...When All is Said and Dunn

The unholy bonding of insurance companies and the medical profession has spawned many a joke at the expense of their vile offspring, the universally despised HMO. The jabs that it has taken are not unjustified, in fact they are warranted. If you are fortunate enough not to have to experience the irritation of these places, count your blessings.

My family, unfortunately, is deep within the clutches of this beast and until I win the lottery it looks as though it's going to stay that way. I am old enough to remember going to my family doctor, Douglas Copley, M.D. He's a great doctor and I always felt comfortable going to his office. Well, as comfortable as a kid can feel going to any doctor's office. Because he was the only doctor I had ever known or seen, it was as though he was a member of our family. That my kids will never know that type of closeness and trust in their physician is sad. Dr. Copley is still there practicing medicine, I know because my parents are still going to him. I wish I could afford his fine services, but it is not in the cards at this time.

Instead I am doomed to wander the halls of the completely anti-personal HMO buildings every time someone in my family gets sick. First stop in my trail of tears is the waiting room and main reception desk. The waiting room has more seats in it than most theatres, and I have seen smaller reception desks at the check in at LAX.

After making what is called your co-pay, the payment for your office visit, you watch as your forms are stamped, copies dispersed, told to have a seat, and prepare to wait. You are there with 25 other people waiting for their number to be called, oh I mean name, and hope while you're waiting you don't catch the disease that the guy who is coughing up a lung next to you has.

Now your appointment time was for 2:00, so you get there at 1:45 hoping against all odds that you might get to see the doctor a little early or at least at the appointed time. Yeah right, why do I continue to delude myself? As you stare at the clock the minutes seem to go by like hours. Then you realize it has actually been an hour and you start to get a little edgy. You go back to the reception desk and point out how long you have been sitting there. As always, the squeaky wheel gets the most grease, and a couple of minutes later your name is called.

Next you are ushered into the inner sanctum through a maze of box size examination rooms, where your chart is placed in a file folder holder that is attached to the outside of the door which as soon as you are inside is closed. You have another seat and your doctor comes in seconds later. If you believe that, you haven't been paying attention to the trend that has been developing here. You will not be seeing Dr. Strangelove for at least another half an hour.

When the doctor finally graces you with his presence, and even though you haven't seen him in a while, he doesn't look anything like you remember him. It turns out not to be your imagination because it's not your primary physician. This guy is just filling in while you doctor is finishing up the back nine. I mean who am I to interrupt somebody's golf game. You better know I won't let anyone interrupt mine, but then again, my job doesn't entail taking care of someone's health and well-being. So let's just let his replacement, Dr. Moreau, get on with his diagnosis and let me get the hell out of here.

The next stop on the road to recovery is almost the worst part of any illness and definitely the worst part of the wellness equation. That would be going to and dealing with the pharmacy. I would rather vomit non-stop for 24 hours than go to the pharmacy. Sometimes you luck out and get somebody who is kind and caring, close to the way they are portrayed in the Sav On and Rite Aid commercials. The chances are slim, but folklore has it that they do exist. I have personally met two in the last decade.

Chances are you will instead have to deal with some of the rudest, laziest, and least caring people that walk the face of the planet. I would think that if you went to medical school that someone, even a lower level health worker like a pharmacy clerk, would have been asked to read the Hippocratic Oath and follow it to a certain degree. With these folks the only concern on their short agenda seems to be fill the order, fill the order, fill the order. Anything after that, like contacting a customer if there is a problem with filling their prescription, is not in their job description.

Oh gee, I can't contact the doctor to fill a prescription for a diabetic's insulin, I'll just tell the diabetic when they get here and not bother to call them to let them know ahead of time, next. That manic-depressive with psychotic tendencies who comes in every week for anti-depressants doesn't have any more refills, oh well that's his problem. Wrong you numb skull, that last scenario is everyone's problem, so maybe you should think about redefining your job description before that guy finds a gun.

Look, we all depend on doctors, pharmacists, and nurses. One would think, or at least hope, that you pursued your chosen career to help people, and not just for a paycheck. All we want to do is feel better with a little help from you. We pay a lot of money for your services, so don't treat us like we are an inconvenience or an intrusion on your time.

I know Dr. Copley never did.