Of Mushrooms, Snakebites And Depression

By: Damaris West

Yesterday I went into the village Pharmacy to enquire if our doctor had delivered a prescription. He hadn’t, but for the mere showing of the ‘tessera’ or medical card, and without any prescription charge because there isn’t one, I was allowed to take the tablets away. On my say-so. Just like that. What a refreshing contrast to the usual bureaucracy when, despite it being clear what everyone’s needs and motives are, paperwork is allowed to stand in the way.

The Italian medical system, such as I have experienced it, is something of a mixed bag. The Pharmacy is superb as I’ve implied. Admittedly, their shampoo and toothpaste are exorbitantly priced compared with Supermarket equivalents, but if you have a poorly foot or a bad burn, you can go in and show it off. What’s more, if you’ve picked some mushrooms and want to have them checked over, then the Pharmacist is also your man. He has a qualification in dodgy mushroom detection.

Getting to see the doctor, however, can be a bit of a business because there is no appointment system. You have access to the doctor’s personal mobile phone for superficial advice and repeat prescriptions, but if you wish to have him – or her – examine you, then you have to be prepared to put some time in.

The doctor attends the clinic for an hour or two at a time, but queuing begins long before. To say that it is a social event is not an exaggeration. There always seems to be a predominance of elderly people sitting comfortably immersed in group conversations and looking, in fact, disgustingly healthy. No-one is seated in any particular order, so you make a mental note of who was there before you. But fear not. No-one ever jumps the queue in Italy. There is a collective memory of exactly who arrived before and after whom, and woe betide anyone who tries to flout it.

Once, I witnessed an elderly lady dive into the consultation room at the same time as somebody else. She was mercilessly criticised all the time she was in there. The person whose legitimate turn it had been emerged first, full of excuses and apologies. Then the culprit came out. She was virtually sobbing, appealing to the humanity of the entire waiting room, explaining that she was suffering from depression. The general wrath subsided, but there was a great deal of tut-tutting about depression as a so-called ailment long after she had left.

On this same occasion I made my first acquaintance with the village poet. He had a sheaf of little pieces of paper on which he was scribbling and now and again he would read an extract to one of the other patients, most of whom hooted and pushed him away.

“Depression is the opposite of pressure,” he intoned by way of a comment on the queue-jumping incident. (“Depressione e il contrario di pressione” – the pun is clearer in Italian.)

Otherwise he seemed to be writing a poem which began: “Under the plane tree”.

It has to be said that animals get a better deal than humans when it comes to health care in Italy. There are no appointments but the waiting time is usually quite short and sometimes there is no charge for the consultation. We have had a thorn extracted from a dog’s paw, dangerous grass seeds removed painstakingly from all eight paws of our two dogs, and ears examined - all free of charge. Injections, tablets and other materials used in treatment must always be paid for but one large Pharmacy gives a discount when the item is for animal use.

Possibly the willingness and accessibility of vets helps to compensate for the fact that animals are generally not well treated. Dogs spend their lives chained up. If a dog goes missing no-one bothers to look for it. Sometimes hunting dogs are poisoned as a way of reducing the effectiveness of fellow hunters. And this is on top of the dangers from snakes. Which brings me back to my Pharmacist. If you are bitten by a snake, the Pharmacist has anti-venom in his refrigerator out the back. Or so I’ve been told. I hope I never have to find out.