A danger most transplants lie prey to is the “we” versus “they” syndrome. “Back in Podunk, WE did it this way. Over here in Holy Land Central (HLC) THEY do it that way…How very ridiculously wrong of THEM”
I, personally, never fall into this trap. Above it all, I weigh each situation carefully, giving others the benefit of the doubt because, after all, we are each and every one of us citizens of this Glorious Universe. Not, mere separate beings emerging from our respective corners to mete out criticism and retreat but a mass of living, breathing energy meant to love and support one another eternally.
Ptooey, Kaka. I am the very FIRST to jump into the ring for my daily, 10-round bash. Why this way? Why not that way? What’s wrong with them? Could it be any worse? Why did I come here? annessi e connessi, und so weiter.. It fills up time.
Today, however I caught a whiff of that universal groove, hippy goo love stuff, wrapped so delicately in nuance that it almost drifted on past.
The beauty of living in HLC, however, is generous health coverage benefits. For $1.50 you visit the doc and get treated, throw down another $3-4 at the pharmacy en route home and voila! Good to go.
When you’re a returning resident, HOWEVER, you have to wait a tad for the bennies to kick in. New law. Has to do with people moving abroad to find fortunes, contracting terminal illnesses and coming back to the mother land for government subsidized treatment. Awwwwwww. Hell Nahhhh…said the Israeli government and slapped on a waiting period to make sure you’re not back for the cheapie MRI.
ANYHEEEW, Turns out that even though a kid is entitled to healthcare no matter what, he can’t be signed up if his mom’s on hold meaning he can’t be seen by a doctor meaning he can’t be treated. You know where this is going and no, it wasn’t pretty. Why couldn’t his new-to-the-country dad sign him up, you ask? Because dad plays for the “other team” so he passes GO and collects bupkes.
So during round two in three days of sitting across from health clinic receptionists, I’m asserting myself between coughing spasms and chills, explaining that the child must be treated, his fever isn’t dissipating and haven’t they heard of the bloody Hippocratic oath? And then I laid in the final touch: When it’s time for army service, National Insurance won’t have any trouble finding him…But NOW when he needs treatment… Relevance? None. Effect? Sounds good but didn’t help.
After my bold declaration, I needed a lemon drop to calm the cough. Noticing that the woman seated opposite was sipping tea with lemon and having a rough time herself, I held out a drop which she gratefully accepted.
Innocent as it was, I’m convinced the lemon drop was what got my son signed up, myself mysteriously taken off the waiting list and both of us seen by a doctor the same day.
Maybe there is something after all to all that San Fran touchy feely stuff….Feechs!