Having medical tests or health care appointments these days almost always means getting in a line. Gone are the days when a person could breezily walk through the hospital or clinic door.
I was shocked the first time I went for bloodwork at LifeLabs around the corner from my home. I thought I had snagged an appointment for that morning in the LifeLabs online calendar, which showed no other available appointments for over two weeks. I joined an outdoor line, confident in my recent booking. But time dragged on, and eventually, when the technician came out to call people in, I asked if my name was on her list. "No," she replied, after checking the sheet on her clipboard. She added me to the list, for an appointment 90 minutes later. That's how they do "drop-in" appointments now. She told me this was a new innovation, booking appointments for those in line, so people could leave and return later. Over the hot summer, apparently those without appointments waited for a couple of hours, outside, in the hot sun, nowhere to sit, no refreshments, no washroom facilities. Brutal, even for a relatively healthy person. Unbearable for the more frail and mobility-challenged folks who appeared to make up a good proportion of the line.
When I had to have more bloodwork done, later in the month, I booked a 1 PM appointment at LifeLabs in Napanee, about a 30-minute drive away. Everyone in the line in Napanee had an appointment booked in advance. But still we waited. Outside at first. Then we waited inside, but not in the clinic. Then we waited inside the clinic. It was an hour after my scheduled appointment before my blood was finally drawn. The procedure itself took about 2 minutes. The young, kind, brown-skinned technician apologized for the wait. "Short-staffed," she explained.
At least the line-up at Hotel Dieu moves quickly. And I've learned to leave lots of time. Last week, when I had another ultrasound, the line was down the long ramp and out onto the sidewalk. A few older people expressed incredulity, "This is the line to get into the hospital?" One older man marched alongside the line to the top, to complain to the young woman in a yellow gown, wearing a mask and face shield and directing people to enter, that he would be late for his appointment if he had to wait in such a long line. She replied cheerily, "Oh! Don't worry. They will still see you for your appointment, even if you are late."
A middle-aged woman who was approaching the head of the line called over to her mother, who was sitting on a white plastic chair under the big tent umbrella, set up to provide some protection from the elements. The well-dressed, frail, elderly woman walked slowly and unsteadily to join her daughter, and entered the hospital with her, through the slowly moving revolving door. It struck me that most of the people who were accompanying patients are women. There are mothers pushing strollers and wheelchairs, or holding a child's hand, some of whom seem all too familiar with the entrance procedures at The Dew. As I waited, I noticed a thin young woman wearing a Queen's sweatshirt, accompanied by a slightly older, also thin woman, whom I took to be the mom. They exited the hospital together, and then were in deep conversation, sitting in the sunshine on the concrete wall bordering the sidewalk. I sent them a good wish for whatever they are facing.
There is something humbling to me about being in a line like this, with a glimmer of so much human frailty and vulnerability, and an awareness of the capriciousness of good health. It also seems profoundly democratic, waiting with people from all walks of life, a range of ages, varying degrees of wellness and infirmity. I don't mind the wait so much, but then I feel healthy and strong, and am not in any pain.
Inside, there is a long counter of receptionists, all women, sitting behind plexiglass and wearing medical masks, who ask every single person the same set of questions about COVID. They offer each person a fresh blue medical mask and inquire whether you know where you are going. They seem kind and soliticious. How do they manage that all day? The receptionist apologized for the long line. In conversation with her, she said she didn't think she would even get a break that afernoon because the line was so long.
Another time, when I was leaving the Dew, I gave a "have a good weekend" wish to the "greeter" who was directing people just inside the door. She replied that she would be working on the weekend; she was in the middle of a 9-day run of shifts because of staff shortages.
I worry for health care workers who are working so hard and are under such stress. And I am frustrated with politicians who have no vision other than the short term bottom line.
If you know me, you won't be surprised that I can link this back to basic income! In her 2015 book, Dr. Danielle Martin named basic income as one of her six "big ideas" about how to improve health care in Canada. She argues that reducing poverty, one of the most important determinants of health, “would do more to improve health than any single other policy our government could promote.” In her study of the 1970s Mincome experiment that eliminated poverty in Dauphin, MB for 4 years, Dr. Evelyn Forget found that basic income reduced hospitalizations by 8.5%. Over time—say a generation—poverty reduction would dramatically lessen the pressures on our health care system. And, more importantly, it would improve the health and quality of life for millions of Canadians.
Why can't we do that??
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