In
this post I will chronicle my own personal journey through the Canadian and US
healthcare systems with my recent heart surgery. Perhaps that will more clearly
explain what you can expect if ObamaCare is not spiked by the Supreme Court
with their decision next week.
Late
last summer I noticed that I was getting out of breath walking up hills or even
climbing stairs. I was well aware that I
had a flaky aortic heart valve. Four or
so years earlier when I had some work done on my knee, the “gas passer” in his
pre-op exam, told me that sooner or later I was going to have to replace that
valve. I figured that time had arrived
so I went to my family doctor in Whistler and he referred me to a
specialist. My appointment came back
four months in the future.
Through
the hunting season I was taking it slow.
Moose hunting at 5500-foot was not a sprint up the mountain and putting out
the decoys a bit of a challenge. I
managed to land a 7-foot sturgeon without keeling over. Finally, my appointment with the cardiologist
came up on the calendar. (January 18.) For my legal protection let’s call him
Dr. J. He gave me a stress test and I
flunked. I checked into Vancouver
General Hospital the very next day and they gave me the angiogram.
Turns
out that in addition to the flaky valve I had some serious blockages in my
coronary arteries (common among long term diabetics like me) and a triple
by-pass was the major plan. While they
had my chest cracked they would give me a pig valve too. I would have to sit in
the hospital until my surgery hit the top of the waiting list. The average wait time, I was told, was two
weeks but one poor fellow had already been sitting in the hospital waiting for
a month. You could be bumped at any time
if someone showed up in worse shape than you.
I
did not want to wait. Once it was clear
what needed to be done, I was anxious to get on with it. Besides, sitting around twiddling my thumbs
is torture for me. My daughters and I
were looking for alternatives for heart surgery in Bellingham and Seattle and I
had accepted that heading south and paying cash was the way to go. I needed my medical records to leave and my
daughters fought through the bureaucracy at the hospital to get the required
documents signed. “Fine,” they
said. “We’ll send them to you in six
weeks.” That kinda put a kink in my
plans to head south.
I
don’t know if my threats to leave had anything to do with it (probably) but one
week after my stress test I was headed to the operating room. Nine hours later I had new plumbing and a
dandy new valve.
Five
days later and already coughing, they sent me home. The coughing got lots worse and I was passing
out because I couldn’t catch my breath.
I could feel the stress on my chest incision and my wired together
sternum. Loi drove me to VGH Emergency
where we spent the day with me mostly laying on a gurney in the hall with
dozens of other folks. Finally they sent
me home with more prescriptions.
The
next week was Hell. Fortunately, Loi
kept notes because I don’t remember much of it.
I did not sleep much except in the recliner in the living room. All night I would pace to keep the coughing
at bay and when I had a “spell” I generally wound up passed out. Early one morning I woke up to find myself lying
in the middle of the living room. No
idea how hard I hit when I went down.
The
only way I could communicate with Dr. J., my cardiologist, was via email. I was begging him to take me seriously and do
something. I explained that I could feel
the bones in my sternum moving around.
He was not concerned and his only suggestion was to move my appointment
for the following week from the afternoon to the morning. What a prince!
On
the 9th of February. I asked
Loi to take me to Bellingham and St. Joseph’s Hospital. They examined me and discovered that my chest
cavity was half full of fluid and one of my sternum closure wires broken. They sent me home. (After this whole thing was over I pressed
St. Joe’s to explain why they sent me home.
They explained that they had phoned my Canadian cardiologist, Dr. J.,
and he had told them he had it under control and was seeing me one week
hence. He suggested another cough
syrup.)
That
weekend was the worst yet. No sleep,
constant coughing and chest pain. At one
point I passed out and fell out of my chair. On Monday Loi drove me back to St.
Joe’s Emergency. This time they admitted
me and Dr. Douglas, their head of cardiology,
came down for a look. Xrays
showed that my chest cavity was full of fluid and I had broken all three wires
holding my sternum together and two of them had actually pulled right through
the bone. My incision had ruptured and
fluid was running down my chest. Infection
was the big worry.
They
sent me down to “Echo” where a doctor with a scary long needle went in through
my back and started drawing fluid out of my chest, eventually getting 2.3
liters of juice. My collapsed lung
mostly re-inflated. Dr. Douglas explained
that they would have to crack my chest again and repair the damage but couldn’t
do that until they got my chemistry sorted out.
Everything was a mess and it would be three days before they could get
things under control and operate.
So,
under the knife again only this time with big worries about infection. They left tubes in my chest to drain and
flush and a plug in my arm to pump me full of antibiotics. I spent nine days in St. Joseph’s and for a
couple of weeks afterward still had a thing in my arm where Loi pumped
antibiotics into me twice a day.
Prior
to the fix-it surgery I had told Dr. Douglas that if he successfully brought me
through this that I would treat him to a round of golf and kiss his ass on the
first tee. He has yet to collect,
although I am prepared to pay up at any time.
I am fine now. Back to fishing
and playing golf and making plans for travel with Loi. She was a saint through all of this and it
was probably more stress on her than me.
The
lesson here is simple. The original
surgery was fine. My Canadian surgeon
did an excellent job. The follow up care
was where the screw-ups occurred. My cardiologist was incompetent or simply did
not give a shit. I’m pretty sure it was the latter and if I had not taken the
initiative and headed south, his inattention might well have killed me.
In my experience, Canadian hospitals are
understaffed both in nurses and housekeeping personnel. Hence, the nurses are stressed and the
hospitals are not as clean as their American counterparts. There are not enough doctors. You cannot get a family doctor in south Vancouver.
Canadian health
care is what you will get if ObamaCare becomes the US system. Canadians hope it does not because they want
someplace close to go when they really need quality care quickly. And, my
liberal friends….. if you get ObamaCare you are going to hate it.
1 comment:
You survived in spite of, not because of the medical services. I think you should move to Ridgefield. It's quiet and only a few minutes from Portland. Besides, if you two move here then maybe Karen, Kelly and the kids would consider relocating too! Stay healthy.
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