Alone, Abroad, and Arguing with the Pharmacist

Upon return from a ski trip in Japan, I woke up the following morning with my eyes nearly swollen shut. Confused, I thought maybe something in the air was causing allergies or that somehow I had become allergic to my mattress (trust that this logic made sense at the time). I bought an air purifier and took allergy medication day and night, hoping to remedy my situation. I slept on the couch to rule out the mattress question. 

A friend told me I needed to register with a local GP in order to make an appointment, so I found one and called after sending in the required information with an online form. The lady on the phone could not have been more unapologetically unhelpful. I would have to wait two to five business days until my information was processed in their system before I’d be able to make an appointment. 

Desperate for something that could help, I researched ways to see a doctor as a tourist in a foreign country. I could have gone to a clinic in Amsterdam, but couldn’t motivate myself to actually go. I was so fatigued and didn’t want to sign on for multiple hours of travel including public transportation and cycling. I saw an option for a virtual call with a European doctor and immediately booked a timeslot only 15 minutes in the future. I saw hope on the horizon.

I was relieved to have a doctor’s opinion and support, albeit disheartened by the proposed solutions. After listening to my symptoms, seeing my condition, and taking note of my attempted remedies, the Italian doctor on my laptop screen suggested I had a sinus infection. I knew immediately that she was right. The puzzle pieces lined up, but I’d never had a sinus infection that affected my eyes so badly. She prescribed me an over-the-counter decongestant and a prescription nasal spray which is over-the-counter in the US. I was kicking myself for not bringing one with me when I moved; I periodically needed something like that for my seasonal allergies. 

Headed to a nearby pharmacy, I went to fulfill my prescription armed with the knowledge that any prescription written in the EU is valid anywhere in the EU, hoping I didn’t have to deploy it. To my dismay, the pharmacist told me that he would only accept a prescription from a Dutch GP, to which I repeated that any prescription written in the EU is valid anywhere in the EU. He didn’t care. I spoke in Dutch hoping to garner respect. It didn’t seem to matter. In the end, he said he’d “help me out just this once” and sold me the nose spray. While I was grateful, I didn’t know what an allergy nose spray would do to relieve a sinus infection. It was a sidestep rather than a step in the right direction, but I was desperate and willing to try it.

The following days I woke up feeling worse and worse. My eyes and face were so puffy that I was embarrassed to go out in public, not to mention frustrated that what I had been trying wasn’t working. I had received an email from the GP’s office that my information had been processed and approved, so I called to make an appointment. This time I was told that I had to download an app to request an appointment. As instructed, I described my symptoms in detail and included photos to best demonstrate the severity. I was told that if my symptoms were the same or worse in five days, I could make an appointment to see a GP. I was sick, knew the remedy, and didn’t want to wait five days to get prescribed a nasal spray again.

I messaged the Italian doctor again asking if it would be worth trying amoxicillin, explaining that I knew it would be a sure-fire cure based on past experience with sinus infections. She suggested I give the nasal spray five days to work, again with the “wait five days.” I wasn’t going to wait that long. 

I pressed, “Would it do any harm to try amoxicillin?”

To which she replied, “No, it wouldn’t do any harm per se.”

The prescription was in my inbox within minutes without another word exchanged between us. The email body read nothing more than “There you go,” no punctuation, email signature, or anything. Not a problem for me. A quick “thank you so much” and I was on to the next order of business.

I called my trusty pharmacist down the street and explained that I had another prescription I needed help with. My patience grew thin as he told me yet again that he “couldn’t” fill the prescription. I cited the EU Cross-Border Healthcare Directive (2011/24/EU) thinking that could help my argument. I reiterated the law again and again; he simply wouldn’t help me. Feeling that I had few other options, I broke into tears. 

“I think it’s just getting to me that I’m sick, alone, and abroad and you’re telling me that you won’t obey the law when I have a valid prescription,” I croaked. I couldn’t hold in my emotions and he could feel it on the other end of the line. Regardless, he wouldn’t fulfill the prescription unless it came from a Dutch GP. Well-intentioned, he asked me to wait while he called a GP friend of his and called me back shortly after, instructing me to register with that office, promising I could be seen tomorrow. By this point, I knew from friends that Dutch doctors rarely prescribe antibiotics and if they did, it would be weeks of waiting for my symptoms to improve. Simultaneously thankful for his kindness and frustrated with the situation overall, I put that bit of knowledge in my back pocket and trudged on. 

I had seen another pharmacy not far from the first. I biked over and marched right in, puffy eyes and all. I didn’t wear my blue light glasses this time; I needed pity and a prescription. There were a number of characters, let’s say, inside the pharmacy and I waited patiently until I could go up to the desk to the tall blue-eyed blond who looked to be about my age. I dropped the Dutch and became a down-bad tourist. She asked if all of my information was included in the prescription. I said yes and sent the document via email to the pharmacy knowing full-well that the prescription only stated my name and date of birth. 

“And I assume you don’t have health insurance here?” she asked. 

“Absolutely not,” I replied, letting out a sigh and a sleepy smile. 

Taking a seat on a bench along the wall, I watched and waited as my dopplegänger prepared seven days worth of amoxicillin. The normal boxes only contained a five-day supply, so she jammed four more pills into the box and jankily taped it shut. She called me up to the desk, explained the dosage, and loaded the payment terminal to the proper amount. I thought to pay in cash but given how strange this whole situation felt already, perhaps that would be another flag on the play; I decided against it. The familiar buh-duh-ding chime confirmed my successful payment and I turned to leave, reading my receipt as I exited the building. 

I was Jane Doe. All written in Dutch, I found my name had changed to “Patient X.” My birthdate, gender, address, everything was listed as “onbekend” (“unknown”). In contrast to her counterpart down the street, this pharmacist lent me the support I needed. Whether out of pity, annoyance, or exasperation from the othersshe’d been helping that day, she kept her head down and helped a sister out. No questions asked.

Unsurprisingly, within 48 hours I was back to normal, counting my stars that I’d pulled off my first sick-alone-abroad experience, one of the countless lessons in the advocate-for-yourself-at-all-costs curriculum.

Sending my best xx