Patients patiently waiting for their 9 o’clock appointments
Mountainside is not the only medical place like that. Time
was you got to sit in the doctor’s waiting room where you could catch what
everyone else jammed in carried. The waiting room was right next to the exam
room. Open the door, turn right or left and there you were.
Not so today. First you check in. They ask do you have your insurance card? You
say yes and wait. Then they ask you if
they may see it. You comply. They look
at it. They look at you as if to check if you’re the person in the photo ID, but
there are no photo IDs on most insurance cards.
They check anyway.
And then, they tell you to take a seat in the waiting room
and “someone will be with you shortly.”
This never varies. It’s like you need to memorize the line during your
first semester at Famous Medical Clerks’ Institute.
It’s like the waiters who always ask to clear your
dinnerware by saying “let me get these out of your way,” and who respond to
your order by saying either “no problem” (class of ’18 at Famous Table Workers’
University or “perfect!” (class of ’19.)
This provokes one of two possible questions:
1. What
WOULD be a problem? Or
2. Have you tried the Fryed Oysters and Broccoli with chocolate sauce?
Back to Mountainside.
You sit and wait. Finally someone shows up carrying paper work and calls
your name. First name if you’re a woman, Mr. so-and-so if you’re a man.
You follow her (it’s almost always a “her) through a
labyrinth that leads to a maze that leads to a group of exam rooms from which,
eventually, you’ll need a St. Bernard with a cask hanging from his neck to lead
you out.
Then, the medical third degree. While Kindly Old Doc had your records on a
pack of dog-eared 3x5 cards, it’s now on a computer. And there’s never a day when the nurse or aid
can’t say “sorry for the delay, the computer is running slow today.” Three by five cards never “run slow.”
“Any change in your medicines?”
You mean since two days ago when we were most recently
here?”
You go through your litany of medical complaints and then
the data entry clerk tells you “The doctor will be with you shortly.” It’s plain that data entry clerks have also
attended Famous Intake Clerks’ Institute.
Again, you wait. Then, there’s a knock on the door and enters… you thought I
was going to say the doctor. Think again. It’s a student in the Physicians
Assistant school. Surprise! Even more of
a surprise, he or she is personable, attentive, sympathetic and as thorough as
any MD who ever has looked you over.
The student takes notes. That’s what students do. Then he
consults with the doctor who eventually shows up, examines you – often less
thoroughly than the student assistant and confirms the diagnosis.
He says “Hmmm.” Every
doctor says “hmmm.” There’s a course in hmmm at every medical school from lofty
Harvard to Ace Autobody U. He says he’s
going to give you the new wonder drug Gladex that you see advertised every ten
minutes on TV. Gladex is a pill to make you feel happy. And he gives you the prescription, but
not the medicine. That, you have to pay
for.
Actually, he doesn’t even give you the prescription. He
sends an electronic version to your drug store.
Then you go to checkout. If you can reverse your way out of
the maze and then the labyrinth. They no
longer allow St. Bernards in medical facilities.
Your parting thought is “where did I park.”
I’m Wes Richards. My opinions are my own but you’re welcome
to them. ®
Comments? Send ‘em to
wesrichards@gmail.com
© WJR 2019
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