The missing link

The phone rang while it was securely zipped into my handbag, which was buckled into a pannier of my bike, while I was cycling into town at high speed on a busy road.

It's an electric bike so high speeds are feasible, except that above 25km/h you get no help from the motor because that's the law. I can actually do 30km/h or more if the wind's behind me. Wearing a helmet, of course.

But anyway – by the time I'd slowed down, pulled safely into the side of the road, unbuckled the pannier, extracted the handbag and then the phone, it had stopped ringing. But it was a number we knew.

The hospital. This could have been a call to inform us of Janine's expected appointment with the rheumatologist, who some 18 months ago sentenced her to eat a calcium tablet every night for two years, along with a daily injection of a magic fluid that encourages her bones to absorb calcium. It would be nice to know if it's working because plunging a needle into my wife's tummy at nine o'clock every morning needs some justification.

The rheumatologist should be able to tell if it's working from Janine's recent bone density scan at the big hospital in Tenerife and a blood analysis at our local hospital. A blood analysis is obligatory for every ailment these days, perhaps because modern technology delivers the results within hours rather than days, so why not? I'm not criticising, I think it's brilliant. Depth of information must always be useful.

What? Yes, right, the story.

I decided not to phone back to the hospital there and then by the roadside because being hard of hearing and with traffic going past, a phone call would be an uncomfortable experience at both ends of the line. I carried on into town. When Janine arrived on her mobility scooter we decided the least demanding option would be to pop into the hospital on the way home to enquire at the patient information desk.

The hospital is on our daily route. So are the health centre and, conveniently located next to it, the mortuary. There is also a crematorium, which has never been used because apparently it contravenes certain local or national regulations about siting or emissions or permissions or…

Okay, okay, the story. So we called into the hospital on the way home. At the information desk Janine produced her little blue tarjeta sanitaria, health card, and we explained about the phone call. With a few tippety-taps of a keyboard the assistant found her future appointments. There was only one, and that was with the cardiologist a couple of months later.

So not, as yet, the rheumatologist. We looked at each other and at the assistant. 'Perhaps the call was for me,' I suggested with a flash of insight. It takes a few moments. 'We use the same phone number.' The assistant nodded – they all seem blessed with great patience – and I handed her my little blue health card.

'You have an appointment with the dermatologist next week,' she discovered.

'Well, yes. I already know about that. It's noted in my calendar, look.' I showed her the calendar on my phone, fully synchronised with everything else.

'And,' I added, 'they sent me an SMS text reminder last week.'

The assistant looked up sharply. 'An SMS? Did you tap Confirmar?'

I wasn't aware it was necessary to tap Confirmar, I told her. A cita is a cita, an appointment is an appointment.

'No, you have to confirm.' She handed me back my little blue card.

'So who do we have to phone?' asked Janine after a short pause. She hates phoning almost as much as I do.

'No, we don't phone,' I reassured her, 'it's in the SMS message. You just tap – umm – a link.'

'Sí!' agreed the assistant enthusiastically. 'Un leenk!' The proper word in Spanish, which I knew perfectly well but sometimes the recall mechanism gets stuck, is un enlace, but when technology is involved English often works.

Back at home, I found the SMS message and clicked the Confirmar link but nothing happened. It must have timed out.

The following Sunday I received a phone call in the early evening – weekends don't happen in hospitals – informing me that I had an appointment with the dermatologist next week. 'Yes, I know about that,' I told the voice.

'But you didn't confirm.'

'No, I'm sorry. Un error.'

'No pasa nada,' the voice said, no problem. 'But now you confirm you'll be there?'

'I do. I'll be there.'

'Next time, you should click the Confirmar link on the SMS message.'

'I will,' I said. 'I promise.'

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I have no idea how things are in other parts of the world, such as the UK, but the Spanish health service has embraced information technology wholeheartedly and generally successfully. Everything gets easier little by little, as long as you know what to do. An appointment with our doctor or nurse at the health centre now requires no more that a few taps on the mobile phone. Higher level appointments are less accessible but still integrated into the system.

It's great, if you can keep up with it. However, there's always the information desk at the hospital or health centre, where they're well used to perplexed Gomerans and foreigners turning up to be rescued.