The Shot

Kinga stepped on a rusty nail Saturday. Never mind how — that’s a story in and of itself.

This is not the story of the rusty nail, but of getting the tetanus shot.

We went to the local health clinic, only to find that they didn’t have any anti-toxin for tetanus shots. “You’ll have to go to Nowy Targ,” which is about thirty minutes away.

We got to the hospital in Nowy Targ, got Kinga registered, and waited. Within a few moments, someone took Kinga back to some room. In the meantime, I wandered about the waiting room, reading this and that. There was an article in the local paper, enlarged to the point of exaggeration, which reported that the Nowy Targ hospital had been ranked in the top 100 in Poland — number 69 to be exact. I scanned the article — boring — and then sat back down.

Kinga emerged a few minutes later rubbing her arm and holding a slip of paper.

“That was fast,” I thought. “Kudos to the NT hospital for fast service.”

“We have to go to the pharmacy,” she said.

“What for?” I asked.

“They don’t have anti-toxin either. I have to buy it myself.”


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