First it might be useful to point out that we took out an annual health insurance policy for those living in Spain (different to a travel insurance one) in early August before we left UK. But TOP TIP: beware the small print! The policy turned out not to cover overnight stays until we have lived in Spain for 6 months (and in some cases apparently some policies stipulate 12 months!!). They would do so for an emergency but they classify e.g. a broken leg as an emergency; crying out in pain from an internal infection which needs serious treatment apparently is not. So we had headed to the private Juaneda hospital in Alcudia where I received immediate pain relief and diagnosis and then had to wait for an ambulance to transfer me to Hospital Comercal d'Inca for treatment on my EHIC card. The private health policy did agree to pay for the medication I received in Alcudia, we paid for the overnight stay.
Overall, whilst this was obviously not a pleasant thing to happen, it in no way made me wish I was in UK. On the contrary, I felt more at home here than ever :-)
So that's the 'serious' part of this posting over. But I thought I would share with you my experience of being in a Spanish hospital.
Inca Hospital patients stay in two bed rooms off a main corridor, same gender in a room. Each room has a TV, two wardrobes and an en-suite shower room. Rooms also have a door out to a large garden where patients can sit outside, smoke etc. To use the TV you buy a 'tarjeta' and insert in a slot below the TV, but there are no headphones. At Inca visiting hours are all day/night, as many as you like. Yes, I really do mean this! During my stay I was visited twice a day by Ian, who had to travel back and forth to the Port to see to the dogs, and twice by two friends.
My first 'roomie', let's call her 'D', was an elderly lady but had no mobility or care issues. She was sturdy and squat, spoke with a very deep, gravelly voice and in many ways straight out of casting as a matriarch in "The Sopranos". Although she and her family spoke Spanish rather than Catalan, she was very hard to understand and was also slightly deaf and she gave up on communicating with me after about two minutes. Her relatives seemed to consist of roughly one quarter the population of Mallorca and visited from about 8am to 10pm - mercifully I was spared the experience of a friend whose 'roomie' was brought some tasty food at 1am by some relatives. Her visitors filled both patient chairs and most of the room and I was almost expecting to be asked if they could sit on my bed too although to be fair that might have been a step too far as many of them behaved as if I simply didn't exist. Late Thursday to the Saturday demonstrated that not only are Spanish hospitals very noisy places in general due to chatter but that my room was an extremely noisy place. When I was obviously trying to sleep the chatter just went on and one and on..... I had also naively thought that an elderly lady may not have/use a mobile phone - how wrong I was! She had two, and used them frequently, not to receive many calls but to make hundreds, especially when she had no visitors and heaven forbid we might have a little quiet for a while. I wondered if she was in fact a crime cartel matriarch giving orders from afar - she certainly looked the part. In addition 'D' had really quite epic flatulence which enlivened even those rare quieter moments.
Things took a turn for the worse in international relations on the Sunday though. I emerged from the bathroom in the morning to the joys of full Sunday mass on the TV courtesy of a 'tarjeta' that one of her relatives had thoughtfully purchased. I have no objections to religion, and indeed was brought up a Catholic, but to be honest it was something I could have done without. However in the interests of international relations I felt this was a small matter and let it be although the sound was quite loud. Unfortunately from here on things went downhill rapidly. Having now gained access to a remote control, 'D' insisted on having the TV on at an increasing volume pretty much all day. This combined with her hordes of visitors all talking non-stop meant I got very little rest as I retreated into stereotypically stoic British mode and tried to blank out the noise. Having had four children I am probably better able to tune out that many people and made it through to the evening. I should say at this point that 'D', in addition to the thoughtlessness, flatulence and deafness, was an Olympic standard champion TV channel hopper. Never one to actually watch a programme in full (which would at least have been something) she changed channel every few minutes. And at 9.30pm she started a marathon session of this AND AT DECIBELS WHICH MUST HAVE BEEN HEARD throughout the entire ward and very probably further. This was in conjunction with her other habit of turning on the lights exactly when she wanted and then not turning them off again so that I had to heave myself plus drip stand out of bed to go and do so. So I lay there, clearly trying to sleep and plotting ways that I would cheerfully do away with her, with all lights blazing and the TV blaring and changing channels all the while. I came up with some quite creative ways that I would do the evil deed, one of which involved my drips and the handy plastic tubes..... Eventually, after seething for an hour during which time I seriously questioned how anyone, of any age and any nationality could be quite so selfish, I plotted my revenge. She was now tucked up in bed and unlikely to want to move. And I really did need a quick visit to el bano (sorry, no Spanish keyboard if you're a stickler for language accuracy!) sooooo.....on leaving the en-suite I turned off all the lights and shuffled in triumph back past her bed not daring to catch her eye, and got back into bed. Despite the VERY LOUD TV, you could have heard the proverbial pin drop. I held my breath. And then - the TV was turned off! Cue partying, high-fiving and general whooping inside my head. Honour restored I finally fell asleep only to be woken shortly after by a nurse changing my drip. But I didn't care, I had made my point!
The next day 'D' was discharged (never even said adios and probably there's a hit out on me now for the lights incident the night before) and I had a room to myself for a few hours. However just as I started my dinner that evening, a nurse came to tell me I was moving rooms. So I moved two doors down to share with yet another elderly lady (was Inca Hospital trying to tell me something I wonder?!). But this time both she and her relatives couldn't have been lovelier. They were all completely adorable, helpful, thoughtful, total sweethearts and a complete contrast to 'D' and entourage. In Spanish hospitals, if your relative requires any personal or mobility care, it's up to the family to stay round the clock to provide that; this allows the nursing staff to do the medical side. Can you imagine that in UK??? In any event the elderly lady 'M' was nursed round the clock by daughter 'G' who seemed to have the stamina of an ox and slept by her mother every night on the two chairs pushed together. She was certainly required and dealt with shall we say challenging personal care, sometimes in the middle of the night. She had even brought her own cleaning things for the bathroom (the hospital cleaners told her off but I thought she was beyond magnificent as shall we say I wouldn't have been keen to wait until they cleaned the bathroom...). This family spoke Catalan but were happy to communicate with me in Spanish, and acting when that failed. By the time I left on the Thursday it was kisses all round and I would've taken them all home with me if I could!
Overall the hospital is very clean, efficient and well-run. The food is hard to judge as I was on such a restricted diet but it was freshly cooked. If you find yourself in hospital though (heaven forbid) and aren't keen on fish, best tell them early on as the diet majored on fish. The one thing I did miss was a bowl of cereal for breakfast though. Breakfast was a coffee and, once I was on the road to recovery, eg. a piece of bread, a slice of ham and some olive oil. Not quite what my British tastebuds were hoping for but beggars can't be choosers! But I guess I'll find out what a more normal diet is like there when I return to have my gall-bladder removed. Honest view - bottom line is I'd rather be in a Spanish hospital than a UK one. But all the same, I really do hope I don't need a hospital again for the foreseeable future once I've had my op.
