The Health Care Emporer has clothing but will leave you in the waiting room until you die.
After my Elephant man like experience after getting shampoo in my eyes and having said eyes swell up to the size of danishes, and being able to put people off their food, I finally broke down a week later with the swelling worsening each day for 7 days, and very open mindedly went to the hospital. My feeling on the medical industry aside, there really was no other option.
I called Healthlinks and they tried to rope all kinds of personal info out of me, but I fought them on this and sasked if they were service and surveilance commitee. The battle to maintain the right to privacy never ends folks. Finally It was concluded I had done everything one could do that ought to have worked, and I would have to put my health in the hands of a qualified expert.
In My socially retarded province of choice, they have somehting called regionalized health care which is pc for broken down system without enbogh doctors, beds or facilities to go around. TO lsiten to the way this is promoted, one would that the health care crisis has been solved. We NOW have regionalized Health Care! THis allows the ebst doctors to come to Winnipeg, and state fo the art facilties to specialize in vital areas, meaning more resources go further in getting you the care you need sooner, better, and always able to see leading experts in the filed you need!
Anyone care to guess what that translates into?
Pregenant women will be tolfd to go to a certian hospital only for having babies. Haeart patients to one hosptial, Eyecare at such and such and they will jnot tend you if your illness does gfit thier motif.
Great! A pregenat streetkind who has never read up on the non existant hospital map for the right place to will eb left to break her water in the hallway discovering she is at the "wrong" kind fo hospital. This is so fucking brilliant, It almost makes you want ot open up your own caioot hanger abortion "clinic" in anticipation of the problems that will obviously follow.
If that's not enough, You nay have a granny who has suffered a heart attack, and the ambuloance will no longer tkae her the closest hospital five minutes but the heart specialit hosptial 30 minutes away, and if tough if you don't like it, you can jsut go ahead and die. Fuck you.
Now this may seem a little hostile but please, within the context of my recent experience in the emergency ward, allow me to share with how inane this has become.
After explaining on telephone to the highly trained over educated nurse that belives a stone's throw form being a doctor in nurse's clothing, I have had a reaction to shampoo on the skin AROUND my eyes, she insists I have to go across town to the EYEcare hospital, when I have a perfectly good hospital five minutes from my house. I explain that vision is not affect it is a skin rection concern and eyecare people will not likely be able to help me, she ignores this sticks to her position unwilling to lose face.
I ignore her and go to the closer hospital obviously, presenting myself with my mask of scary face, and Exlain my cae to the receptionist, who makes me wait ten minutes before agreeing to type in my info and make a wrist band.
On the way in, I had checked the ambulance ramp to be sure it wasn't busy and my choice of arrival time 4;15 am proved wise in a sense becasue I was the lone patient in the entire waiting room.
Two security guards pay close attention to me given my height and build, long hair, and general demeanor, I always draw the heat.
They are real gentlemen however, courteous and genuine, they ask me me if I am warm enough, if there is too much draft, If I know where the washrooms are, and don't seem pushy or annoying at all when doing so.
Now, why oh why can't they all learn to be this way?
Alternate reality check!
!5 minutes goes by. I am the only patient here, I know the game so I brought a book. No one picked up on my ironic choice of Kushwant Singh's "Death at my Doorstep" in a hospital waiting room, but such are the hazards of having a little "noire humeure" as your way of dealing with adversity.
30 minutes. goes by, the guards are now content that I am not an agent of the formner soviet union feiging an illness to seize control of the hospital computer and have grown bored of me, beast face and all.
45 miinutes, I am getting distraught as I am the only patient they have and not a sole in the building will goive the time of day.
I am getting that 1950's zombie movie feeling except with my condition, I must be cast as the zombie, but the urrela sense of being the only patient in a hoisptial that never agrees to see you has me feeling liek the staff is singing " one of these patients is not like the others In some nightmare version of haunted hospital meets Sesame Street.
I imagine Rod Serling appearing beyond a change curtain through terse expression and pursed lips saying, "Picture a man..."
He would have noticed the book aguaranteed a close up of title while it sat i n poceket of course before I finished it. I never expected to fish it there,. There was a magazine in French about Nannette Workman which held my attention for another few nmminutes, and I knew what was going to follow. I feared I might lose it on one the staff memners and become one of thise patients no one wants to see.
I needed an explanation. I was agitated and underslept, I was becoming edgy so I cooled myself down and was very polite.
Excuse me, but should I leave? It's been over an hour and I am the only paient in the whole waiting room for the whole hospital, should I go to a different hospital especially for people with reactions to shampoo or somehting?
THe girl was even in response. " we are jsut waiting for a spot to open up so we don't know whether it's ne five minutes or anouther hour."
30 minutes goes by. I am now incensed and I can no longer hold back. I can feel the words racing to to leap off my tingue.
"Still waiting for a spot, ar you good with english? What that a spot, do you mean a room, adoctor or someone to die? What kind of "spot do you mean exaclty?" Rah rah rant away. I bolted over toward the desk hot and I could feel the heat coming off of my face, I can only guess at what colour my face was.
Ah well, getting kicked out of ahospital can make a sparkling additon to all the other places My welcome is considered "iffy" at.
