Medical Cards
I was at the doctors this week. Nothing serious, just the minor ailments of a middle aged fellah with dodgy knees and an allergy to modern life. The receptionist asked me if I had a medical card. For a second or two I pondered whether I should say yes, and deal with the inevitable questions. In those few seconds I imagined several answers… the dog ate it… I can’t mind where I put it… there was an earthquake and the card was swallowed by the heaving soil, never to be seen again. I wised up and handed over the credit card, to be quickly relieved of fifty bucks and issued with an ‘eventually tax-deductable receipt, but only if you remember where you put the damn thing a year and half later’ slip of paper. I saw the Doc, got an injection for my troubles and trotted off to the chemist to pay another twenty bucks for a prescription.
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“Have you got a medical card?” A simple enough request and yet I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Now, before I continue, I’ll state for the record that I have absolutely nothing against medical cards, or anyone who has one. For those on low or no incomes, for the disabled, the chronically ill and those on welfare benefits, access to a doctor should not cost anything. I grew up in NHS land and I’m a firm believer in free and open access medical care, available to all, no matter your financial circumstance. It’s something I miss about living in Britain, and my wallet misses it more. But the Irish Health Service is what it is, and as I lived here over half my life, I put up with it.
What had me thinking about the medical card question was all the other things that I pay for, without question. I’ve a relatively modest income and my wife earns a decent enough wage, but we’re not exactly rolling in it. The end of the month is a guessing game of how many direct debits will turn to rubberised-springs. We’re masters of staring into an empty fridge and scraping together a meal, before the magical pay-day arrives and we can finally trot off to one of the German discounters to stock up. The old reliable supermarkets here, are way beyond our pay-grade.
At the moment we’re also involved in some serious mathematical cost-benefit research, regarding the exchange-rate and the attraction of the shops across the border. If Sterling drops any further, you’ll find us hanging around a car-park in Strabane, with all the other Donegal registration cars. It’s bad news for the local retailers in Donegal I know, but we need to save money where we can. It’s not just paying to see a doctor either. We’ve one wee’un at University and we get no help with fees or accommodation, and the latter seems to be increasing in price by the day. Being self-employed, there’s no chance of welfare benefits if I can’t work. We’ve had to absorb USC, the property tax and the extortionate rises in car insurance etc. etc. The possibility of a wage rise is as ephemeral as a Halloween ghostie and the notion of sneaking a few bob into the Credit Union is dream too far right now. There’s plenty worse off, I know, but those of us in the squeezed middle are struggling. There’s not too many signs of recovery in our world and it doesn’t surprise me that others in the same boat are agitating for wage increases. Our politicians’ inaction will only make matters worse. The queues across the Lifford bridge are going to get longer and I’d not be surprised if there aren’t more than a few who will chance a “the dog ate my medical card” excuse.
