Health

Unfortunately, the little man has been laid low for the past week with a bit of nasty chest cough. I suspect bronchitis but then again I'm just a lowly English teacher (and getting lower), so what do I know. Nor does he seem to be able to shake it. I took him to see the doctor last Monday where he received a week's worth of medication, but to date to little avail. Mind you, I can't really fault the Japanese medical system as my experience, or rather my proxy experience via Sanae and Cian*, has been one of unfailing excellence. And cheap too. Cian's visit to the doctor cost is subsidized by 90%, yes, you read that correctly, 90%, so for the consultation I shelled out the princely sum of 180 yen (which is about 1.60 euros). Similarly, for his medicine - a week's worth of cough suppressent and foul tasting fever powder - I spent another 340 yen, just a few cents over 3 euro.
Then on Friday last I had my annual health check here in the university. Said health check is compulsory and thorough too: bloods, urine, x-ray, eye, ear, electro-cardiagram, and a doctor's once over. I was pronounced 'alive' and fit to continue teaching low-level students low-level English. I am, however, going blind. 'Age' said the ophthalmologist and at close on 41, who am I to disagree. Glasses beckon, as do dentures, a wig, incontinence nappies and great, furious tufts of wild ear-hair.
Anyway, said health check was also free and despite being told you are fast becoming McGoo-san, it was good to get it done.

*Outside of required health checks, the only time I have ever been officially admitted into hospital in my 12 years herein Japan, happened shortly before Cian was born. I was biking to the university one morning, free wheeling down a hitherto fun and fast hill when a Nissan X-Trail suddenly pulled out in front me. I hit the front side of the jeep, catapulted myself into the windscreen, bounced off the bonnet and skidded down the road a few metres. Luckily there was no oncoming traffic so I kind of staggered over to the side of the road and sat down. My ankle hurt and that, as far as I could figure out, was the extent of my injuries. The driver, I think, was more stunned by the fact that he had hit a foreigner, a big one at that too, that by the actual accident. Anyway, he makes the requisite emergency phone call and in a couple of minutes, there's a police car, an ambulance, and two, yes, two fire engines, one of them with specialist cutting equipment. Not wanting to have wasted their trip, I offer to go lie under my bike on the road and they could practice cutting me out from under it. The ambulance men want me to lie down on the stretcher. No, no, it's fine, I tell them, I'm not that bad, I can sit on the seat here. No, they insist, you have been in a car accident, you must lie down on the stretcher, it's the rule. To keep them happy (the fireman were already beginning to look pissed off at the lack of anything to do), I lie down on the stretcher. More than a bit embarrassed, we set off, sirens a-wailing, through the streets of Muroran, and two minutes later end up at the local hospital. Into the ER. There's another patient in there before me, an old man, a very old man, unconscious, wheezing a deeply troubled breath, hooked up to a series of beeping monitors with the intervals between beeps growing longer all the time, surrounded by a team of doctors.
And then they see me.
"Woah, what's this, a foreigner, yes! We get to practice medicine on a foreigner; we get this right and there will be an article in Lancet - "Cross Cultural Car Crashes" or some such. Quick, before he gets off the stretcher. No, don't mind the old guy, he's on his way out, wheel him downstairs and leave him parked in front of the motuary. He's headed that way anyway. But don't forget to bring back the monitors. We'll need them to impress the foreigner".
So I get an X-Ray and a CT-scan but unfortunately, despite their dearest wishes, the doctors can find no bones broken, no internal or external bleeding, and nothing wore than a badly bruised ankle and some scrapes and scratches. And so after two hours or so, they reluctantly let me go, but not before they make me promise them that I'll come to this hospital should I ever get in a 'proper' accident.
And that has been my only time in the consummate care of the Japanese medical profession.