Going to the doctor is an exercise in trust, flexibility and surrender.
(And just to clarify, this is not a judgement on Czech systems... they are just different from American systems).
I know, none of us really like to go to the doctor. You're never quite sure what to expect and what new treatment you'll have to undergo or pills you'll have to take. You'll most likely be told to lose weight, or lower your cholesterol or something else unpleasant that you really don't want to do. That's normal.
But as a foreigner the complications increase when you have to figure out WHAT to do. Check-in is not the same. Insurance is not the same. Language is not the same, and words that you use when visiting the doctor are definitely not the same vocabulary as everyday life.
So every time I need to go to the doctor (and for me, it's every 3 months) there's a little bit - or a lot - of nervousness. By this time, one would think it would be simple. Every 3 months I go for blood-work and to pick up the medication I take. It should be the same process. And, in fact, the nurses have started to recognize me, know that I'm not a native Czech speaker, and have been a bit kinder in trying to help me. But inevitably, something is different and also inevitably, I won't understand what is needed or where I should go or what I should ask for.
Sometimes it's the girls at reception. It seems there is a high turnover in this position, so the girls who previously recognized you are no longer sitting there and you have to explain again that you came for medication and to have blood-work done. No, I don't have insurance (at least, not Czech insurance that you will understand). Yes, I will pay for it. Yes, I know it's expensive. No, my credit card is not contact-less (when will the US catch up on this??).
Then you proceed to the door at the end of the hall with the receipt indicating you've paid. (I've learned that I have to knock on the door and wait for a nurse to come to find out what I need.) But as you stand there for what sometimes feels like eternity, you begin to wonder if they've heard, if you should know again, if you're at the wrong door, if you've misunderstood and you're supposed to go elsewhere (as was the case once or twice).
Sometimes it's that the girl at reception sends you to the head nurse's door. For what you don't know. Only that you're supposed to go there and knock and then try to explain confusedly that you were sent there. Oh, only to take your file from the head nurse to the other nurses where the blood-work is done.
Sometimes it's that you knock on the door where you usually go, they have your file, but tell you to go sit at the doctor's door. What door (there are about 5 possibilities)? And why? There is no explanation (every Czech knows the system, so there is no reason to explain), and so you sit, feeling helpless and lost and confused. Until a nurse comes by and shows a different place to sit. And you wait, hoping that someone, somewhere, knows what needs to happen next and will fetch you. Because you're clueless. Eventually the doctor opens the door and calls your name. And apparently you just needed the doctor's confirmation to continue the same treatment. You guess. But how often this needs to happen, you have no idea.
So my doctor visits are an exercise in leaning on Jesus. In releasing all control, because I have none. It's absolute helplessness and surrender. Because as much as I think I know and am confident in, there's always something new. I've been reduced to tears in the anxiety of helplessness and lost-ness often enough that I need to approach these days full of God's truth and confidence, knowing that even if I'm completely in the dark, in the end it really will be ok. And in that, I can sit and wait and trust, and much less often find myself in tears.
