I woke up and my leg didn't work.
Like, literally. Did. Not. Work. No pain. But I couldn’t move it. Couldn’t lift it. Couldn’t do anything with it. I had to balance all of my weight on my left leg and hop everywhere.
Panic set in.
I was new to my life in Prague. I’d been a local for about a year, and I’d never had to call on the medical system for anything more strenuous than a sinus infection and a flu shot, and even those were at a super modern, English-speaking clinic that would easily pass for any clinic in Anywhere, USA.
Alas, it was closed on weekends and this was a Saturday.
A Hospital Older Than the US Constitution
I hobbled as best I could to the elevator and dragged myself outside to a waiting taxi that dropped me at the entrance to the closest hospital the driver knew was open: A public hospital born the year America was celebrating her 10th birthday.
Apparently, the already standing and ancient building was heavily reconstructed in the late-1700s to “meet the medical needs of the time”… which expertly captures the dialogue in my head as I hobbled into a medical facility that looked like a successful representation of hospital design, circa Revolutionary War.
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Dark. Lights off. The only illumination on this cloud-leaden day streaming in from high windows. That astringent hospital smell I remember from the 1970s. White subway tiles, cracked here and there and grungy grout, reeking of creepy medical nostalgia no one wants to remember.
To me, I felt like I'd walked onto the set from One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. I could envision a plump, glassy-eyed orderly approaching menacingly with a hypodermic, assuring me it was for my own good and then wheeling a zonked-out Jeff into some dungeon for illicit medical testing on the American.
An hour or so later, a nurse called my name and helped me into the exam room.
I want to tell you that it was all super-modern and that I was being a melodramatic pansy.
Yes… I was being melodramatic.
But no! The room was not super-modern. It was less doc-in-the-box cheery and far more Soviet-era dreary. Fifteen-foot ceilings that made the room feel oddly claustrophobic. White subway tiles running more than halfway up the wall, mushy-pea-green paint above that.
Stainless trolleys that looked 20 years past their sell-by date were parked hither and yon.
Behind the Old Walls: Modern Doctors, Modern Care
The nurse was quite pleasant. The doctor too. They both spoke solid English and they understood my concerns perfectly. The doctor poked and prodded like any doctor, then sent me off for an x-ray (a modern machine in a dark room).
Twenty minutes later I was on my way home with some crutches and a shrug for a diagnosis. Doctor Frankenstein (I assume that was his name) had no idea what would have caused my symptoms other than possibly sleeping at a funky angle that compressed a nerve… or something like that.
I was back to normal by Sunday morning.
But the point here is this: The medical system outside America works well, even if the settings are unsettling.
I’d read a number of International Living stories over the years about overseas healthcare and how there’s nothing to worry about; how the quality of care is superb. Still, until you live it yourself, it’s hard to accept someone else’s judgment.
So, worries about healthcare in Eastern Europe were high atop my list when I began planning my move to the Czech Republic in 2018. We’re all so accustomed to the American medical system—as terminally flawed as it is—that we wonder if we’re going to be able to function in a foreign system, particularly one that spent 50 years behind the Iron Curtain.
The Bill That Made Me Laugh: About $12
Spoiler alert: You’ll function just fine, so don’t even worry about it. Really—you can believe my judgement. I lived in Prague for five years, I’ve spent that last three years in Portugal, and I’ve talked to Americans living abroad about their experiences for numerous International Living stories I’ve written.
Just know that when you stumble onto the set of One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, you’re only seeing the facade of a system that has often been in place for two centuries, maybe longer. But the guts of the place—the doctors, the nurses, (most of) the equipment—are all modern.
Better yet, it’s so cheap, you’ll laugh yourself healthy.
If memory serves, I was paying about $120 a month for state healthcare as part of my visa requirements.
The bill for my Saturday visit to an ancient hospital in Prague: the equivalent of about $12.
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