Thanks to NHS in UK

The mold, endemic. So I do have issues in UK. But hey, climate change may make it Arizona of Europe so this too could change.

But when the cold from a grandson became the asthma attack of my lungs, I whipped out my travel meds to deal with it. Whoops. Though I'd brought all my nebulizer meds...somehow, it wasn't enough. Egad. What now?

Husband went to Boots (a.k.a. generic term for a pharmacy, that is also branded Boots.) Given codeine cough meds are over the counter, maybe neb meds are? They said, they did have the ability in an emergency to refill but only is EXACTLY the same. Given mine were not, needed to see a doctor.

Doctor? Having once been told twice--get thee from our office by doctors offices, didn't know this was possible. Yes it is. As a temporary resident.

So call the local surgery (a.k.a. group doctors practice that my daughter and family see living here), and get an appointment. Go in to and sign a form less complicated than entering a sweepstakes in the USA. No privacy BS, no HIPA (that is nonsense given is broken with impunity, but that is another blog.) Sweet and simple. About a 7 minute wait and I'm called by a woman in street clothing. This is the doctor. "How may I help you," she asks with sincerity.

Holy cow. Long story short, she calls her pharmacist who has a book to translate US meds to UK meds...a med is faxed to local Boots, we pick up. And like the rest of the UK never cross a hand with silver.

Just like in Canada where we lived with national healthcare for four years---it is all about healthCARE. Not bonuses for overpaid CIGNA, Blue Cross/Blue Shield executives in suits.

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    Candace Drimmer

    I was an accidental expatriate; love and marriage led me to it. One day I was a bandy-legged kid sitting atop my dogwood tree looking out of my small backyard world in 1950s New Jersey, wanting to move somewhere--anywhere, different. Next thing I knew my father had accepted a job in Houston TX. I was ecstatic, it was a foreign land in 1961 America. After high school graduation, my parents’ gave me a matched set of fawn-colored hardsided American Tourister luggage. Taking the hint, I went to college; well four colleges in five years--it was the 60s after all. Meeting a young hirsute anti-war, soon-to-be-Peace Corps volunteer, I fell in love. After finishing up college coursework for my degree, but before I even walking a graduation stage, I grabbed the paper airline ticket my boyfriend had sent me, my brand-new passport, and was off to the airport and Lima, Peru.

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