It's Flu Season!
And I definitely have gotten the flu. Blech. I'm currently in my office, trying to stay coherent for another 2 hrs. Then I'm going home, and my evening students will just have to fend for themselves tonight!
Being sick reminds me of how much I hate the health system here. So allow me a moment to bring you up-to-date on how "health care" works for us. First, Toby and I are both covered under his work's health plan. Which means we pay about $250 each month for health insurance. In return, we "only" have to pay $15 per visit to the GP or a specialist, and only $50 if we need to go to the hospital.
One good thing about the system here is that I can make an appointment for the following day. Or at least, usually this is the case. It wasn't for Toby when he first tried to go and see a doctor; 4 months of no-answer at the doctor's office. Twice, he managed to get the office and make appointments. The first time, the office called to cancel. The second time, Toby showed up only find the office closed; there was no follow-up call to say, "Sorry we missed your appointment" or anything like that! Now, he sees a different doctor, one who got her MD back in the 1940s!
Anyway, so I can get an appointment usually fairly quickly. But I still have to wait in a waiting room for at least a half hour. There's glass separating the waiting area from the office. Actually, it looks like a converted apartment, where the waiting area is what used to the be the living room, and the office was the closet-sized kitchen. The waiting area has some plywood-constructed benches around the walls and lots of pharmaceutical ads everywhere. When you arrive, you have to sign in on a small clipboard at the office window. Then wait for a while until you're called up to pay. Then you get to see the doctor.
While my doctor (the one who disappeared when Toby tried to see her) is a pleasant enough person, I don't have a whole lot of confidence in her medical ability. The first time I saw her, I needed to have a prescription refilled. She didn't take a medical history, didn't ask what other drugs I might be taking, or ask about anything else; she just wrote out the prescription and handed it to me. Yikes!
So about a year ago, I noticed that a mole on my lower left leg, near the ankle, was getting a big bumpy. It also can get itchy occassionally. So I got it looked at by my doctor back in December. She thought it was a cyst, and since it was getting more raised and was itchy, suggested I go and see a dermatologist about it. She passed along a business card of a nearby dermatologist, and said I should call to make an appointment.
I called and got an appointment about 3 weeks later. I walked in, and it was a confusing hallway/waiting room full of people and no clear idea as to which of the windows I was to go to. I chose the one with a person at it. She just had me sign in (on a little clipboard thingy in the window area). When I asked if there was anything else she needed, she snapped, "Just give me a minute. Take a seat!" Finally she calls me up (using only first names to call people, making things confusing!) and says that I need a "script". I ask, "a what?" "A script." "What's that?" She replies, "have you never had a prescription before?" So I explain that my doctor only gave me their business card. She says that I can't see the dermatologist unless I get a "script" because insurance won't cover the appointment.
Now, some months ago, Toby had to see a dermatologist, and he didn't need a script! So I think my office was just confused, but whatever.
Anyways, I manage to call my doctor and ask her to fax over a script so I can see the specialist. Window-woman gives me a stack of forms to fill out (medical history, name, address, usual stuff). I pay the window-woman, and eventually (an hour after my supposed appointment) get into an examination room. After a few minutes, a nurse comes in, asks what I'm there for (but doesn't look at my mole-cyst-thing), and asks me exactly the same questions as the ones on the forms I had just filled out and she had in her hand! Yes, redundancy here! She leaves, and a few more minutes pass before the dermatologist breezes in. She babbles on in that "in-your-face-I'm-so-smart-and-bubbly" way that I can't stand. She asks to look at my mole-cyst-thing. I take off my shoe and sock to show her, and she points to a red spot where my shoe had just pushed into my ankle, and says, "I see it!"
"Uh, that isn't it," I say, and point to the actual mole-cyst-thing. She pokes at it a few times and tells me its a fibroid thing, not a cyst at all. And unless it does grow ("a one in a billion chance" Dr. Breezy-the-dermatology-specialist tells me) there's no need to take it out... unless I don't like the look of it, of course. She tries to sell me some other treatments, then breezes out. The whole visit lasts 5 minutes, and I'm back on the street again.
