korean health care

First of all, I have now completed my sentence of doom in the Veritas Winter Intensive Program. By the time it was all said and done, I was actually sad to say goodbye to my kids on Wednesday. Most of them I will see in a week and a half, so that's no big deal, but many of them are moving on to high school and will no longer be attending my classes. Those were the hard goodbyes, especially one of my favorite, hard working students, Gaigurina. (Only her nickname, it roughly means "frog princess".) She was crying for about twenty minutes at the front desk, and when I tried to cheer her up, I only started crying too. Working like a machine for two months really sucks, but it also really makes you form strong bonds with those you share the experience with.

Anyway, the point of my story involves the fact that my last day of intensives coincided with the resurgence of a strange and powerful disease that I have been battling for the past 40 days. The symptoms come and go, and I am never full-blown ill, but I often wake up in the night not being able to breath. But just as this entry is not about my crying students, it's also not about me trying to get sympathy, so I will leave the description of my illness where it stands.

The point of this entry, if you are wondering at this point, is the excellency of the Korean health care system. In Korea, you don't need health insurance, because the government subsidized health care is astoundingly affordable. They are even happy to extend the gift to foreigners who are legally living and working in the country. I trucked down to the medical clinic about two blocks from my house today, and was greeted by smiling nurses. I handed over my Alien Registration Card, and there weren't even any forms to fill out. Before I had read half a page in my book, I was whisked in to see a doctor who spoke close to perfect English. He was not particularly impressed with my symptoms, and mostly was concerned about whether I had anything "coming up from the throat". After explaining that I was also experiencing nausea, he wanted to know if I had anything "coming up from the stomach". I didn't have to strip down and put on a gown, he just listened to my heart and breathing by lifting up my shirt (actually, the nurse lurking around unnecessarily assisted me in holding my shirt up). We just had a chat, as makes sense, without any of the bullshit you get in an American doctor's office.

He ended up writing me a hefty regiment of drugs (no antibiotics), and I was sent on my way less than 20 minutes after I arrived. My bill for the visit came out to less than $7, and I was able to pick up my prescription in the basement of the same building for about $11 (for three days worth of six different pills). Even with health insurance in the U.S., my bill would have been at triple what I paid here. The woman in the pharmacy spoke a little English, and said she felt bad that my prescription was "very expensive". I told her it was no big deal.

At this point, you're probably wondering how much of my teaching salary is being deducted to pay for this incredible system. The answer is: I pay 5% income tax, and that is the rate for everyone in my income bracket, not just foreigners. There's no sales tax in Korea. I suspect that property taxes must be high, but I have no evidence to back this up. I have absolutely no idea how the government affords to ensure everyone gets reasonable health care at reasonable prices, but I think it's wonderful. I think this is worth looking into, especially because today's New York Times reports a majority of Americans are demanding a solution to the dismal state of medical services in "the most prosperous nation".

My next entry will probably be from the summer climate of New Zealand. I can't fucking wait.