‘So, Miss Holmes, what happened to you exactly?’ asked a pretty secretary with flaming red hair, as she looked at a rather shabby Jerome and me. He wore ripped jeans and I looked like I was in my pyjamas.’ ‘I ask because, here in the Netherlands, we are trying to prevent accidents happening in the future’ she continued with a smile. As we shot each other a meaningful look, I noticed that Jerome’s eyebrow had risen slightly. ‘Can you prevent chronic stupidity?’ I grimaced. ‘No, why?’ ‘Let me explain’ and explain I did. A long-winded and detailed explanation of the afternoon’s events, which came to one simple conclusion… ‘So, basically, you fell over your own feet?’ she prompted. ‘That’s it’ Jerome intervened, he couldn’t help smiling when I grunted something rude in French to him. Jerome and I were placed in a cubicle and I was taken to and from different rooms for X-rays and general poking. A nurse stared at my ankle, it was slowly turning into a bulging blue lump. He announced that there were no broken bones but that I had stretched the ligaments in my ankle, something, apparently, you are not meant to do. Sending me home with a plea to rest, which Jerome promised him I would do, and a high dosage of painkillers, he wished me a swift recovery but pointed out that, that wasn’t going to happen. I thanked him as I hobbled off with my ever faithful Jerome. ‘Want to play football when we get home?’ he asked, innocently. Well, at least he makes me laugh!
Helpless in Hospital
I had a new experience this week, Dutch hospitals. So far my encounters with Dutch doctors had been far from positive, but this allowed me to regain a little faith in the national medical system.
