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The system is in a nutshell
Kootenay Crust
By Ian Cobb
Just came back from the doctor’s office.
An emergency visit to the dentist a couple of months ago made me aware of a sharp rise in my blood pressure. Blood pressure is apparently something to be concerned about, especially when one surpasses the five-decade mark.
Another blood pressure test a few weeks ago via a nurse friend confirmed that it wasn’t just my general childish fear of being in a dentist’s chair preceded by two weeks of dental hell that caused my blood pressure to rise, as I had hoped would be the reason.
Normally I would have poured another coffee and got back to work and ignored the whole thing but I am married to a loving and caring soul and she made me an appointment with ‘our’ doctor.
In the time I have lived in Cranbrook (about six years) I have seen two doctors.
But first I must explain to you my general dislike for the medical profession, despite its obvious necessity.
My mother was a doctor. She was one of the first women to open a clinic in Western Canada, doing so in Winnipeg in the early 1950s.
Let that sink in. A woman doctor (from Britain) in the early 1950s, opening a clinic within whining range of a shwack of male doctors.
Suffice to say, Mom’s career wake included the bobbing and slopping of tiny wee men in white lab coats, spitting venom and hatred as she defied their arrogance and ignorance by crafting an excellent practice and reputation.
She kept her battles to herself, mostly, but I caught enough snippets to form a general disregard for doctors and men who dismiss women as inferior.
Add to that a few experiences with arrogant gits in said white lab coats offering best guesses formed from a few more years of school than the average academic, and my take on the profession diminished further.
I think of the self-impressed swine who said nothing was wrong with me after spending an entire 15 seconds gazing snidely into an ear hole. I still consider pneumonia, which is what I had, as ‘something wrong.’
Or there was my first visit to a doctor in the Key City. It was at a walk-in clinic as I had just moved to town. I believed I might have been experiencing a return of bronchial pneumonia. After consulting Doctor Google, I decided a visit to a doctor was in order. When you have to attend a walk-in clinic, if you are lucky enough to have one around to access, it is a roll of the dice in terms of the doctor who will see you.
This one afternoon I got some cantankerous old coot who was insulting in his manner. It was like he suspected me of being some sniveler who was using the system. I did something that afternoon that I rarely do; I let someone get away with being an asshole. To this day I wish I had I told that old fart he was blithering perilously close to a face full of me.
That said, my second (and last) visit to a doctor in Cranbrook was extremely positive. My wife managed to get her doctor to take me on as well. I hadn’t had a full check up in about eight years.
In total, I would say I have been to a doctor’s office, including yearly visits as a child, (and not including visits with my daughter or step-kids or other people) 25 times in more than 50 years. Stitches from fights (hockey) and chaos as a youngster; stitches from fights and chaos as an adult; a bizarre ‘maybe cancer’ scare and subsequent fatty nodule removal; and a car crash.
Those close to me would tell you that I will not go see a doctor on my own accord.
I got jumped outside of a bar in Invermere once (it can be dangerous covering court as a journalist in a small town) and had a thumb-sized flap of scalp dangling over my blood-smeared forehead when I got home. My ex-wife, with a tired sigh, lugged me to the hospital for stitches.
Since I’ve been an adult, I have had three annual checkups. One when I was about 25; one when I was turning 40 and one when I was about 49.
When I was turning 40 I thought I was having mini heart attacks. A desk-riding newspaper editor, with all the clichéd character traits (flaws?), I believed I “may have done it this time.”
Turns out I was having anxiety attacks; a mid-life crisis, if you will.
My last check-up about three years ago was a good experience. ‘Our’ doctor was an awesome guy; no arrogance, no snide superiority complex; just a personable, capable professional.
I have had other great doctors, too. My family doctor back in Winnipeg was an awesome ole cat. My Mom wouldn’t have allowed us to be exposed to anyone but an awesome cat.
My doctor in Invermere was a great lady, too (she took me on when she didn’t have to). And the Victoria General Hospital (Winnipeg) ER doctor who spent about four hours methodically picking windshield glass from my skull and face after a nasty accident is appreciated today, 25 years after the fact.
Over the years my dislike for doctors waned as I matured and realized that sweeping generalizations are ridiculous and had enough experiences with good ones, including watching my daughter being born. Things like that make you appreciate the professionals in place, available to help bolster our ways of life.
Until this morning.
As someone who has worked as a journalist in the East Kootenay for almost a quarter of a century, I am well aware of the medical profession availability crisis.
That awareness kept me calm as I learned this morning, 10 minutes before my check-up, that ‘my doctor’ is no longer my doctor. Seems that when our previous doctor moved on, my wife was carried over as a patient to this doctor but not me.
This doctor’s reception called me the day before my appointment to tell me the news. I hate cell phones more than doctors and have a bad habit of leaving the ringer turned off. Didn’t get that message. Still, it came a day before the appointment that was made two or three weeks earlier.
It would have been nice to get the brush off news a couple of weeks ago, giving me time to make alternative plans, if possible. Considering the high blood pressure thing, I think it should be dealt with sooner than later.
I left the doctors’ office without kicking up a fuss. ‘It is the will of the universe,’ I thought, skipping happily back to my car. ‘No poking and prodding for me!’
Then I got home. The wife was not amused. “Stop skipping and leaping with glee” she demanded, calling the doctor’s office.
“Now you’ve done it,” I chuckled as she sought answers.
One of the answers she received is that, and it is why I am writing this column, I don’t use the services of the doctor ENOUGH so I was dropped as a patient (one said doctor has never seen).
As I noted above, I do everything in my power not to see a doctor or waste a doctor’s time. I’ve watched howling hypochondriacs in action and I can just imagine the aggravation some doctors must experience, never mind the huge financial drain on our health care system.
So where is the frigging reward for NOT being a drain on the system?
Where is the reward in paying God knows how much into a medical system the past 33 years of my working life when I find myself medically orphaned because I do everything I can to stay away from said system?
I know that I am now a member of a legion of souls who are basically crap out of luck for a seemingly ever-larger number of reasons and excuses. Inept management from the top down; abuse of our tax dollars and all the other failings of senior levels of governments and medical systems balanced on two bars running through an S, or the lack thereof.
I know that I have been lucky not having to be exposed to medical care because (knock on wood) I have had good health. And I know that if and when I need emergency medical attention that there are capable people in Cranbrook who will tend to me. It’s a first world problem, for certain.
This incident is merely a sign of our times. It gives one understanding why there are dedicated volunteers and professionals working to find a way to bring more doctors to our community.
In closing, I understand why my wife’s doctor won’t see me but I also don’t appreciate the lack of warning – the lack of courtesy.
So this column is a self-medicating attempt to temper my blood pressure. The medical health system cannot help me deal with it, so I will use my profession to create a vent and unload some pressure, if you don’t mind.
I intend to continue to stay away from doctors and health care centres with all my might.
And based on how the system is currently working, that should be fairly easy to achieve.
