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So dammit. For the past few years I’ve been asking at my health centre for the shingles vaccine and the answer was always that it wasn’t available. Until this year! A couple of weeks ago while picking up some papers at the reception desk I asked if I could make an appointment for a shingles jab and they said, sure no problem. Well hey! So I signed up both me and Peter and today we went to get the deed done. Except then we didn’t.
When I moved to the present Casa Azahar in 2017 I didn’t change health centres because my long-time GP and friend Agustín was there. There’s actually another health centre about a 7 minute walk from me, and this one is about 30 minutes away. These days that would take me an hour on the crutches, so instead I take the bus two stops, though this still involves about 20 minutes of shuffle-walking. I know I could switch to the other place, and since Agustín retired a couple of years ago that would seem to make sense. But I dunno. I know my way around this one. It’s small, fairly modern. It’s comfortable.
I have had occasion to go to the closer health centre, a massive 8-storey building built in the mid-20th century, taking the place of the rather splendid Instituto de Higiene del doctor Leopoldo Murga Machado that used to occupy that corner of Marqués de Paradas. And well… I hate it there. It’s… too big? Walls are painted hospital green. It just feels too institutional. And as I say, I’m used to my now pain-in-the-ass to get to one.
But hey, whatever it takes. Got on the bus, hobbled up to the health centre, masked up and walked in, knew exactly where to go. My name was called… then the nurse asked which year I was born. Wut? Turns out the shingles vaccine is ONLY available to people born in 1959. I was soooooooo… wut??? The nurse went on to explain that this was the first year the vaccine has become available and, for whatever reason, they are starting with people born in 1959. She did seem apologetic, but what a waste of a morning.
I’d also had a telephone appointment with my GP earlier and asked if she could fast-lane my upcoming appointment with the orthopaedic surgeon and she said “oh, you’ll have to call the hospital about that, not my department”. Fucking hell, she could have told me this when I asked her two weeks ago during Peter’s appointment (I was there to help translate), instead she said that to look up anything about me I’d have to make a separate appointment. And so now I am on a continuous loop of calling-calling-calling the hospital on speaker. Wish me luck!
casa azahar 