Confessions of a former Abuser of the Medical System(tm)
I was reading a fic recently that had an aside when the main character was baffled as to why people went to the emergency room with "minor" complaints. It's not the first time I've heard this complaint, and I wince every time that I do, so I figured I could maybe offer some perspective as a former Abuser of the Medical System (tm).
When I first moved away from home I was 19, relatively clueless, and alone in a city that seemed huge to me at the time. I didn't have a safety net of friends and family that I felt I could rely on. I didn't know anybody. My knowledge of social programs went as far as what I'd seen on TV and the asshole social worker I spoke to in junior high when my cousin reported my parents (falsely) for abuse. I probably wouldn't have asked for help then, anyway, even if it had registered as an option. I had some pretty major issues with trust and authority and interference.
I was always broke, but I was always employed. At one point, I worked three jobs to pay rent and try to save up for a better apartment in a better neighbourhood where my piece of shit broken bike wouldn't get stolen leaving me in a situation where I had to walk 30 mins through a pretty shady area (we're talking hypodermics in the parks and many, many offers of cash for sex from cruising assholes shady) because I couldn't afford a bus pass, and I wouldn't have to step over the tweakers in the stairwell to get to my apartment. I didn't have any experience in business or trades, so my first few jobs were in the service industry where I made minimum wage at part-time hours (because you don't have to offer benefits, or sick days, to part-time staff). I'm intelligent, well-read, and well-spoken but my lack of a college degree prevented me from getting any clerical or administrative work. I also didn't have the money to purchase an appropriate wardrobe for those positions, even if I had been able to land one. (I took the job as a line cook because I didn't have to dress up. When I worked as a hostess, I was constantly getting reprimanded because my goodwill clothes didn't fit and by the time I got promoted to waitressing, which came with a uniform, I hated it so much the tips weren't worth it anymore.)
I needed every hour of shit pay in those shit jobs to make my bills. I had a series of disastorous room mates that would steal from me, use my home to sell drugs out of, wreck my things, wrack up huge phone bills and then fuck off and leave me to cover the damages. I made shitty decisions because I was young and I didn't know any better. I pawned my guitar to buy bread and cigarettes. I found out through trial and error which utilities would let me make minimum payments and for how long. I did the pay off one credit card with another juggling act for a while. Sometimes, near the end of the month, I had to choose between food or rent. Rent usually won because I tried to always have at least one job at a restaurant where I could eat the staled-out fries throughout the day.
(Protip, make friends with the kitchen manager and they'll save you the send backs)
I've been to the food bank and been grateful for beans and spaghetti. I fixed my VCR with a box cutter and a beer flat because I couldn't afford to replace it.
So, poor, ignorant me didn't have a regular doctor for a couple of years. I was usually working when the walk-in clinics were open. Unless I was in actual fear for my life, taking time off work and losing that income wasn't an option. Didn't even register as one. So if I got sick, I'd wait until I was off work and had a reasonable amount of time between jobs to go to the hospital, where someone would have to see me. Eventually.
In addition to waiting the six to seven hours to be seen, sometimes I'd get a lecture from the attending nurse about wasting their time and resources. And the doctor. And the other patients, the more urgent ones with legit health concerns and emergencies, would glare at me for being there with my stupid, silly cough or chronic back pain. It was good times, believe me. Totally something I recommend doing if you have any other options available. Which those "selfish assholes" in ER with a sore throat probably don't.
My favourite was the time I was getting a prescription for antibiotics because my cough had turned into bronchitis and being told that I needed to take time off to recover. This was genuinely hilarious. I laughed so hard I coughed until I puked, because you know what's worse than being sick at work? Being sick and homeless because you couldn't pay your rent. I threw out the doctor's note and filled the prescription on my way to work the next day.
I lucked out when I had pneumonia (which was also an ER visit for a cough, btw) because my aunt was able to lend me my rent for that month and I'd made some real friends at that point who took care of me when I couldn't get out of bed. One of those friends later helped me get a job at the airport as a parts person, which got me the opportunity to learn maintenance scheduling and an apprenticeship as an aircraft mechanic, which got me the contract for document control turnover, which allowed me to apply for a position as a production coordinator for the company where I am a manager today.
I get sick a lot less now that I can afford food that has more nutrients than calories. Because I have the luxury of taking time off to recover and recuperate, my illnesses don't linger for months. I even have time to look into other, less immediate, health concerns and get treatment before I get to the stage where I need to go to the Emergency Room. I have a regular doctor now, but I wouldn't have been able to afford the time and transportation costs to go see him 10 years ago. I probably would have given up even looking for a doctor after the first six offices I tried politely informed me that they weren't taking on new patients if I hadn't almost died because of an ectopic pregnancy caused by scarring in my Fallopian tubes from an infection I had as a teenager.
It's amazing what a difference that one bit of luck has made, and it was luck that got me that first opportunity. If I hadn't worked at the bookstore, I wouldn't have met my best friend. If he hadn't been on excellent terms with his ex-girlfriend, she wouldn't have offered me that position when it became available. I've worked hard for what I have today, but I am under no delusion that my life wouldn't be very different without that one lucky break.
So, you know. Something to think about next time you're in the ER and wondering about those people who don't seem sick enough to be there.