Recently, I got some bloodwork done too. (Well, we figured we're already paying so much to the medical system, we ought to use it as much as we can!) I had to go to a clinic for this. I gave them the form that my GP had filled out and given to me. They give me a yellow sticky and I go into the smaller of the two blood-extraction rooms. This tiny room is a closet with a chair and a flickering fluorescent light. I tell the guy that I don't deal well with needles; I'll likely feel very naseaus, and that he should use a baby needle. (From past experiences, the tiny needle for babies is the only type that finds a vein in my arm. The normal ones just cause the veins to jump out of the way.) I explain all this to the guy, but he ignores me, goes for my right arm (although I had already said that my left one has better success), and plunges the needle in. And again. And again. Gee, the giant needle caused my vein to jump out of the way! What a surprise! Too bad I've NEVER HAD THIS HAPPEN so I couldn't warn him about it before hand! Grrr!
Anyway, he tries a vein on the back of my left hand, which also doesn't work. And hurts like hell, since he's moving the needle around under my skin to try and get the vein. YUCK! He wants to try again, but I am firm and say that I'm feeling very faint and need to sit in the waiting area for a while. The waiting area is literally the entrance hallway to the clinic, with chairs propped up against the wall. Not exactly a comfortable place, but hey, at least I'm not getting needles stuck into me!
I wait for nearly half an hour before I stop sweating and geting chills, and feel up to getting a needle stuck into me again. All the workers at the clinic deride me for this! "You waiting just cuz youz gettin' a needle stuck in ya?" Yes, ma'am. You do this every day. In fact, that's all your clinic does. Surelly I'm not the only one you've ever encountered to have a fear of needles!
Lest you think "But we pay more taxes in Canada for our competent and nearly-free health care system", let me tell you that we paid more American taxes last year than Canadian. That's right, we're in the wrong tax bracket to take advantage of the 'lower American tax' benefit that's supposed to come with living here and having to pay for health insurance!
Being sick reminds me of how much I hate the health system here. So allow me a moment to bring you up-to-date on how "health care" works for us. First, Toby and I are both covered under his work's health plan. Which means we pay about $250 each month for health insurance. In return, we "only" have to pay $15 per visit to the GP or a specialist, and only $50 if we need to go to the hospital.
One good thing about the system here is that I can make an appointment for the following day. Or at least, usually this is the case. It wasn't for Toby when he first tried to go and see a doctor; 4 months of no-answer at the doctor's office. Twice, he managed to get the office and make appointments. The first time, the office called to cancel. The second time, Toby showed up only find the office closed; there was no follow-up call to say, "Sorry we missed your appointment" or anything like that! Now, he sees a different doctor, one who got her MD back in the 1940s!
Anyway, so I can get an appointment usually fairly quickly. But I still have to wait in a waiting room for at least a half hour. There's glass separating the waiting area from the office. Actually, it looks like a converted apartment, where the waiting area is what used to the be the living room, and the office was the closet-sized kitchen. The waiting area has some plywood-constructed benches around the walls and lots of pharmaceutical ads everywhere. When you arrive, you have to sign in on a small clipboard at the office window. Then wait for a while until you're called up to pay. Then you get to see the doctor.
While my doctor (the one who disappeared when Toby tried to see her) is a pleasant enough person, I don't have a whole lot of confidence in her medical ability. The first time I saw her, I needed to have a prescription refilled. She didn't take a medical history, didn't ask what other drugs I might be taking, or ask about anything else; she just wrote out the prescription and handed it to me. Yikes!
So about a year ago, I noticed that a mole on my lower left leg, near the ankle, was getting a big bumpy. It also can get itchy occassionally. So I got it looked at by my doctor back in December. She thought it was a cyst, and since it was getting more raised and was itchy, suggested I go and see a dermatologist about it. She passed along a business card of a nearby dermatologist, and said I should call to make an appointment.
