m here. In front of you. And I need healthcare.”
Receptionist: “Go to the emergency room if you need urgent care. We can’t help with that.”
Me: “Look, I don’t need urgent care. I just need what I think is a standard procedure, just a simple redressing. I am sure that any one of your nurses could do this in the blink of an eye. I’ve heard good things about this place.”
Receptionist: “I’m suuure you have.”
There was an awkward silence.
Me: “Okay… Well, I have brought a book and can sit here for the rest of the day until someone — anyone — has time for me. I’m not in a hurry.”
Receptionist: “Oh, you brought a book? How good for you!”
More awkward silence.
Me: “Do you think you can help me?”
Receptionist: “Well, I’m not a nurse, am I?”
I was stunned by her absolute disregard for my need for help.
She was the only receptionist on duty, and this had taken a lot of time. A white-clad nurse came marching in to see what the hold-up was since patients were complaining that they could not register their arrival due to the “discussion”.
Nurse: “Is there a problem here?”
Receptionist: “This man just refuses to leave.”
Nurse: *Turning to me* “If you have been asked to leave, why are you still here?”
Me: *Exasperated* “She hasn’t told me that! Look, mate.”
I held my very bandaged hand in front of her.
Me: “I came here to ask for a simple redressing. It is a burn wound, and my nurse in [Town] told me that it needed to be redressed every day without fault. I trust people in white when they tell me stuff like that. Is it possible for me to have this redressed? I can wait the whole day, if needed.”
Nurse: “Well, of course, we can do that.”
She looked confusedly at the receptionist.
Nurse: “[Receptionist], what is the problem?”
Receptionist: “HE HASN’T GOT AN APPOINTMENT”
Nurse: “Well, duh, he’s obviously from [Town], and that is halfway across the Kingdom.” *To me* “I’ve got time. Come!”
The receptionist yelled something like, “You need an appointment!” after us, but the sound was cut off by the nurse and me going into a spare room. She quickly found that the wound was REALLY complicated and asked me to wait.
She returned with an ancient nurse who probably took care of Odin after his eye was removed. She in turn asked for permission to fetch some students; this severe burn wound was apparently some kind of great learning opportunity. My wound was redressed with great skill under the gaze of no less than two nurses, one young doctor (AT-läkare), six nurse students, and two doctor students. I had apparently caught them during a freak window where most of the staff had little to do; a lot of patients had cancelled their appointments at the last minute that day, and the students had no documentation to catch up with.
I got formal, actual appointments with the nurse for the rest of my three-week stay, with longer breaks between the redressings as the wound healed. She instructed a few of the nurses on how to redress the wound every time, and I gave them recipes and cooking tricks in return. The receptionist glared at me with murderous intent every time.
On the last day, I asked the Ancient Wise One:
Me: “Hey, what’s up with the receptionist?”
Ancient One: “It would be unprofessional for me to talk about the private life of a colleague.”
Me: “Fair enough.”
Ancient One: “But she often talks about when she dated a man from [Town], about your age and with your accent, some twenty years ago. He crushed her heart when she discovered that she was the side piece, and she tells us at least once a week that men from [Town] are the least trustworthy men on the face of the planet. But it is just common knowledge that men like you are very treacherous.” *Winks*
My fingers healed up without even a scar. I can’t see that they were ever damaged, and I invested in slip-proof shoes for usage on the job.