(I should mention that I'm Canadian. Even at my poorest I had Health Care, so I didn't have to pay for my visits to Emergency in anything but time. I can't even imagine how much worse it would have been to be broke and sick in the States, which is where the fic that prompted this post was set.)
When I first moved away from home I was 19, relatively clueless, and alone in a city that seemed huge to me at the time. I didn't have a safety net of friends and family that I felt I could rely on. I didn't know anybody. My knowledge of social programs went as far as what I'd seen on TV and the asshole social worker I spoke to in junior high when my cousin reported my parents (falsely) for abuse. I probably wouldn't have asked for help then, anyway, even if it had registered as an option. I had some pretty major issues with trust and authority and interference.
I was always broke, but I was always employed. At one point, I worked three jobs to pay rent and try to save up for a better apartment in a better neighbourhood where my piece of shit broken bike wouldn't get stolen leaving me in a situation where I had to walk 30 mins through a pretty shady area (we're talking hypodermics in the parks and many, many offers of cash for sex from cruising assholes shady) because I couldn't afford a bus pass, and I wouldn't have to step over the tweakers in the stairwell to get to my apartment. I didn't have any experience in business or trades, so my first few jobs were in the service industry where I made minimum wage at part-time hours (because you don't have to offer benefits, or sick days, to part-time staff). I'm intelligent, well-read, and well-spoken but my lack of a college degree prevented me from getting any clerical or administrative work. I also didn't have the money to purchase an appropriate wardrobe for those positions, even if I had been able to land one. (I took the job as a line cook because I didn't have to dress up. When I worked as a hostess, I was constantly getting reprimanded because my goodwill clothes didn't fit and by the time I got promoted to waitressing, which came with a uniform, I hated it so much the tips weren't worth it anymore.)
I needed every hour of shit pay in those shit jobs to make my bills. I had a series of disastorous room mates that would steal from me, use my home to sell drugs out of, wreck my things, wrack up huge phone bills and then fuck off and leave me to cover the damages. I made shitty decisions because I was young and I didn't know any better. I pawned my guitar to buy bread and cigarettes. I found out through trial and error which utilities would let me make minimum payments and for how long. I did the pay off one credit card with another juggling act for a while. Sometimes, near the end of the month, I had to choose between food or rent. Rent usually won because I tried to always have at least one job at a restaurant where I could eat the staled-out fries throughout the day.
(Protip, make friends with the kitchen manager and they'll save you the send backs)
I've been to the food bank and been grateful for beans and spaghetti. I fixed my VCR with a box cutter and a beer flat because I couldn't afford to replace it.
So, poor, ignorant me didn't have a regular doctor for a couple of years. I was usually working when the walk-in clinics were open. Unless I was in actual fear for my life, taking time off work and losing that income wasn't an option. Didn't even register as one. So if I got sick, I'd wait until I was off work and had a reasonable amount of time between jobs to go to the hospital, where someone would have to see me. Eventually.
In addition to waiting the six to seven hours to be seen, sometimes I'd get a lecture from the attending nurse about wasting their time and resources. And the doctor. And the other patients, the more urgent ones with legit health concerns and emergencies, would glare at me for being there with my stupid, silly cough or chronic back pain. It was good times, believe me. Totally something I recommend doing if you have any other options available. Which those "selfish assholes" in ER with a sore throat probably don't.
My favourite was the time I was getting a prescription for antibiotics because my cough had turned into bronchitis and being told that I needed to take time off to recover. This was genuinely hilarious. I laughed so hard I coughed until I puked, because you know what's worse than being sick at work? Being sick and homeless because you couldn't pay your rent. I threw out the doctor's note and filled the prescription on my way to work the next day.
I lucked out when I had pneumonia (which was also an ER visit for a cough, btw) because my aunt was able to lend me my rent for that month and I'd made some real friends at that point who took care of me when I couldn't get out of bed. One of those friends later helped me get a job at the airport as a parts person, which got me the opportunity to learn maintenance scheduling and an apprenticeship as an aircraft mechanic, which got me the contract for document control turnover, which allowed me to apply for a position as a production coordinator for the company where I am a manager today.
I get sick a lot less now that I can afford food that has more nutrients than calories. Because I have the luxury of taking time off to recover and recuperate, my illnesses don't linger for months. I even have time to look into other, less immediate, health concerns and get treatment before I get to the stage where I need to go to the Emergency Room. I have a regular doctor now, but I wouldn't have been able to afford the time and transportation costs to go see him 10 years ago. I probably would have given up even looking for a doctor after the first six offices I tried politely informed me that they weren't taking on new patients if I hadn't almost died because of an ectopic pregnancy caused by scarring in my Fallopian tubes from an infection I had as a teenager.
It's amazing what a difference that one bit of luck has made, and it was luck that got me that first opportunity. If I hadn't worked at the bookstore, I wouldn't have met my best friend. If he hadn't been on excellent terms with his ex-girlfriend, she wouldn't have offered me that position when it became available. I've worked hard for what I have today, but I am under no delusion that my life wouldn't be very different without that one lucky break.
So, you know. Something to think about next time you're in the ER and wondering about those people who don't seem sick enough to be there.
(I should mention that I'm Canadian. Even at my poorest I had Health Care, so I didn't have to pay for my visits to Emergency in anything but time. I can't even imagine how much worse it would have been to be broke and sick in the States, which is where the fic that prompted this post was set.)