Being “Crook” in New Zealand
A humorous look at Kiwi healthcare.
Photo courtesy of the author.
Working as a doctor in New Zealand has required me to relearn some medical language. I don’t just mean the crazy way they spell esophagus with an “o” at the beginning, nor the unnecessary letters added to works like diarrhoea. As if you have time for unnecessary letters when you’re in a rush to the toilet.
I’ve also had to learn a new vocabulary that describes how people relate to illness. In New Zealand, people don’t get sick. Instead, you might wake up in the morning not feeling well, say a cough and body aches. If you do, you would say that you are “crook.” In that case, you might want to make a “cuppa” ( mug of tea) and “have a lay-in” (stay home for the day). You will most likely “be right” by morning and feel “good as…” in a day or so.
If your condition worsens, you will progress to being “unwell.” Signs of being “unwell” can include; “going off your food,” “feeling the chills,” or “chuddering” (vomiting). If you find yourself unwell, you may want to “pop by” your doctor for a “check.” Because you don’t want to progress from unwell to “markedly unwell” or even “decidedly unwell.” Failure to seek medical care at that point could make you “cark it.”
If you find yourself unwell, you will want to go to Acute Care because a civilized country like New Zealand doesn’t have emergencies; they have acutes. When you arrive, you’ll be seen by a doctor and everyone else who is in the department at the time. US law requires everyone to have a private room to maintain patient confidentiality, but no similar rule exists in New Zealand. Instead, you will be seen by doctors, nurses, cleaning personnel, fellow patients, their families, and any other random person who happens to “go on a tiki tour” in the department.
When the doctor comes to see you, they may pull a curtain closed so no one else can see, but that will do little to prevent everyone else from hearing you describe your symptoms to the physician. I hope your doctor doesn’t say something like, “this looks like syphilis… again” for everyone in the ward to hear.
Although you won’t get any privacy during your visit, you will be issued a pair of paper underpants. Everyone receives a pair of what I can only describe as disposable bloomers. They come in one size, guaranteed to be unflattering to everyone, regardless of size or body type. Just imagine the most enormous pair of granny panties you can, then make them humorously larger and far less durable. It is a fashion statement that screams, “No! Don’t do it.”
The presence of throw-away bloomers does not make up for the lack of walls. One example, I was called in one night for a “smash up” (motor vehicle accident) to see a man who got “pissed” and went “drink driving.” The open bay reserved for trauma sits at a ninety-degree angle to the other cubicles in the department. At one moment, I looked up to see the other patients and their families watching intently as we worked in our bays. I guess this is the free entertainment you get in the emergency department to compensate for the lack of “Tele.” Kind of like watching a live episode of Grey’s Anatomy, admittedly with less attractive medical personnel. I expected someone to “come round” with popcorn for the audience.
Oh, and speaking of coming around with snacks, the hospital serves tea twice daily. A cafeteria worker pushes a “largish trolley” from room to room with an enormous pot of hot water and makes up your steaming beverage to order. This is “lovely,” with one minor exception; the coffee is instant. You can get good coffee in the cafes because the Kiwis do like good cafes. But outside the coffee shops, beware because your coffee is more likely to be “Nescafe” than anything else.
Tea time can be a “wee” problem with patients awaiting surgery. In the English tradition, you can tell people not to eat before an operation, but certainly, you wouldn’t be so uncivilized as to suggest they go without their tea. That would make you a “right drongo.”
Assuming your morning “cuppa” hasn’t canceled your operation, you will be taken to the “theater.” We don’t operate in an “operating room”; instead, we work in the much grander sounding “theater.” This moniker is a leftover term from the days when surgical suites were built with a viewing gallery so doctors could observe operations. Fortunately, there is no theatrical seating in my hospital, and let’s hope they don’t allow Juju Mints if there are any proper theaters in New Zealand.
Besides surgery, I spend a lot of time doing endoscopies. Scoping people from above and below is done in its own theater. We do upper endoscopy, but here they call it an OGD instead of an EGD because of that silly penchant for adding unnecessary O’s to medical words.
We mostly do colonoscopies, but if you don’t need the complete procedure, you may be offered a “flexy,” pronounced with a happy little upturned “i” sound at the end of the word that makes the procedure sound deceptively more fun that it is.
Here’s hoping you don’t end up crook, but if you do, don’t “put a spanner in the works” and progress to unwell, markedly unwell, or decidedly unwell. I would hate to see you “cark it.”
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