This past week, for the first time since
I’d arrived
in America some ten months ago I was compelled to go and
see a doctor. It wasn’t for anything particularly
serious, and certainly not an ‘emergency’ situation,
but I figured it best that I go and at least get things
checked for my own peace of mind. By the end of it all
it had become a most illuminating insight into the miserable
state of this nation’s health care system.
Granted, over the past twenty-five odd years I’d
been spoilt by the extensive benefits of the Australian
Government’s Medicare health scheme. Not every aspect
of health care is covered in Australia, but at the end
of the day if you need to see a doctor, you’ll get
to see a doctor, as is the case in most of the other developed
Western countries that commonly have public health care
-well, notably, that is with exception of America. The
complexities and flaws of the American Medicare and Medicaid
systems, especially with regard to issues of eligibility
for health benefits that can vary dramatically from state
to state are well documented, but I still didn’t
expect the kind of limited access to care as was the case.
In the first instance, I contacted the local hospital
for their recommended list of medical practitioners in
the area. Simple enough, right? All I’d have to do
was call up a practice, make an appointment and soon I
could see a doctor, no? Unfortunately, over the next hour
and a half I must have called perhaps fifteen to twenty
different physicians’ offices only to be most often
met with the firm reply that “I’m sorry, but
we’re not taking on any new patients at the moment.” Even
more indicative of the health care and social problems
currently gripping America were the number of direct challenges
I received about how exactly I planned to pay for my medical
care, who I was insured with, and whether or not I was
currently addicted to any pain medication like Oxycontin.
Heaven forbid that the first question they might ask could
be “How are you feeling?” or “Are you
okay?” I clearly wasn’t in Sydney any more.
When, exasperated, I finally pressed a receptionist with
the question of what the hell one was meant to do in this
country if they needed to see a doctor, she relented and
agreed to make an appointment for me so that I could, in
her words, at last get ‘established’ on a local
physician’s books. My appointment, however, would
not be available until June, some three months
later. I muttered something about how many poor individuals
with undiagnosed diabetes and heart disease in America
living on minimum wage must likely be dying in the gutter
as they waited for such appointments that they could never
afford to pay for anyway and hung up.
Next stop was the community ‘walk-in’ clinic
which one doctor’s office had tipped me off about.
As a university student I’d happily visited a medical
centre in Newtown for affordable but still excellent treatment
on many occasions over the years and so, relieved, jumped
at this news. Three hours of waiting among the poor and
huddled masses later, however, I came upon yet another
quirk in the local health care system: I didn’t
even get to see an actual doctor. No offence to lady
who did attend to me in the end, but when I’m paying
full doctor fees I expect to see a doctor, not as, was
the case in this walk-in clinic, a nurse or something called
a ‘physician’s assistant’. She left the
room three times during the course of my consultation to
ask for other people’s opinion on my diagnosis, and
even then only offered I contact a specialist whose number
she gave me (that specialist couldn’t book me in
for an appointment until July).
 Now $70 poorer I took the only option left to me if I
was to get to see a real, living doctor, and that was to
head for the emergency room of the local hospital, though
this was a somewhat guilty proposition for me because at
least in my own mind this option was better left to crash
and burn victims. Still, another three hours later and
I had finally found the kind, attentive and knowledgeable
physician I’d been looking for. He sympathised with
my tales of incredulity and exhaustion on the road to trying
to seek medical attention in America and, though it was
well ‘off-policy’ generously made a private
call for me to a doctor he knew in a local practice that
was indeed ‘taking on patients’ and booked
me in there for a follow-up consultation within the next
three days. Emergency rooms being what they are, however,
I also had to now foot an additional bill for $320 for
what effectively amounted to a very expensive day in which
over U.S$400 pretty much only got me a golden access ticket through
the door to be able to see a doctor in the future.
The visit –and, of course, the bill- to my new, primary
care health practitioner here in Bangor is yet to come.
I’ll have likely forked over near $500 for this little ‘peace
of mind medical check-up’ when all is said and done.
If it wasn’t for my travel insurance which will
hopefully be able to recoup me most of the money within
a few month’s time, this entire experience would
have been a total disaster, but it truly brought to bear
for me how miserable the situation must be for the millions
of Americans who lack the money and insurance to seek out
medical treatment as needed. I’d hazard a guess that
the costs for the American Government for eventual ‘must-have’ and
emergency treatments borne from illnesses and ails left
unchecked over time could perhaps come close to what it
would cost the United States to establish adequate public
health care right now. Forget the fact that we can make
all sorts of assertions about how ludicrous it seems to
be that the arguably ‘most powerful’ nation
in the world can’t even provide basic health care
for its citizens. Public health care should be considered
a core human right, and for it to be absent in any developed
nation today is beyond ludicrous.
Ezy Reading is out every Monday. |