I liek to think am past that stage of my lifebut nonetheless I bolt over to the desk and anorderly comes throgh door "Storm?"
Saved by the bell ringing in my head.
Yes, that's me.
To be continued.
I called Healthlinks and they tried to rope all kinds of personal info out of me, but I fought them on this and sasked if they were service and surveilance commitee. The battle to maintain the right to privacy never ends folks. Finally It was concluded I had done everything one could do that ought to have worked, and I would have to put my health in the hands of a qualified expert.
In My socially retarded province of choice, they have somehting called regionalized health care which is pc for broken down system without enbogh doctors, beds or facilities to go around. TO lsiten to the way this is promoted, one would that the health care crisis has been solved. We NOW have regionalized Health Care! THis allows the ebst doctors to come to Winnipeg, and state fo the art facilties to specialize in vital areas, meaning more resources go further in getting you the care you need sooner, better, and always able to see leading experts in the filed you need!
Anyone care to guess what that translates into?
Pregenant women will be tolfd to go to a certian hospital only for having babies. Haeart patients to one hosptial, Eyecare at such and such and they will jnot tend you if your illness does gfit thier motif.
Great! A pregenat streetkind who has never read up on the non existant hospital map for the right place to will eb left to break her water in the hallway discovering she is at the "wrong" kind fo hospital. This is so fucking brilliant, It almost makes you want ot open up your own caioot hanger abortion "clinic" in anticipation of the problems that will obviously follow.
If that's not enough, You nay have a granny who has suffered a heart attack, and the ambuloance will no longer tkae her the closest hospital five minutes but the heart specialit hosptial 30 minutes away, and if tough if you don't like it, you can jsut go ahead and die. Fuck you.
Now this may seem a little hostile but please, within the context of my recent experience in the emergency ward, allow me to share with how inane this has become.
After explaining on telephone to the highly trained over educated nurse that belives a stone's throw form being a doctor in nurse's clothing, I have had a reaction to shampoo on the skin AROUND my eyes, she insists I have to go across town to the EYEcare hospital, when I have a perfectly good hospital five minutes from my house. I explain that vision is not affect it is a skin rection concern and eyecare people will not likely be able to help me, she ignores this sticks to her position unwilling to lose face.
I ignore her and go to the closer hospital obviously, presenting myself with my mask of scary face, and Exlain my cae to the receptionist, who makes me wait ten minutes before agreeing to type in my info and make a wrist band.
On the way in, I had checked the ambulance ramp to be sure it wasn't busy and my choice of arrival time 4;15 am proved wise in a sense becasue I was the lone patient in the entire waiting room.
Two security guards pay close attention to me given my height and build, long hair, and general demeanor, I always draw the heat.
They are real gentlemen however, courteous and genuine, they ask me me if I am warm enough, if there is too much draft, If I know where the washrooms are, and don't seem pushy or annoying at all when doing so.
Now, why oh why can't they all learn to be this way?
Alternate reality check!
!5 minutes goes by. I am the only patient here, I know the game so I brought a book. No one picked up on my ironic choice of Kushwant Singh's "Death at my Doorstep" in a hospital waiting room, but such are the hazards of having a little "noire humeure" as your way of dealing with adversity.
30 minutes. goes by, the guards are now content that I am not an agent of the formner soviet union feiging an illness to seize control of the hospital computer and have grown bored of me, beast face and all.
45 miinutes, I am getting distraught as I am the only patient they have and not a sole in the building will goive the time of day.
I am getting that 1950's zombie movie feeling except with my condition, I must be cast as the zombie, but the urrela sense of being the only patient in a hoisptial that never agrees to see you has me feeling liek the staff is singing " one of these patients is not like the others In some nightmare version of haunted hospital meets Sesame Street.
I imagine Rod Serling appearing beyond a change curtain through terse expression and pursed lips saying, "Picture a man..."
He would have noticed the book aguaranteed a close up of title while it sat i n poceket of course before I finished it. I never expected to fish it there,. There was a magazine in French about Nannette Workman which held my attention for another few nmminutes, and I knew what was going to follow. I feared I might lose it on one the staff memners and become one of thise patients no one wants to see.
I needed an explanation. I was agitated and underslept, I was becoming edgy so I cooled myself down and was very polite.
Excuse me, but should I leave? It's been over an hour and I am the only paient in the whole waiting room for the whole hospital, should I go to a different hospital especially for people with reactions to shampoo or somehting?
THe girl was even in response. " we are jsut waiting for a spot to open up so we don't know whether it's ne five minutes or anouther hour."
30 minutes goes by. I am now incensed and I can no longer hold back. I can feel the words racing to to leap off my tingue.
"Still waiting for a spot, ar you good with english? What that a spot, do you mean a room, adoctor or someone to die? What kind of "spot do you mean exaclty?" Rah rah rant away. I bolted over toward the desk hot and I could feel the heat coming off of my face, I can only guess at what colour my face was.
Ah well, getting kicked out of ahospital can make a sparkling additon to all the other places My welcome is considered "iffy" at.
I liek to think am past that stage of my lifebut nonetheless I bolt over to the desk and anorderly comes throgh door "Storm?"
Saved by the bell ringing in my head.
Yes, that's me.
To be continued.