Have you ever noticed how many commercials there are for medications on television? Doctors can prescribe things to ensure you stay thinner, be smarter, stay awake longer, sleep better, maintain relaxation, and even have a better and more fulfilling sex life, all on a temporary pass which costs X dollars/month. Why is this so, and does it coincide with the Hippocratic Oath?
While being pregnant, a car accident shifted my spine which has continually become more and more painful over the course of the last five years. Recently a doctor informed me that with a procedure that costs roughly $1200, I could again blend into society and participate in activities with my children as they grow. The injection is procedure Dr. Daniel Sperry informed me of numbs the nerves and allows the body to partake in events without the pain, but it doesn’t stop the damage from deteriorating the muscles, bones and nerves. This modus operandi is a lot less costly in the short-run, every few months, than the surgeries which I was told were necessary, which would need to be repeated in approximately 8 – 10 years at over $200,000 per procedure.
Regardless of this being a temporary fix, I knew I would have the flexibility and strength of a seventy-year-old at the age of fifty-five. But a temporary fix is better than no fix at all, right? The analyzing doctor handed me the paperwork containing the facts of the protocol, then patted me on the back before he gave me a card with a name and number on it. Admitting I could not afford the surgery, and having no insurance, I was relieved to hear from him that I had no need to worry because here is someone who was going to help from social services. I cried with relief as I boarded the elevator, and leaned against the wall for support as I rose to the main level. I couldn’t wait to tell my kids and begin making plans of all the things we would be able to do.
The phone call was returned and I couldn’t schedule the appointment soon enough. My smile beamed from ear to ear and I told her everything she asked of me, as she busily scribbled notes of where the accident happened, what the symptoms were, how long they’ve been a concern and the extent of my limitations. The worker also wanted to know all of my financial status, bills owed, funds in the bank (as well as account numbers), and the names and numbers of all the places I had resided in the past five years. Some of the questions seemed off the subject, but I was anxious to get started.
The appointment was nearly forty-five minutes and as the discussion moved on, my smile faded as I realized what a chunk of life I had missed. The robotic tone which she repeated my responses did little more than reiterate my misery as she continued to scratch away. Finally, she had me sign on the line and with a smile she assured me everything would be taken care of from here. I expressed to her how excited I was, but the sadness of my present reality which I’d worked so hard to hide was ebbing in. It had been quite some time since I’d entertained the thoughts of doing some of the activities she had rattled off. I turned the radio in the car onto a station which played jovial music and thought to myself that this was to be my final year in pain. Soon I would be better and working with the rest of the people, perhaps even complete my university degree. And more importantly, I’d be the mother I’d always dreamed of being, not the cripple who had to have her nine-year-old son carry the gallons of milk into the house and her five-year-old daughter hand her shoes to her from the floor. I would be the mother I saw in the magazines of the doctor’s office, the ones who carried their children on their shoulders and hunkered down to gaze at ladybugs in the garden. I would take them to amusement parks and actually ride with them, instead of their wave from the line as they bounced up and down with a giggle.
Between November 18 and the end of the 2011 year, my body had collapsed twice and I’d been in to see various doctors–once in the wee morning hours, kids in tow, and another by ambulance (one visit’s cost was nearly the cost of the treatment: $1,007.74) from a plethora of facilities in search of an answer for excruciating pain. Dr. Richard Ingebretsen, for the social security benefits office, saw me in order to verify my ailment and required me to jump and hop. Fool that I was, I complied with everything he asked to the best of my avail, so as not to appear as a whining ninny. This visit was the culprit of the horrific events which followed for the remainder of the year. Meanwhile the visit with mechanical Mary Poppins at MacKay-Dee Hospital, who submitted paperwork for the injection procedure resulted in a piece of paper sent to me from the Medicaid Office. Medicaid granted me payment for the month of October; one month prior to social security’s exam. The customer service representative on the other end of the phone from Medicaid assured me that everything was processed correctly and that since my daughter was five she was still covered, regardless of her father’s insurance coverage. He didn’t know why I was approved in October alone, with the income consistent throughout the entire year. Of course the results of Dr. Ingebretsen stated I was as healthy as a horse and he could find nothing unusual in my state of being.
The doctor who had referenced me to the medical procedure told me he could only tell me what was available, but had no say over the financial end. I understood that; he’s a doctor, not a loan officer. He could tell me what was wrong but could do nothing to help me without proper payment, other than prescribe hydrocodone, ibuprofen and flexeril–without refills.
