When Emergency Actually Worked
There’s little doubt that the public health system in Australia is creaking at the seams. Like most Western democracies, Australians have access to (almost) free medical services at the large hospitals. Did I say ‘most’? Let’s change that to ‘all Western democracies except the USA’. If it’s an emergency, you go to the local taxpayer funded public hospital and it costs you nothing.
Sure, we pay to see a doctor, but that’s subsidised, and we have an excellent system to limit the cost of most pharmaceuticals (The Pharmaceutical Benefits Scheme). We are expected to contribute toward medical services via a percentage of taxable income, or by being part of a medical insurance fund. Unfortunately, as family expenses skyrocket, some people go to the public hospitals because they plain can’t afford to see a GP. And that puts even more pressure on the hospitals struggling to cater for real emergencies.
It’s interesting how emergencies so often start on the weekend. This one did. Sunday was a regular Sunday, eggs Benedict on Turkish bread for breakfast. My back was a bit sore, so I did ten minutes on the exercise machine. Morning tea came and went. I felt a bit nauseous so I didn’t feel like lunch. It was my turn to cook dinner but I didn’t feel up to it, so Pete put on his chef’s hat. Then at about 6pm my back and my abdominal area ganged up on me. The pain was awful, as if I wanted to vomit or poo but couldn’t do either. It was so bad I asked Pete to call an ambulance.
He took me to Emergency instead. It’s less than 5km away.
We found a parking spot easily (free). The triage nurse asked about my symptoms and I was taken immediately to the assessment area where calm, confident people with a sense of humour inserted a cannula, and collected blood samples and sent them off for testing. My blood pressure had (not surprisingly) surged. A doctor came to see me and carried out an ultrasound on my abdomen. I was given painkillers and waited until I could be taken for a cat scan. The doctor told Peter if all things happened as they should I might be able to go home around ten. He went home to eat.
I tried to relax despite the pain, listening to the activity around me. These places are all white walls, tiled floors, and lousy acoustics. You can hear everything. I marvelled at an obese woman in the bed opposite eating a burger and chips from Maccas, delivered by a husband or son. Listened to the guy in the bed next ‘door’ (curtain?) explaining his situation. Watched the day shift hand over to the night shift.
After an hour or two a lovely young man helped me into a wheelchair to deliver me to the X-ray department for the cat scan. (At that stage, I would have had trouble walking- I was a bit unsteady.)
I was taken back to bed, and found Peter had turned up, it being about ten o’clock, in the hope I could leave. After he’d seen the results of the scan the doctor came to tell me I had gall stones. As it happened, similar things had happened to Pete years ago, when he thought he was having a heart attack. That turned out to be gall stones – he had to have his gall bladder removed. The doctor explained everything clearly gave me a script for strong painkillers if I needed them, assured me my GP would get a report, and sent me home.
Next day I received a patient survey asking about the treatment I’d received. I was happy to give everybody and everything ten out of ten.
I’ve gone into the details because my experience was so different to what happened five years ago when I presented with an eye problem which could have been a symptom of a stroke. You know – a stroke? They kill people.
At that time Hervey Bay Hospital’s emergency treatment was a shambles. I spent hours in an eye clinic. Nobody took my blood pressure and when they did (at Peter’s suggestion) it was so high I was immediately admitted. Read all about it here – The obvious answer isn’t always right. It’s a long post but the contrast with what happened to me last Sunday is extraordinary. That time I wasn’t given a survey. But we were so appalled that we wrote to the hospital. I’m hoping that might have contributed in some small way to the incredible improvement.
And, of course, my Sunday visit to the hospital cost me nothing.
As you know, these blog posts are basically essays, commenting on life and things. But I’m an author. I write the sort of books I like to read. If you or somebody you know likes the kind of stories that take you away on science fiction adventures packed with action, and where love finds a way, you might enjoy The Iron Admiral: Conspiracy. You can have it for free.
