Health care available to elders who live alone proves a bitter pill to swallow

Bob Morrissey

Lately, I’ve been feeling like a non-swimmer who finds himself in the deep end of the pool and is struggling to stay afloat.

At 83, you expect health issues and adjust accordingly. If walking becomes a problem, you might start using a cane. You might need hearing aids; a toilet-seat riser; slip-ons if tying laces is a problem; the occasional sleeping pill, shirts with fewer buttons and frozen dinners for those times when you just feel blah. Oh, and no liquids after 8 p.m. or you risk interrupted sleep with trips to the bathroom.

But what happens if you’re 83, you live alone, and one morning you wake up with so much pain in your arthritic knee that walking is almost unbearable — and dangerous because of potential falls.

You’re used to leg pain and you think, no problem: a little rest and daily application of ice packs on the sore knee and we’re off and limping again. But none of that works; if anything, it makes matters worse.

After five days, you’ve had enough. Not only are you still in pain, now you’re exhausted because of all the extra effort required to do simple daily chores. What’s  more, you’re frustrated because when you sit or lie down, you feel like you’re 60 because you’re not putting weight on the affected foot. Then when you stand up you feel like 90.

Now you’re in the deep end.

You’d consider going to a hospital emergency room but, because of your legs, you wonder if there’s parking nearby. You’re leery about spending 12 hours in an ER and catching something from one of the 20 or 30 people sharing your space. You’re also fearful because your eyes aren’t what they once were, and you’ve waited so long to be seen that it’s dark when you head home.

So you look into private health care. No problem, you think. You make an appointment at a clinic and imagine there will be MRI and X-ray ray equipment in an adjoining room, that the doctor will make a diagnosis and then set a date for your operation. All nice and quick; money well spent.  

Everything’s under one roof; parking nearby, no waiting sometimes over a year for X-ray and test results. Soon I can get on with my life. No more depressing thoughts about assisted living, paying someone to help with day-to-day chores, selling my condo and cabin in the Laurentians.

So I Google several nearby clinics, go to their websites and leave a little note explaining my situation. The clinics get back to me before 9 a.m. the next day.

The first responder tells me the initial consultation will cost $500, but she can’t give me an appointment until I arrange for an MRI and X-rays; I have to walk in with the results from all tests. In other words, it’s up to me to make the arrangements — often a frustrating task that should take a minute but can take an hour or more. The other clinic wasn’t much better, although the initial consultation was only $250.

I had an exasperating experience last year when I went to a local hospital for a urine analysis. Up until then, you didn’t require an appointment — you walked in, were given a number and waited to be summoned. This usually took a reasonable two hours or less.

This time, I arrived and was pleasantly surprised to see only two or three people in the waiting area. Turns out, you now needed an appointment.

The hospital volunteer gave me a number to call to make that appointment, which I did the second I arrived home. The person who answered said she wasn’t told that you now needed an appointment. She referred me to someone else, who said, “Something must be wrong. You don’t need an appointment for a urine analysis, but you do for some of the other tests.”

I said, “That’s not what the volunteer at the hospital told me.” She said, “Hold on for a second, I’ll give you another number to call.”

I called that number, but the person who answered said she couldn’t help me, and referred me to someone else.

I called and a nurse answered. After I explained my situation, she said, “Bring your urine sample up to the fifth floor and we’ll do it.” I said, “You’re sure?” I asked for her name, but she wouldn’t say: “Don’t worry, if I’m not here there’s always someone around to help.”

Does any of this sound familiar?

So now I’m back reconsidering a trip to the ER. I’ll call a taxi that’ll take me right to the hospital’s main entrance so walking won’t be a problem. I’ll take a good book and pass the hours reading. Hopefully, it’ll be one-stop shopping — everything under one roof, everything done in timely fashion.

And hopefully, less pain in my knee.

Next up? Getting my sore wrist fixed. And the beat goes on. We hope.