After hearing so much about the occasionally lauded, more often derided, Argentine public health care system, I decided that it merited investigation. Or my girlfriend wanted me to get tested for HIV, gangrenous penis and other sexually transmitted boogiemen. In either case, I went to the hospital and was treated to brief (thank god) anthropological journey through medicine in another country.
Being that I've still not finished/done my paperwork to be legal here in Argentina, and thereby get the health insurance my company would provide, I'm on the public plan. I'm not sure as to what the limits of the public plan is, in light of the fact that I have done zero actual research regarding the topic. So I can only offer what I might call hearsay, or what anthropology might call the data from my informal interviews.
In conversation and eavesdropping with my friends and co-workers (that is to say, a statistically non-representative sample, but c'mon, how do you know what YOU know about the health system in YOUR country?), I've determined that the healthcare system in Argentina is great, except for the fact its not.
As an American, and this topic being debated in my country, I rush to point out that health care in Argentina is free and, reportedly, comprehensive. In conversation, there has never been a person that has complained to me about a lack of coverage in the public health care. I must admit that my circle of "informants", as they are called in the anthropological argot, is decidedly skewed to the young. There is no one I engage in frequent conversation that is over 40 years in age. Non-withstanding, As far has been reported to me, if anything happens to me, or I otherwise need medical attention, I can go the hospital the process of getting that which I require. However, it is that process which is so heavily criticized by the Argentine media and people.
The first sentence to leap out of an Argentine's mouth while discussing the medical system invariably has to do with the "la cola". Literally tail, this is the local word for lines (as in the kind you wait in). The hypothetical Argentine constructed of the pastiche of my remembered conversations would say something like "Yeah, sure, the medical system is world class after you wait in the line for a few hours. Take some mate, a book and some kleenex, it's a good time". To be honest, I can't recall anyone giving me even a casual figure as to how long the lines would take, but most have emphasized the physical size of the lines.
Thus armed with replete and comprehensive information to this effect, I didn't really see a time I could schedule an entire day to wait in line to be attended for what was a non-essential operation. Also, as a foreigner, I'm beyond clueless as to how the system actually functions. After all, the first step in Yankee-landia is to call and make an appointment, so at the get-go the first instruction (go wait in line) is somewhat bewildering.
Hence, I had not made any moves to get tested for STD's. My girlfriend had been initially less than sympathetic towards me and unwillingness to go bumble through the procedure myself, but then, she took matters into her own hands and found a contact in the hospital that would speed us along the procedure.
So let me contrast what I did, and what I would have had to have done if I were just a normal, unconnected Argentine guy.
I wake up at 7 AM on a cold monday morning, to hop a short bus ride (crowded, as usual) to the nearest hospital. Some of the buildings were actually as old as the iron gates and fences would suggest. Sadly, their vaguely colonial architectural stylings were lumped together with the standard Argentine government building from Peron's day: an ugly and failed exploration of the design concepts first used by manufacturers of hamster tubes and the large versions with ball pits destined for children. And of course, this being a high traffic location, the same guys that come to hawk fried bits of sugared dough and pastries from tupperware containers at the park on Sundays hang out at the gates of the hospital on Mondays.
Going in, you get in line to get a card which in theory authorizes you to be in the hospital. And then after you figure out where the hell is the wing you need (no one knows where anything else)Therein I would have to wait in line that stretched up two stories of ye old grand staircase and all of a small lobby to get to the door of the portion of the clinic that handles this sort of thing. A full day's work in short.
What ended up happening is that Luana got in touch with a cousin who is a doctor of the blood-drawing kind in the hospital. She told us arrive before the doors opened at 8, skip the first line, skip the second line, wait outside the door, and send her a text message. Then in front of all of these people who has been waiting for god knows how long, sashay into the clinic where she took the samples in all of ten seconds and sent on our merry way.
Long story short, social capital can make the public option a real option for you. But if you have some sort of recurring health problem, get paid health insurance. It's cheap by American standards and you can avoid the lines.
What ended up happening is that Luana got in touch with a cousin who is a doctor of the blood-drawing kind in the hospital. She told us arrive before the doors opened at 8, skip the first line, skip the second line, wait outside the door, and send her a text message. Then in front of all of these people who has been waiting for god knows how long, sashay into the clinic where she took the samples in all of ten seconds and sent on our merry way.
Long story short, social capital can make the public option a real option for you. But if you have some sort of recurring health problem, get paid health insurance. It's cheap by American standards and you can avoid the lines.
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