On the approach to
Newcastle, there was standing water in the low parts of fields and between the
rows of sprouting grains. Looks like we may have a muddy trek. And then, when we arrived at the hotel, Pop
discovered that he had packed all his medications EXCEPT his Synthroid. We agreed that
it didn’t seem prudent to attempt an 80 mile walk low on thyroid hormone and
discussed various schemes for getting someone at home to
overnight mail the pills to the travel agent or to one of the Bed and Breakfasts along the way. But we are coming up on a Bank Holiday, and predicting when we might cross paths with a package, even one sent overnight mail, seemed
daunting. So I pushed for asking the concierge about the possibility of finding
replacement medications locally. With a little dithering, he found us a National Health Service Walk-in Centre that was open
late on a Friday afternoon (actually 7A-10P, including weekends and holidays!) and hailed us a taxi. Two and a half hours later, we
had had brief chats with two taxi drivers, one loquacious and one taciturn, the
charmingly helpful clinic receptionist, the triage nurse, the physician, and a chemist (pharmacist), plus longer but not onerous stretches in the clinic waiting room listening to British game shows, kiddie TV
shows, and exasperated young mothers with injured but still energetic young
sons—AND, we
had a 28 day supply of levothyroxine and were out no more than the cost of the
two taxi rides! (Since Pop is over 60 and levothyroxine is considered an
essential medication, neither the clinic nor the pharmacy charged for their
services, despite the fact that we have never paid into the system and never
will). The clinic wasn't luxuriously appointed, but it seemed quite adequate, and the staff was cheerful and efficient
and gave no indication that dealing with the random medication-deficient
American was any sort of extra burden, even though they were clearly quite
busy.
I hadn’t taken my camera along to the clinic, as I expected
it to be an interesting but not particularly photogenic adventure, but it was late enough by the time the physician saw
us that she sent us into central Newcastle to a chemist open past 6PM to get the prescription filled. We took
a taxi there and walked back to the hotel, past a monument to Charles, Earl
Grey (yes, of tea fame, but also, somewhat more importantly, Prime Minister in the 1830's when slavery was abolished throughout the British Empire and the Great Reform Act expanded the franchise and reformed the composition of the House of Commons). Then down Grey street, two blocks of massive,
stately, yellow-brown sandstone Georgian buildings, and across the River Tyne on a
lovely Victorian iron work double decker arched bridge with one tier for
pedestrians and cars and another for the Metro. (It is the bridge on the
left in the pictures below; the bridge in the middle swivels out of the way for larger vessels passing through).

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