The Application Process Part 2: Medical

Medical: the bane of almost every Peace Corps applicant's life. It's complicated, frustrating, and drawn out. And according to the infamous Out of 100, it's where most applicants trip. I honestly can't blame them.

My medical packet arrived in September 2009, but by that time I had already moved to England to begin my year long Masters degree in Medieval Studies. I am covered by the national insurance over here (called NHS), but I decided that I didn't want to try to find and go to doctors and dentists over here. It would be way too much of a hassle, I didn't know how much NHS would cover (especially when it came to the shots), the pound to dollar conversion was less than inspiring if I had to pay out of pocket, and I had plenty of time. So I set my medical aside for when I returned to the States for Christmas break, focusing on school and adjusting to life in a new country.

Oh, did I mention I was only going to be in the States for two weeks over Christmas break?

Those were the most medically intense two weeks of my life. The day after I walked off the plane I had my first appointment, jet lagged and exhausted. Basically anytime I wasn't baking, decorating the tree, or shopping for presents was spent in various waiting rooms. The doctor poked and prodded me, tested me for everything under the sun, took out five vials of blood and replaced it with four types of vaccines which left my arm sore for a week. The dentist jabbed at every single tooth, and I actually had to go to the dentist three separate times to have fillings done. Considering I hadn't been to the dentist in at least five years before this...well, let's just say I was pleasantly pleased I didn't need more work done.

Fun side story: Novocaine doesn't really work on me. I've known this for years and always tell my dentist because one shot of the stuff just isn't going to cut it. Turns out, neither does three. Or four. After waiting an hour for the drugs to kick in and poking my jaw asking if I could feel it and me giving him the affirmative, he became really frustrated and busted out The Big Guns, shooting some sort of extra strength numbing stuff straight into the nerve in my jaw, which still wore off much faster than it usually does for other people. So you would think, after doing this on one side of my mouth, they would just start with The Big Guns when I returned for the other half of my fillings. Nope. After my last appointment I tried to count how many times I was pricked by needles between the doctor and the dentist, and I figure that I had at least 17 separate shots. My jaw was still sore when I went back to England.

The eye doctor was actually the easiest. Just handed him the prescription I had gotten this past summer and he filled it out and that was that. Took 5 minutes, tops. So I had everything, all the lab results came in before I had to head back to England, and everything was normal, except that some of my thyroid activity was a little high, but even though my doctor noted I might want to see an endocrinologist someday, it wasn't necessary to do so. But when I was looking through the papers, I realised the doctor hadn't filled out my vaccinations and forgot to sign one of the pages. I went back to the office, vaccine record in hand, and told the nurse what was missing. Turns out, the doctor was out of town and wouldn't be returning until the following week when she would be glad to sign it. Too bad I was leaving for England the following day.

How was I supposed to get the papers signed? I knew I had to have that part filled in, but I was leaving the next day, what was I going to do? In swoops Super Dad! He very kindly offered to hold on to the papers and take them in when the doctor had returned and mail everything once it was done. I breathed a sigh of relief, though I must admit I was reluctant to hand the papers over to anyone. Heck, I was reluctant to leave the papers with my doctor's nurse as things were filled in and checked over. Paranoia is a common side effect found in Peace Corps applicants during the medical evaluation, worrying about every tiny thing not being perfectly filled in, and petrified something will go missing, extending the torture that is medical even further. Of course I had nothing to worry about, the week after returning to England I received the e-mail from my dad saying everything was sent off and all good. The hurdle had been cleared. I was so happy that there had only been one hiccup, and even that had easily been taken care of. So what if all of those visits crammed into a single week had been hard, everything was done and it should be smooth sailing from there to Invite.

Time passed. I didn't even really notice it flying by as I wrote essays, studied for finals, took said finals, hung out with friends, and began the new term. I wasn't expecting to hear from the Peace Corps because my leaving date was for September, 9 whole months away, so I just didn't worry about it. Why would they be looking at my stuff this far in advance? Then I get an e-mail in February 2010 from my dad: I had a letter from the Peace Corps and he had sent it to me. Holy crap, really? My stuff was under review already? Why in the world would they be reviewing my stuff already? Who knows and who cares, I thought, dancing on air with how utterly special I felt. Very excitedly, I waited for the letter to cross The Pond, and when I checked my mail and found the parcel, I ripped into it, pulling the letter out.

And in bold were those dreaded words: 'During the review of your medical kit, we find the submitted information to be incomplete.' Oh, no. They needed a copy of a laboratory report and a current evaluation from an endocrinologist due to that tiny blip of abnormal thyroid activity my doctor said wasn't necessary to worry about. Oh, God, please no. The lab report was easy, a call to my doctor and it was sent in the next day. But how was I supposed to do the rest from across The Pond, all the way in England? I had no endocrinologist, I didn't even have a general practitioner yet, and on top of that I didn't have a clue how the medical procedures or insurance works over here!  What in the world was I going to do? I couldn't wait until I got back to the States like I had when I first received the medical kit because I'm not returning again until August; time was running out. I stared at that letter for a long, long time.

Then I turned to my computer, opened up Internet Explorer, and typed in a search query: endocrinologists in Leeds. And so it continued.