Take off that dirty apron! Mom repeated every Saturday, but before she finished the sentence I was already in Dad’s office as an assistant.
To avoid dirtying the blue cashmere uniform, we wore a white apron that Mom called an apron and in Argentina they call it a duster. It was mandatory to wear it to school and take it every Friday so that it could be washed, starched and ironed at home for the following Monday, but on Saturday I dressed as a nurse and ran to work.
Saturday in Latacunga was the day of the fair in the squares of La Merced, El Salto and San Sebastián; It was the day of drunkenness, of quarrels, of wounds, of sutures; and, of course, that of the infirmary.
A broken dream
I learned from dad to wash my hands a hundred times a day, not to fear blood and to sympathize with pain, but I especially learned that medicine was a service, not a business. Poor Dr. Marquito, his words, his ideas, his principles were blown away by the wind and in this “problematic and feverish” century in which “he who does not cry does not suck and he who does not strive is a fool”, medicine is more expensive. than the Saturday apron of my childhood.
It doesn’t matter if it is public or private, medicine is a trade where anything goes. Like a pawnshop or an exchange house, private health insurance should be called House of NO. It is a struggle to get a refund in the face of imminent refusal. And if we have been right and they return part of what we spent, they double the price of the monthly premium after a year.
Teacher, I won’t go to class, I’m with Covid, says a #FavoriteStudent. She finished the class and I flew to get vaccinated. The precariousness of the health center overwhelms me, but the absence of those who give the vaccines does not surprise me. I go to another one, you have to wait until there are five people. There aren’t even five inhabitants in the desolate little town, I think, and I just leave. It wouldn’t hurt to have good communication with the schedules, with the need to be at least five people… to avoid making the trip, because there is no possible immunity to frustration.
Health is sequestered between private business and public business. In a rational country, vaccines, mild treatments and some simple check-ups should be channeled through private pharmacies, as happens in other countries. But here it seems that we love finding expired medicines in warehouses; supplies stolen from the homes of unscrupulous politicians; scarcity and poor treatment for citizens, as long as the pharmacy owner does not get richer. Let’s leave the complexes!
The good intention of the free medical service collapsed thanks to the enormous bureaucracy, which burdens the budget in salaries. Ecuador is a country of sick people, of people who are gratuitously sick and poorly treated by a precarious and corrupt system. This is also unusual, because we do not lack good doctors.
What would happen if the IESS and the health centers charged a minimum amount for medical care? A sum that allows them to cover the costs and have the minimum supplies, provide the timely care and respect that we all deserve. (EITHER)
