Loch Lomond and the NHS

Dear Loch Lomond,

You are known, I believe, as the sort of "entrance to the Highlands". If so, then you are the closest I have ever been to the Highlands, in spite of living in Scotland since September 11, 2009. And you are glorious!


Sadly, during my lovely hike, I picked up an unwanted friend: a Scottish tick. Not of the nervous variety, but of the insect blood-sucking type. This led me to my first encounter with the great American evil: social medicine. Known here in the UK as the NHS. Or National Health Service. I was too wimpy to take the tick out and my own and was worried about disease so called my doctor. It was recommended to visit the nearest emergency (as it was after office hours) and therefore went to the Western Infirmary. This is a hospital near my house...although to me, with my American upbringing, sounds faintly Hitchcock-ian. To be completely candid, I was a bit nervous. I realized that I, liberal, pro-universal health care girl that I am, was afraid of what I would encounter at an NHS hospital. Silly girl. Not only was it incredibly clean (see how low my expectations were?), but staff was friendly and knowledgeable and I was in and out in under 1.5 hours. And even better, there was no bill! Or even the worry of "holy cow, who knows how much this will cost me?" or "will my insurance cover tick removal?". Only Scottish cheerfulness and warmth with a dose of tetracycline.

The moral of this story is that although the Scottish countryside is incredibly beautiful, it is not all wildflowers and painfully picturesque stone walls. And though socialized medicine may seem scary, it really isn't (yet).

Thanks for a memorable couple of days!

With much love and affection
your friend,
Angela

P.S. Actually my doctor was Spanish, but everyone else was Scottish!