Test Driving the Australian Medical System – The Joys of Traveling With Boys

When you travel with three young boys, you pack a serious medkit. More than extra bandages, yours boasts plenty of wound-closing tape, a portable splint, and blood clotting powder, just to be on the safe side. And yes, to give peace of mind to yourself and everyone asking, you are investing in travel medical insurance. Above all, for each month and each country that passes by without a trip to the hospital, you breathe a sigh of relief.

Unfortunately, the dangers of Australia proved too much for our good luck streak. It wasn’t the country’s famous host of deadly creatures that got us, mind you. On the contrary, it was just boys being—careless—boys in the great outdoors.

For instance, after running down a gravelly trail to Lake Elizabeth off the Great Ocean Road, one son slammed his face and most of his body into the rocks, leaving a certain quantity of skin and unblemished beauty behind. The next day, the other two of our three boys fell off of a horse at our farm stay in the Kiewa Valley. And most recently, yesterday, our youngest went teeth-first into the uncapped metal pipe of a scooter handle. That last one was the one that finally sent us to the emergency room.

Thus, we embarked upon our long-awaited opportunity to appreciate the Australian medical system.

In case you don’t know, the most notable difference between US and Aussie healthcare is that, as far we can tell, everyone in Australia is covered by government-issued health insurance that pleases them just fine. When they visit the United States, however, they are terrified (and carefully insured against the possibility) that they will need medical care, (correctly) believing it may bankrupt them. Something the locals can understand, for sure.

Now, before you get too concerned about our son’s well-being, let me assure you that his injuries were not life-threatening in any way. A scooter handle to the mouth is as much an aesthetic concern as anything else. The tooth that might have been knocked out by the impact had actually been knocked out two years earlier when his brother hit him in the face with a stick—and it was a baby tooth in any case. The next tooth over was struck loose by the impact, but at seven years old, it was bound to come out soon anyway, so that’s okay. What was more than a little upsetting was the fact that we could now see, in an area normally occupied by healthy gum tissue, what looked like jaw bone.

So, we drove for nearly an hour from the country town of Dederang to the emergency room at Albury. When there, our American accent identified us immediately as foreigners, but the endearing receptionist with bright pink glasses, a spectacular dimple in her smile, and sparkly velcro shoes that (she was proud to announce) came from Italy, politely asked if we lived locally and held Australian Medicare. We lamented that we had no such thing, but assured her we would happily pay whatever the costs were for seeing to our son. She apologized that her country didn’t have any special agreement with ours, then proceeded to charge me what I can only describe as a nominal quantity of money for the superb attention that the nurses and doctors subsequently showed our son.

“Hello, opossum! What have we here?”

The doctor, with a casual and friendly manner, lifted our son’s seemingly unscathed lip to have a look inside and mostly hid a wince. “You’re an astonishingly brave one, aren’t you?” She then ordered an x-ray for us and pointed us down the hallway where another group of amiable people saw right to us. After a short wait, they were able to reassure us that the jawbone was not fractured, and there did not appear to be any damage to his nascent adult teeth.

The doctor, wanting to be sure there was no need for a skin graft, then called on her personal phone to a local oral surgeon and worked through his various office locations to find an appointment that fit our travel schedule. All the while, a handsome Aussie EMT with a twinkle in his eye and a strong surfer streak, took the time to entertain us with a tour of his ambulance and recommendations for the best waves around the world.

Eighteen hours later, we were in the office of yet another amazingly friendly and gregarious Australian health care provider. The physically fit, grey-dyed-red-haired oral surgeon was able to ease our fears somewhat by explaining that what looked like jawbone was, in fact, his forthcoming adult tooth. “Don’t worry, Mum,” he assured us, “should heal up just fine on its own.” No stitches, grafting, or surgery would be necessary. (Cue the sound of relieved exhalation.)

As I began to inquire about paying, he waved me off and insisted there would be no charge, and he was happy to help. I offered, yet again, not wishing to take advantage of his kindness. But, he again insisted it was his pleasure and sent us on our merry way with a handshake for our seven-year-old son and a smile.

So, I don’t recommend getting injured. That would be silly. But if you’re going to get injured somewhere—or perhaps more likely, if one of your young children chooses to do so, boys, specifically I think—you might consider doing it in Australia. Just a thought.

With appreciation, respect, and endless gratitude to all of the amazingly wonderful people who helped us in the last two days. Thank you.

Note to the reader: since we haven’t yet shown our son the photo of his bloody missing gums, we thought it wouldn’t be right to post it here. (You gore-seeker, you.)