Health system drives us crazy

Bob Morrissey

If you’re without a family doctor in Quebec — and want one — my question to you is this: Why?

Instead of getting tangled up in our health-care system, you might want to see a doctor at a clinic or hospital emergency room. The waiting period might be five or six hours, but maybe it’s worth it.

Here’s why: if you’re diagnosed with anything serious, help is often literally next door. If you’re diagnosed in your GP’s office you might get a referral, which probably means a long wait. You make an appointment and, if you’re lucky, you’ll be seen within three months.

After that, you might have an even longer wait — up to a year or more — for any scheduled tests. And then there’s the delay for the results. That’s a lot of worrying time if you’ve had an MRI to determine whether a suspicious growth is, say, cancer. But in all fairness, acute cases are handled as promptly as possible, which is why I’m still awaiting my tummy tuck.

Long waits for test results are especially stressful. Last time I was in my doctor’s waiting room, I overheard two calls from possible family members, each asking for test results. Each time the receptionist said, “I’m sorry, I can’t give you those results. I can’t read blood tests, I’m not qualified. You have to make an appointment to see the doctor.”

I’m old enough to remember when the receptionist said, “If you don’t hear from us in two weeks, everything’s fine.”

The way the situation is today, one can’t help but be suspicious, yet grateful, when suddenly assigned a doctor. You might wonder if that doctor is available because he or she’s unpopular? The medical profession is like all other professions — there are good people and bad.

One glaring difference is that doctors get away with more. Incompetent doctors have to do serious patient damage before losing their licences and, God forbid, they sexually abuse someone. They might get fined and suspended for several months; even ordered to have a receptionist or assistant with them when examining a woman’s genitalia.

To be clear, I’m not against doctors: I’ve had several excellent ones — ones who return your calls, who don’t keep you waiting over two hours in their waiting rooms, who actually listen — and believe you — when you’re explaining a health issue. Trouble is, all these wonderful doctors appear to be taken, and their patients would rather die than give them up.

I say more power to them. It must be frustrating working in a profession where the Quebec government dictates where you work, how you work, how many patients you see and how you’re paid. Given such conditions, it’s a wonder there aren’t more disgruntled MDs. And it must affect their work? Maybe it’s more a question of morale than incompetence. How would any of us feel … and before you even think it, money isn’t always everything.

Unfortunately, the public is partly to blame for the situation where emergency waiting-room times are concerned.

My former doctor would often work early mornings in emergency before taking on his regular practice, starting at 9 a.m. Often he’d wander in two hours late, leaving his regular patients fuming in their uncomfortable chairs. He knew it, too, because he’d come into his office via the back door, instead of passing through the waiting room, so he wouldn’t have to face all those angry stares.

I was his patient after one such delay, and he could see I was irritated. Before I had a chance to sit down in his surgery, he asked, appearing annoyed, “I saw 15 patients in emergency this morning. Guess how many needed to be there?”

“Humour me,” I said.

“TWO!”

I say ‘“former” doctor because we’ve now parted ways after 32 years. And all over money.

When you’re past 80, every two years the government requires your doctor to fill out a form, vouching that you’re fit to drive before it renews your license. The doctor can charge up to $150, depending on how much effort goes into filling out the form. All my doctor did was check off a few boxes; no actual writing. I watched him do it.

A month after that appointment, I received a call from my doctor’s receptionist. She said, “The doctor says you never paid him for filling out the form.”

I said, “I did; he’s just forgotten.” The doctor is probably in his late 70s. He’s fairly spry, loves talking politics and anything Irish,  but might be overwhelmed with his caseload because, God bless him, he can’t say no to future patients. But, yes, he has his senior moments.

Then I added, “Maybe this’ll jog his memory. When I handed him the envelope with the money in it, he started opening it while he walked to his desk. Then as he sat down, he turned to toss the envelope in his waste-paper basket and then caught himself just in time: there was still money in it. We both laughed. Tell him that and phone me back with his response.”

That was four months ago. No call.

Anyhow, I mentioned all this my sister, Linda, and what surprised her most was the doctor’s fee. Her doctor only charged her $60, up $30 from two years ago. “A hundred and fifty seems pretty steep,” she said.

A few weeks later I ran into a family doctor up in the country and mentioned the fee to him.

“That’s a lot,” he said. “The government leaves it up to the doctor to set the price, but that seems a bit much. They (the government) suggest $60 … but it depends.”

So here I am, an old man with a dry mouth, being shunned by a doctor, waiting for an appointment that’ll never come. Maybe I’ll take my own advice and go to emergency when I need help. I’ll bring along a good book for the wait. Like Mummyjihad.