I watched documentaries all weekend (I know, slightly nerdy) and I came across a great one I think everyone should watch called The Waiting Room. A camera crew follows doctors, nurses and patients in an Emergency Department in Oakland, California where the vast majority of people are uninsured. This really struck a chord with me because the first time I ended up in the Emergency Room in 2012 I was one of those uninsured people.
I am going to talk more about my experiences and feelings and thoughts surrounding all of the medical problems that I have in the last few years, but today I wanted to mostly talk about the kind of care I got in the facility I ended up going to as a result of not having insurance.
My initial ER visit and hospital stay happened at George Washington University Hospital, but when I was discharged I was referred to the DC Unity Clinic because it was a federally qualified health center, and it would be my least expensive option for care. I was already losing my mind because I was just in the ICU and I knew that I was going to have the biggest medical bill I would ever have in my short little 27 years. I had spent a week in the hospital crying about the fact that funerals were cheaper than the ICU. Of course the doctors were then concerned about me, and they didn't seem to understand the fact that living with this kind of debt was going to hang over me for the rest of forever, and I would rather have stayed dead on a sidewalk than have it. We eventually got over that, and they agreed to discharge me because I double-pinky-promised that I would go to my follow-up appointment the next day. My new mantra became: "comply or die".
The next day my dearest Nathan (the naughty babysitter) took me to the clinic. I was really nervous going in because I felt like I was taking advantage of the system by taking away an appointment time from a person who really did need it, but I was in what I thought was a dire circumstance so I complied so I wouldn't die.
The doctor I met with there was the on-call doctor for walk-ins. Apparently the appointment that GW had made wasn't really an appointment at all. She was a wonderful doctor who listened carefully to my story and my concerns. She explained to me what I needed to do going forward, and referred me to the clinic's social worker as well as a primary care physician that could see me on a regular basis. I will never forget this doctor's face. I will never forget the way she listened and spoke to me with such concern and understanding.
She treated me with love.
I was skeptical about what the social worker would have to say to me because after all, I was raised by one, but he also listened carefully to my story and concerns and even informed me that I was qualified for the District's open enrollment insurance program. I sure wish I would have had that information two weeks before, but I felt like the giant hole I was in got a little more shallow because even though I would have these enormous bills from the hospital, the subsequent care that I needed (remember, comply or die) wouldn't rack up even more. I could handle co-pays and deductibles. I will never forget this man and the compassion that he showed me.
He treated me with love.
The next week, I went in to see my new primary care physician, Dr. Makaroff. I can say with absolute certainty that Dr. Makaroff is one of the best doctors around, and is going to change the world. She came to DC to work on public health policy, and was working part time at the clinic seeing patients. She took a special interest in my case and even wrote a blog about me. She was the first doctor that I had seen that cared about the fact that I cared that I was going to live with this giant black cloud hanging over me. She showed such kindness and was so thoughtful about how to coordinate my care without making my situation worse. She was the first doctor that was thoughtful about how to treat my mental health and not just my physical health in the aftermath of this devastating, life-altering event. She showed empathy, kindness, and compassion to me and treated me like Person One of One, rather than Person One of One Million. I will always feel grateful to her. Dying on a street corner changed the course of my life. Dr. Makaroff set it straight again.
She treated me with love.
Dr. Makaroff referred me to the clinic's psychiatrist to take care of my mental health medication. (I call them crazy pills, but I think that might be slightly offensive to some. My bad!) Dr. Johnson was the best psychiatrist I had ever met. And the most busy. He was only at the clinic two days a week because he also served the county jail population as well. The psych appointments were only 15 minutes and back to back. Going to see Dr. Johnson was an all day affair, but totally and completely worth it. He mostly ignored the 15 minute thing and helped people the way they needed to be helped. He made me feel important. He made me feel cared about. He made me realize that even if no one else knew, he knew how awful I was feeling, and he treated me like a person of worth.
He treated me with love.
Because of the blood-thinners I was taking, I had to go into the clinic's lab every week to have my blood drawn. Every week I was greeted with the biggest smiles and the warmest hugs by the nurses in the lab. Those two women made my experience in the lab every week - which was often a painful reminder and an annoying detour - not only bearable, but wonderful.
They treated me with love.
As I watched that documentary this weekend, I watched the patients' faces. I watched the worry and fear. Fear for their lives, fear of how much it might cost to live, and fear that they may not get the treatment that they need. I watched the doctors. I watched them treat people with care and listen to their concerns. I watched them worry over what to do, and how to ensure that the patient got the care that they needed, while worrying about how long the line in the waiting room still was. I watched the triage nurses. I watched them listen to people's complaints, provide food and laughter, and care for everyone they saw.
I watched a documentary full of compassion and was overwhelmed by my own experience and the doctors, triage nurses, and fellow patients who mourned, and joked and loved with me. We need a little more love in our lives, and I am grateful everyday for the love I received at DC Unity.
They treated me with love.