Albeit short-lived, the course of action would have given a temporary lease on life and surgery may have fixed me. The impression is a village of people who heard a shepherd remark he had noticed a trickle of water which escaped through a hole in the dam’s wall. Sure, it could have been patched easily had someone stepped up with a bucket of mortar and a trowel, but to talk about how the job clearly belonged to someone else was much easier. Meanwhile the hole got bigger, the water leaked more and the shepherd was in fear of his flock which grazed in the fields below it. Panicking, he begged, pleaded, and jumped around with his arms high above his head, but everyone else was busy. Someone had to build the houses. Someone had to build the shops, churches, post office buildings, and schools. After all, there’s money to be made here and charity was someone else’s responsibility while they made their money . But when the dam broke, much more extensive damage had been done to the village than a few sheep lost of someone else.
Isn’t this what has become of our medical field? Insurance companies pay a higher dollar-for-dollar amount to hospitals and doctor’s offices than when people pay cash for the identical procedure. But when it comes to the Hippocratic Oath, I believe that as Americans we’ve learned to cut corners everywhere that seems appropriate to us, as individuals, and not our people as a whole. We no longer respect our elders or the laws which have been passed by them because times have changed and they no longer serve our purpose. The weak shall waiver and the strong shall inherit the earth, hand over fist, dollar for dollar. There will always be someone bigger, stronger, and more intelligent to replace the old model. There is no Hippocratic Oath other than a chanting of syllables subsequent to having the title earned of “Doctor.”
For those who are not privy to the Hippocratic Oath, before idealization, here it is;
“A widely used modern version of the traditional oath was penned in 1964 by Dr. Louis Lasagna, former Principal of the Sackler School of Graduate Biomedical Sciences and Academic Dean of the School of Medicine at Tufts University:[8]
I swear to fulfill, to the best of my ability and judgment, this covenant:I will respect the hard-won scientific gains of those physicians in whose steps I walk, and gladly share such knowledge as is mine with those who are to follow.
I will apply, for the benefit of the sick, all measures [that] are required, avoiding those twin traps of overtreatment and therapeutic nihilism.
I will remember that there is art to medicine as well as science, and that warmth, sympathy, and understanding may outweigh the surgeon’s knife or the chemist’s drug.
I will not be ashamed to say “I know not”, nor will I fail to call in my colleagues when the skills of another are needed for a patient’s recovery.
I will respect the privacy of my patients, for their problems are not disclosed to me that the world may know. Most especially must I tread with care in matters of life and death. If it is given to me to save a life, all thanks. But it may also be within my power to take a life; this awesome responsibility must be faced with great humbleness and awareness of my own frailty. Above all, I must not play at God.
I will remember that I do not treat a fever chart, a cancerous growth, but a sick human being, whose illness may affect the person’s family and economic stability. My responsibility includes these related problems, if I am to care adequately for the sick.
I will prevent disease whenever I can, for prevention is preferable to cure.
I will remember that I remain a member of society with special obligations to all my fellow human beings, those sound of mind and body as well as the infirm.
If I do not violate this oath, may I enjoy life and art, respected while I live and remembered with affection thereafter. May I always act so as to preserve the finest traditions of my calling and may I long experience the joy of healing those who seek my help.”
Oddly enough, there is no mention of money, however this does state that “prevention is preferable to cure,” but does the government agree? This means that in order to prevent the gap from devastating the entire village, one crew must traverse the wall to repair the flaw in a fragment of time.
One person can change the history of the country, or even the world, and anyone who does not believe this is true needs to read more about Hitler, Napoleon, Martin Luther King, Joan of Arc, or anyone else who has left a stamp on the planet. This includes you, me, who we vote into congressional office, as well as state officials, and the laws we allow to pass that will effect our parents, loved ones, and children. We have the say in this country, as that is what the Constitutional Rights are about.
While people may ask themselves what right do I have to sit and complain while I vicariously live off of my children’s child support, I say to you that I worked for many years, at 70 hours a week before I had my children. I would love to again play a societal role and set an example for them so they too can contribute to their own well-being and participate in savings, stocks and revenue as they deserve. I am worthy of medical care in order to provide for my children, as do so many other Americans who have worked hard, long hours to create a future for their country and their own families. We deserve real medical attention because we are real people of this country and we have contributed to its monetary power. We have earned the right to be made well so we can provide for our families, and the right to be the next Amelia Earhart or Thomas Edison, or perhaps the surgeon to save your loved one’s life.
