October 22nd, 2009 by Happy Hospitalist in Better Health Network, True Stories
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I was at the pharmacy today picking up some goods. We indicated to the pharmacy tech our cash paying status. The nice lady behind the counter explained that the drug company had a discount plan for cash paying customers that do not submit a claim to their insurance company. We had to promise not to submit the claim and not to sell the medication on the internet for which we obliged. Then we had a seat and waited.
In the next 30 minutes I had the opportunity to listen to several customers blow up in a fit of rage about why their insurance company wasn’t covering this or that. Read more »
*This blog post was originally published at A Happy Hospitalist*
August 11th, 2009 by DrWes in Better Health Network, Opinion, True Stories
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It was a remarkable day in clinic yesterday.
Not because of the number of people I saw (12) or the clinical diversity seen, but rather how many people (4) asked me what I thought of the current health care reform bill before Congress.
The political spin being posed by Democrats is that people are staging town hall protests about their displeasure about the current health care reform efforts underway.
I don’t think so.
Rather, I think people are finally realizing that the health care reform proposal on the table is no longer about the “47 million” uninsured, but rather, “Hey, this health care reform thing, why, it’s about ME!”
-Wes
*This blog post was originally published at Dr. Wes*
June 28th, 2009 by Bongi in Better Health Network, True Stories
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In the old days sometimes confrontation was the only way to get things done. But sometimes anger lead one into useless and unnecessary confrontation. I recently spent some time with my old friend, swimmer’s chest and a story came to mind when that swimmer’s chest saved me from my own anger.
We were on call together. Quite early in the day the chemotherapist called me. He had apparently put a patient on the emergency list the previous day for a portacath and the case didn’t get done. This was due to the fact that the emergency list first did critical cases like actively bleeding patients before they did relatively stable patients. Something like a portacath would tend to get shifted down the list and may even stand over to the next day. This is what had happened here. He now wanted me to do the case.
“Sure I’ll do it” I said. “As long as it’s on the list as soon as it comes up I’ll be there.”
“I want it done now!” he retorted. I was not impressed.
“Well phone the anaesthetist on call and motivate for him to move it up the list.” I said helpfully.
“That is not my job! You will do that!”
It was clear we had a communication problem. Whenever I had a telephonic communication problem I would put down the phone and take the effort to go to the relevant person to sort it out face to face. Not only does it help to speak things out in person but the walk usually gave me time to calm down (there was more than enough residual anger in those old days to go around). This is what I did here. I turned to swimmer’s chest and told him to accompany me. Off we set at speed.
We walked into the chemotherapy ward and asked to see the relevant doctor. Soon he was there in front of me. swimmer’s chest hung back. I introduced myself and explained that I was more than willing to do the surgery but I had no control over the order of the list. That was entirely in the hands of the anaesthetists. If he felt the case needed to be done before the other cases on the emergency list then he should phone the anaesthetist and discuss it with him.
“You will phone the anaesthetist yourself and you will do this case right now!” he said.
I could feel my anger slowly turning into fury.
“No! you will!” as I said it I clenched my fists and took a step towards him. Swimmer’s chest realised things were on the verge of going south. He later told me he thought I was going to punch the guy. I denied this, but the thought was going through my mind at the time, I confess.
So my good friend stepped in front of me with his broad chest and nudged me backwards. He then started speaking to the chemo doc in a calm diplomatic voice. He also subtly and slowly (almost so one didn’t notice) ushered the guy further and further away from me. By the end of it we left with the chemo guy feeling that we were there for him and would do all we could. I don’t think he even had an idea of how enraged he had made me.
Walking away swimmer’s chest asked me if I was mad. I had only a few month’s of training left and something stupid like getting into a fight was just about all that could stand in the way of me becoming a surgeon.
Those times in the end brought out the worst in me. By the end of my studies I knew I needed to get away from it all. I had very nearly become something I did not like. After leaving pretoria I gradually rediscovered the true me again. It was still there to my relief.
*This blog post was originally published at other things amanzi*
