A Health Care Revolution?
I’ve been a mom nearly 11 years. Not forever, but certainly, I’m no newbie. And in that amount of time, I have spent hours, nay, days worth of time, sitting in doctor’s offices. Between 3 children who have always loved to slobber on each other, and share drinks, the germs have a field day around here.
And an appointment for a sick visit goes something like this. Forget well visits. I’ve stopped going.
8:30 am, I call: Um, I have a child, running a temp of 102, headache, stomach ache. Been 24 hours or more this way.
Nurse on call: Let me see. You have a child. Does he have a fever? For how long? Any other symptoms?
Me, repeating with slight annoyance, and say: we need to be seen right away. I understand you’re probably booked now, and that we’ll be a work in.
Nurse: Um, we’re booked at this late notice, for how long has your child been ill? If you come in at _____time, we’ll try to work you in.
Me: Alrighty then. Now that we’re clear, we’ll be there.
Inevitably, we arrive, with sad, feverish child, and sit. And sit. And sit some more. Read all the old Peoples. Foolishly attempt to keep other children, who are yet to be ill, from getting ill as they lick the train table and chew on germ infested books. Lay around in the floor. Play on the public toilet. After 2 or so hours, I sigh. Loudly. Maybe shift noticably. Harumph a time or two. And then we are escorted to the room, where we repeat the repeated.
Second Nurse: So, what seem to have us feeling sick today, hmmmm?
Me: Well, WE are running a fever of ____, and have a headache, and a stomachache, and _________. For 33.5 hours now. No meds. Just fluids. No vomiting.
Second Nurse: So ______ has a fever…how high? And the other symptoms? And for how long? Have you given him anything? How is he tolerating fluids? Has he vomited?
All this gets recorded, in their handy dandy file folder system, and said system is put in the little clear plastic thingy on the door, presumably for the doctor to review before entering the room.
Aaaaand, the doctor enters the room some 45 minutes later. With handy dandy file folder in hand.
Doctor Brilliant, who obviously graduated med school without being able to read: So, what seems to be making us so sick today? Mom? Tell me what’s going on? The last time this happened, I actually said that I did not quite understand the procedure, as this was the third time repeating aforementioned info. Why have the nurse even come in an record all this? He looked a bit startled, and started ahead. It was if any attempt to answer this and decode the time honored system would cause mental implosion. I had a feverish child. I let it pass.
Me: answering for the third time.
Doctor: Alrighty then. We’ll get Nurse-Make-You-Repeat in here for a blood test, she’ll bring the scripts, and call me if this doesn’t do the trick.
3 hours and some change later, and a big chunk o’ change, it’s viral, we can’t do anything but wait, and there are no scripts to help. Gee. Glad we did that.
But this past weekend, I fell in love. With a little place called the Minute Clinic. In a CVS, in Marietta, GA, 2 CNPs (certified nurse practitioners, the kind I often see at the doc’s when they are overloaded) are there, 24 hours a day. In shifts of course.
There is a marquis, no wait, that’s a royal title, a markee, outside the clinic door. Listing precisely what certain services will cost. They will file insurance, if you’re in state. Otherwise, they give you the paperwork to do so. And they promise prompt, caring service. And by damn, it was just that.
We walked right up, with our feverish child. No phone call prior. No system to wade through. We told our story one time. To one woman and her assistant. And went through the work up on the spot. In a private room about twice the size of a utility closet. It was beautiful. I almost cried.
They assessed quickly. Were gentle. Endearing to our 5 year old. Gave us a timely evaluation (virus, go home and ride it out), and took our money. Gave us follow up papers, like the hospital will give. Covering what they told us. What meds were good. Dosages. Now, we know these things, but the point was that is was nice. And thorough. We went on our way, tucked our boy into bed for the day, go on with other things.
Time spent getting to, filling out paperwork, being seen, and getting home? 65 minutes.
And today? I got a note card in the mail from those two wonderful CNPs. Get well to our boy. Hope you feel better. Can you beat that? Can you just beat it? Nope. You cannot.
We are supposed to be in Marietta before the fall is out. I may not even try to find a family practitioner. Medicine, insurance and health care have changed so much, it’s just not worth it. In most areas, the days of individual, take-your-time care just doesn’t exist anymore. I know my own doctor, from the time I was a little girl, and for my parents until just a few years ago, went ahead retired because it was so depressing for him to go into the office each day. To make a buck, he had to see 2 and 3 times the patients he had when I was young, and could call in ill, and be seen by him, personally, right away. And who would call in a script based on the description of our sinus infections, which we got annually.
That, seems to have gone the way of rocking chair front porches, and Sunday Dinners. In most places, it just doesn’t exist anymore.
For us, and our money? We’ll be at the Minute Clinic. Getting in, and getting out. And going on.
