I finally reached my tipping point on Tuesday after a weekend of sucking back over the counter pain meds like they were Hallowe'en candy. It was time. I figured I should see someone about it.
Of course since we live on a sandbar in the middle of the Northumberland Strait we don't actually have a family doctor. So, rather than sit in the walk-in clinic for 3 or 4 hours before seeing a doc in a box, I decided to call a chiropractor. There was no science in how I chose my chiropractor. There are only 4 to choose from on the whole island. So I picked the guy closest to both school and the gym and rang him up. He was able to fit me in the next day. Imagine that.
So, I went to visit this guy who, after a thorough review of all things achey, diagnosed me with all sorts of things that would be easily taken care of with some stretching, a few adjustments, getting hooked up to some electrodes for a few shots of electricity to the affected area and, best of all the "thumper" a bit of a vibrator on steroids that pounds your affected areas into submission. As in most things it has to get worse before it gets better and so when I left his office yesterday I felt battered and bruised and thought if this was "better" it couldn't get much "worse".
But here's the thing. While I was laying on the table with the Chiropractor draped across me, adjusting my less than cooperative spine, we were having a lovely conversation about the state of healthcare on this island and the fact that I do not have a family doctor. He was appalled when he heard that we've been on the waiting list for two years and still no doctor. Being a helpful kind of guy he offered up a suggestion for getting one. He told me to do what he did when he came back to PEI. He called the department of health every week for almost 3 months until he became such a nuisance they gave him a doctor.
I thought to myself "I can do that. I can be a pain in someone's ass." And so motivated by his story I went straight home and hauled out the phone book.
After a brief wait on hold, where you don't actually know if you're on hold because there's no music or message, I was connected with Claire. Claire sounded like a pleasant enough lady when she introduced herself. In turn, I introduced myself by saying I was inquiring about my status on the wait list as I've not heard anything since enrolling two years ago. Her reply: "You're probably exactly where you were when you signed up."
Are you kidding me?
Two years of going to the walk in clinic and seeing a different doctor every time. Two years of putting off going to the doctor because I didn't have half a day to sit in an office waiting room in the hopes of being seen before they close for the day. Two years of Buzz hobbling around on one leg because his arthritis and bursitis in the other one was so bad he could barely stand on it, yet, when he'd go to the walk-in clinic he'd barely be prescribed an anti-inflammatory before being pushed back out the door. Two years of wondering what my hormone levels are, because without a family doctor here one cannot have blood work done. Two years of listening to Buzz's snoring get so bad that I think he's choking in his sleep, but yet, cannot do anything about it because in order to see a sleep specialist one has to be referred by a family doctor. Two years of wondering if that spot that showed up on Buzz's forehead last spring is something to worry about.
Two years. And this was the answer I got?
Those of you that know me well can only imagine my response. Oh I was calm. I was cool. I was very clear with Claire that her answer was in no way appropriate and that I wanted to speak with her supervisor.
After a bumbled apology of "I don't mean to be flip" Claire connected me with her supervisor who, upon hearing the story uttered a more acceptable apology on behalf of her subordinate and then offered me a suggestion. She suggested that I reapply for my status on the wait list. "What will that do?" I asked. "Oh, depending on what the issue is, they may elevate your case and assign you a doctor right away."
So while I waited for Janice to pick up the line I was scrambling to think of an illness that was severe enough to get us the attention of a family doctor, but not catastrophic enough that we should have sought treatment at the emergency room, in the absence of a family physician. This is the part of the story where I introduce Buzz's career-altering leg injury. The kind that has been treated to no avail at the walk-in clinic. The kind that might just cost him his job if he's not given proper, effective treatment.
It's not a total lie. He is suffering. He has been in severe pain every day for the last six months. One leg is larger than the other because it's constantly swollen. So, no, it won't cost him his job, but I'm here to tell you if we can't get the basic care of a family doctor here soon, it will impact our desire to stay here on the sandbar.
So. Now I sit and wait. I sit and wonder. Was my story good enough? I won't know unless I hear from a doctor's office. That's how it works. Janice would plead my case to her manager. The manager would decide if it was worthy of being assigned a doctor. If it is, they won't call me back to let me know. They'll send our file to a doctor's office and the doctor's office will contact us when they can see us. That's how it works here.
I hope my argument was successful. If it wasn't I'm calling back next week. And next week my issue will be something like I'm showing the signs of diabetes. Or perhaps Buzz will develop another rare but chronic disease. Whatever the case, I will become such a large pain in someone's ass they'll need a team of chiropractors to fix what ails them.
