I had a great medical center experience on NCL Pearl, that I previously wrote up on cruise critic.  Excerpted here:

The scene: NCL Pearl, a blustery June Saturday morning on the Pacific Coast of Canada, en route from Ketchikan to Victoria. Our author, well fed and rested after the first six days of his seven day Alaskan voyage, woke much earlier than planned in his mini-suite. He awoke not due to the dulcet tones of his children snoring, or due to the light Pacific swell rocking Pearl's 93,530 Gross Tons too and fro, but due to the throbbing pain in his big toe. The pain, which had first appeared with an inflamed ingrown toenail following Monday's shore excursion in Juneau, had grown familiar over the course of the week. But each day it grew a little worse than the day before. And each day the inflammation spread. Our author walked with annoyance through Skagway. Limped his way around the deck while taking in the sights of Glacier Bay. Then hobbled his way along the incredible shore of Nooya Lake in the Misty Fjords after the float plane ride of a lifetime (thanks Island Wings!). But it was still cruising as normal. 

Then came Saturday morning. Let's just say that healthy toes aren't supposed to seep anything. And they're supposed to bend at the major joints. And not be bigger on one foot than the other. Over night, however, this one had turned the color of red wine, become unbendable, and had gone all...icky -- in ways best not posted on a genteel forum such as Cruise Critic. So, at 8:30 AM, our author left a note for his sleeping family, hopped down the hall to the elevator, and headed down to the uncharted reaches of the medical center on Deck 4 in search of antibiotics and perhaps a bottle of whiskey and a bone saw to cut the darned thing off, Battle of Trafalgar style (non-English naval history types, go look it up). 

Pearl's medical center had all the charm of your typical suburban doctor's office. Without the fish tank or old magazines. But with watertight doors. It was small, impeccably clean, and smelled like...comforting antiseptic things that you use to kill things that make you sick. It was staffed by an incredibly friendly nurse / receptionist, who seemed to understand that most of her clientele tends to freak the heck out when they see the bill at the end of their visit. So she made clear that the visit itself would be $149, in addition to any procedures performed and supplies used, and provided an itemized sheet of all the potential charges. The same sheet is posted on their door. While a person might not be in the best position to do the math at the time they come in, or realize just how many of those boxes might get checked for a single procedure, the pricing was basically transparent [except for the medicine; more on that in a bit].

Enter Dr. A [name protected for privacy, although the dude is a hard core practical skills physician to whom your author owe great thanks and appreciation]. Dr. A took one look at the offending toe -- and yes, it was offending in every sense of the word -- and asked in a Spanish accent that was somehow fitting to the whole triage medicine-on-the-high-seas situation, "So, are you ready for some pain?" Now, those words can be asked in a couple different ways. And not all of those ways come through in print. The way he said it? It was conveyed with warmth and sincerity, and with honesty. It was a subtle message of "I know my business. I know I will fix you. But to fix you, first I must seek out and destroy that which offends you. With cold sharp things. And some pinchy / proddy / yank-y things too."

We went back into the examination room / operating theater / medical storage space. Again clean, well organized, and more like small hospital ER than anything else. A portable X-ray machine stood in one corner. A reclining table stood to the side. Shelves and drawers contained most all of the implements of basic emergency medicine. There was even a drawer labeled with what seemed to be intubation supplies. Not that anyone wants to be intubated at sea, but hey sometimes there's no choosing these things. 

Dr. A went to work. Bigly. He communicated well about what was to occur next. He tried less invasive things, before going to more invasive. He tried without having to numb the toe first, because that was a separate line item on the bill [more on that later too]. He delivered on the pain. And he dug out the infection. Your author was not, in any respect, ready. As the people on Deck 7 likely heard. Anyone on the June 25 sailing of Pearl who heard shrieks on the last day at sea? Yeah, my bad. 

Within 24 hours, though, and after some hard core oral antibiotics and an antibiotic topical creme, the offending toe, partially nail-less, no longer offended. It only whimpered softly under its band-aid. Its removal was no longer contemplated. Nor was death at sea from sepsis. Thanks again, Dr. A!

[Final cost was $979, all covered by my AIG trip insurance.   The toe healed really well.]