Bellevue to Barcelona and Istanbul for good measure

Despite my robust health and that of my friends, I have recently sampled, both personally and vicariously, medical treatment from Bellevue to Barcelona to Istanbul. For those of you who think we have the best medical care in the world, there's a used treadmill I'd be happy to sell you.
When my cousin Kenneth tripped on a tree pit on West 12th Street on the way to my passover seder , landing on his nose which consequently took a sharp upward left turn toward his ear, he hightailed it to Bellevue. He would miss the first two glasses of Manischewitz and a rousing chorus of "Dayenu," but we were all confident that when he was discharged, his nose would be front and center. Four hours later, just as Elijah was about to partake in the heavy malaga, Kenneth arrived, nose askew. "After waiting for three and 1/2 hours in a room perfumed by the stench of several homeless men, they examined me and advised me to see a plastic surgeon." Kenneth's nose still veers left.
Several years ago, while throwing out the garbage after an evening of too many mojitos , I tripped over the carpet or the cat or my untied reeboks and broke my fall with my right wrist. By morning, the pain in my wrist was excruciating and my hand was the size of a hedgehog. I went to Urgent Care at Hospital for Joint Diseases. I waited for 2 hours. "Are you pregnant?" an x-ray technician inquired. "Are you kidding?" I responded. They x-rayed me. I had no fracture and they consequently discharged me, untreated, the hedgehog as painful and large as when I had arrived. I couldn't get an appointment with an orthopedist for a week. When I was finally able to see one,his office was mobbed. I was provided with a clipboard topped with forms on which I was to detail my medical history. I handed back the filled out forms and was summoned two hours later. A physician's assistant then asked me for the identical information I had just provided on the forms. He exited and the orthopedist entered, asking me my medical history yet again. I presume medical offices have patients fill out medical history forms to distract the patients from the inordinately long wait. I would be happier with chopped liver on crackers. The doctor re-xrayed me, informed me I still had no fracture, gave me a splint and sent me for 8 weeks of physical therapy.
In May I was in Barcelona with my friend, Marilyn. We had just had dinner in a trendy restaurant, imbibed a fair amount of cava, and, my mind elsewhere, (perhaps on the fact that the check was double what it should have been)I tripped on something--no se que-and this time, for variety, broke my fall with my left hand. The next morning I was in agony and asked the concierge to call the hotel doctor. Within 20 minutes, Dr. Luca, a soap opera handsome, 32 year old English speaking doctor showed up. He palpated my arm. "Hurt here?" "Hurt here?" "No? Good, I don't think it's broken." Experienced, I tentatively asked if he had a splint. "No, but I'm from Colombia, a third world country. We know how to improvise." With rolls of gauze and two tongue depressors, he made an effective makeshift splint. A week later, my wrist was fine. No useless forms. No x-rays. No physical therapy. Perhaps my recovery was also abetted by the anti- inflammatory shot he insisted on giving me in the behind. It may not have helped my hand, but it certainly raised my spirits.
On to Istanbul. Two days before our departure for NYC, CB developed a purple polka dot rash on her inner arm. The day before we were to leave, the rash spread. Neither of us thought it posed an immediate threat, but the possibility that her funeral might have to take place in a mosque and the fear that she might not enjoy the 75% off sales occurring all over the city, were sufficient to propel us to the American Hospital in Istanbul. We were told the German Hospital was equally good, but for historic reasons there was no way in hell we were going there.
We were greeted by a receptionist who, when shown the rash, pointed us toward "dermatology." After a 3 minute wait, an attractive English speaking doctor ushered us into her office. She asked CB what drugs she was taking, looked at the rash and pronounced baby aspirin the culprit. CB looked dubious so the doctor said,"I could do a bunch of expensive tests, but I'm telling you, it's baby aspirin." CB forwent the tests and, elated that death was not imminent, bought two gorgeous dresses at 75% off. I, ecstatic that I would not have to attend her funeral, supplemented my collection of 41 tote bags with two more fabulous ones, also at 75% off. Following the doctor's directions, she stopped the baby aspirin and the rash disappeared. No forms. No tests. Just an intelligent diagnosis made by a skilled practitioner.
I am aware that people from all over the world come to the U.S. for our state of the art medical treatment. Fortunately for them, our doctors speak Spanish,Turkish, Hindi, Russian and many other languages. Many also speak English, but they are not on my health plan. So, if I ever need one stop medical treatment from an anglophone doctor, I will take a non stop flight to Barcelona or Istanbul. I'll be treated and cured before my primary care physician can write out the eight essential referrals.