I called and got an appointment about 3 weeks later. I walked in, and it was a confusing hallway/waiting room full of people and no clear idea as to which of the windows I was to go to. I chose the one with a person at it. She just had me sign in (on a little clipboard thingy in the window area). When I asked if there was anything else she needed, she snapped, "Just give me a minute. Take a seat!" Finally she calls me up (using only first names to call people, making things confusing!) and says that I need a "script". I ask, "a what?" "A script." "What's that?" She replies, "have you never had a prescription before?" So I explain that my doctor only gave me their business card. She says that I can't see the dermatologist unless I get a "script" because insurance won't cover the appointment.
Now, some months ago, Toby had to see a dermatologist, and he didn't need a script! So I think my office was just confused, but whatever.
Anyways, I manage to call my doctor and ask her to fax over a script so I can see the specialist. Window-woman gives me a stack of forms to fill out (medical history, name, address, usual stuff). I pay the window-woman, and eventually (an hour after my supposed appointment) get into an examination room. After a few minutes, a nurse comes in, asks what I'm there for (but doesn't look at my mole-cyst-thing), and asks me exactly the same questions as the ones on the forms I had just filled out and she had in her hand! Yes, redundancy here! She leaves, and a few more minutes pass before the dermatologist breezes in. She babbles on in that "in-your-face-I'm-so-smart-and-bubbly" way that I can't stand. She asks to look at my mole-cyst-thing. I take off my shoe and sock to show her, and she points to a red spot where my shoe had just pushed into my ankle, and says, "I see it!"
"Uh, that isn't it," I say, and point to the actual mole-cyst-thing. She pokes at it a few times and tells me its a fibroid thing, not a cyst at all. And unless it does grow ("a one in a billion chance" Dr. Breezy-the-dermatology-specialist tells me) there's no need to take it out... unless I don't like the look of it, of course. She tries to sell me some other treatments, then breezes out. The whole visit lasts 5 minutes, and I'm back on the street again.
Recently, I got some bloodwork done too. (Well, we figured we're already paying so much to the medical system, we ought to use it as much as we can!) I had to go to a clinic for this. I gave them the form that my GP had filled out and given to me. They give me a yellow sticky and I go into the smaller of the two blood-extraction rooms. This tiny room is a closet with a chair and a flickering fluorescent light. I tell the guy that I don't deal well with needles; I'll likely feel very naseaus, and that he should use a baby needle. (From past experiences, the tiny needle for babies is the only type that finds a vein in my arm. The normal ones just cause the veins to jump out of the way.) I explain all this to the guy, but he ignores me, goes for my right arm (although I had already said that my left one has better success), and plunges the needle in. And again. And again. Gee, the giant needle caused my vein to jump out of the way! What a surprise! Too bad I've NEVER HAD THIS HAPPEN so I couldn't warn him about it before hand! Grrr!
Anyway, he tries a vein on the back of my left hand, which also doesn't work. And hurts like hell, since he's moving the needle around under my skin to try and get the vein. YUCK! He wants to try again, but I am firm and say that I'm feeling very faint and need to sit in the waiting area for a while. The waiting area is literally the entrance hallway to the clinic, with chairs propped up against the wall. Not exactly a comfortable place, but hey, at least I'm not getting needles stuck into me!
I wait for nearly half an hour before I stop sweating and geting chills, and feel up to getting a needle stuck into me again. All the workers at the clinic deride me for this! "You waiting just cuz youz gettin' a needle stuck in ya?" Yes, ma'am. You do this every day. In fact, that's all your clinic does. Surelly I'm not the only one you've ever encountered to have a fear of needles!
Lest you think "But we pay more taxes in Canada for our competent and nearly-free health care system", let me tell you that we paid more American taxes last year than Canadian. That's right, we're in the wrong tax bracket to take advantage of the 'lower American tax' benefit that's supposed to come with living here and having to pay for health insurance!
posted by blumaroo at
1:52 PM
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