hospitals in Chile, part II

So, hospitals are crowded, and stingy about offering information. This particular hospital had a security guy controlling the hallway. Valparaiso is Chile’s most dangerous place, or so I’ve been told. And the hospital’s audience did seem to warrant some authoritative presence. I don’t know about you but I never know whether these guys’ presence shouldn’t render me more nervous: If security is necessary, why is there only one guy? But then, I’m in a paranoid state because a few days ago I got robbed of my bag with ALL that is valuable to me here (except passport and credit card which I kept apart…)

The first guy I had to talk to wanted to chat about Paris. (I thought, stupidly, that this was already the doctor but no-no-no. That was only the guy to take my data. I had to make an appointment and return later that day for this) I never like it when doctors like to chat. They probably think they are doing me a favor, calming the nerves and whatnot, but I want my questions answered, get the thing done, over and out of there.
Anyway, the guy was what they call a “Viejo caliente,” and he addressed every nurse as “amor de mi vida.” After another half an hour of waiting and playing Naipes, I was let into another room, where two women, a young and an old one, practiced whether or not “ella” (me) understands them.
When they finally took my blood, or tried to, I had been waiting 2-3 hours (with appointment), and I was freezing. It gets quite chilly here but there is no calefaction, nowhere, because “it doesn’t get cold enough” (this is a very relative statement) to justify squandering money on heating. As a result, everybody has a cold and/or expensive electric heater.
Have I mentioned the obsession with money that people display here? Forget prudence about “dirty money”: every price and paycheck is relentlessly asked, told, compared and memorized; and even the least helpful staff member will be able to rattle off the prices of things.
The corpulent lady did not find a suitable vein and complained to me about this. She then decided to tell me she would “try her luck” and literally poking in my arm in search of blood, occasionally asking me if it hurt. I have been watching In the Valley of Elah recently, and was weirdly reminded of the sadistic private in that movie. When she gave up she told me she would try my hand now, informing me that “this will hurt.” There was only a little blood coming, and I tried to tell her that I was going to faint but she didn’t listen or pay attention. When I was coming to, there were four women in the room, two holding me tight, all of them gabbering in Spanish at high voice and speed. Unmitigated terror. I had no clue what was going on but felt that I definitely should.
Afterwards, one of the ladies was indignated that I couldn’t tell her what was my usual low blood pressure (Seriously, do you know?) Whether I haven’t been told my pressure? In innocent and unintentionl rudeness I told her yes but that I found the information uninteresting and therefore forgot it. Great look on her face.