Health Care Deferred

My sister called me today in a blue mood. She went to the doctor to have an irregularly shaped mole looked at. As she feared the doctor took one look at her pale but oddly moley skin and, circling five culprits said, “These need to come off, now.” I cringed somewhat selfishly as we're identical twins and have the same dalmatian skin type.

My sister, who recently moved, is on an HMO plan, thinking she has no preferences for doctors so she’ll just see whoever is convenient. As is required with an HMO, her doctor referred her to a dermatologist who could surgically remove the moles. She called to schedule an appointment and was told she’d need to schedule another check-up with the dermatologist before the moles could be removed.

“When’s the soonest I can come in?” my sister said. My sister was given a date two months away.

“I wonder when I’d get to see the doctor if there wasn’t any hurry,” she said.

She sounded resigned, not in control of her most important asset—her health. I know the feeling. On days that I wake up with a sniffle, or when I can’t shake a cough I cringe, not at the thought of being sick, but at the notion of having to call my doctor and play the Patient’s Lottery.

Ever since I was off my parents’ health insurance policy, a VERY long time ago, I’ve been subject to HMOs, PPOs, COBRA, whatever low-to-no-frills plan a single, childless woman under 35 could get without having to sell ovaries. As a result I’ve become accustomed to low-to-no-frills service: unanswered voicemail messages requesting an immediate return call; hair-graying waits for the doctor once I managed to schedule an appointment, after being told that the doctor would be right with me; billing statements that would rack the brains of anyone at Deloitte & Touche; “Formulary” prescriptions that are supposedly identical in chemical make-up to the name brand (Let’s hope the uncontrollable facial hair and mood swings have nothing to do with the generic birth control pills my prescription service suddenly swapped in one day.)

I’ve used my not-so-ample free time at work to forge a plan of attack, determining the precise moment when my doctor's receptionist arrives at the office in the morning, settles in with her coffee and shuts off the answering service. But I only do this in case of true emergencies, like when I have an acute UTI and have just spent the night on the toilet promising the urinary god to pee the next time after sex and drink gallons of cranberry juice every day. Otherwise I self-diagnose, take a few Advil, and hope for the best.

I grew up in a household where a tummy ache merited a trip to the doctor. We’d walk right in and right out with a prescription, a piece of advice, a lollipop. Now I feel I need to grill my doctor for potential causes of illnesses I don’t even have, just to use him while I’ve got him on the phone. My fantasy is to have the man to myself for five minutes, tie him up leaving his writing hand free, and force him sign prescriptions, “One more, doctor! One more!”

My mother still sees her doctor religiously, as her feeling "kinda not right" has become rather common (she calls it the Over 50 Syndrome). I asked her how she does it, get same-day service. She looked at me like I was confused.

“Hun,” she said. “I don’t need to see the man every time I’ve got a headache! I just send him an email when I’ve got something to ask and he gets right back to me.”

No feigning strokes, no paperwork-per-query. He just RESPONDS. Imagine that.

Stay tuned for the next installment: Health Care on Credit.

Comments

[Jeremy]

Oh gross. It's posts like this that make me thank the gods I was born in Canada. Not that health care is perfect up here either, but I can't really relate to what you've articulated so well here.

[Jen]

Hilarious Jor. How is your facial hair and mood swings doing? Which is better however, the HMO, or the doctors in college who automatically assumed that since you were female, you were probably pregnant? I never knew that a sore throat was a sign for pregnancy until college. I understand the frustration, but I have, myself been quite lucky with my doctors. I did have the one doctor that wanted to cheerlead me on through my pain, and the one who told me that taking a certain type of pain killer was okay for me, when in reality it was not. I also have the few horror stories from my friends, so I do understand the situation.