My siblings and I were taught to respect authority figures, especially doctors. Growing up, it would never occur to us to question a physician, but how we were raised did not adequately prepare us for how to deal with the modern American health care system.
After another bad fall, my 91-year old mother went back to the nursing home for rehab and was assigned to a phantom doctor whom we were never able to meet. I swear he makes his rounds at 3 AM when his patients are asleep and their family is at home. Then he issues directives from on high which the fawning nurses obey without question.
When mom developed a bad cough, the nurse said she could not administer cough medicine unless the doctor ordered it. We called the doctor’s office and talked to the doctor’s Physician’s Assistant who said she’d tell the doctor, but three days later he had still not prescribed anything and Mom’s cough was truly horrific, with a high fever and a disturbing gurgling in her lungs. “Just go to Walgreen’s and buy some cough medicine,” said the nurse.
My sisters and I swung into action. I tracked down the doctor. My older sister worked the nursing staff. My middle sister called administration. When we gathered to compare notes we learned that the doctor had seen Mom and that he had not; that he had prescribed antibiotics and that he had not. My favorite response was from the nurse who asked, ”What cough?” and denied that Mom had a fever.
It was a nurses’ aide who told us the doctor’s schedule for his rounds, so last Saturday my sisters and I determined to camp out and wait. At 5 pm the doctor breezed into Mom’s room and was taken aback to see the three of us waiting for him. “I’m too busy to talk to you,” was how he greeted us. “I have patients waiting.”
“My mother is your patient,” said my middle sister dangerously, while I stood in the doorway. Since I am very tall and the doctor is very short, I figured this would be a hedge against him bolting.
“What are you doing for Mom’s cough?” said my older sister.
“What cough?” said the doctor. Mom obliged by producing a cough worthy of a TB patient. The doctor did not miss a beat: “Coughs are normal at her age,” he said, and headed towards the door where, by now my middle sister, who is also very tall, had joined me.
“This is not a normal cough,” said my older sister. “It’s getting worse.”
The doctor actually shrugged. “If it gets bad, you can always call 911,” he suggested helpfully.
“You can’t treat her cough?” I asked.
He sighed. “This is a nursing home,” he said condescendingly. “You cannot expect the same quality of care that you would get at Holy Cross Hospital.” For one tense moment I thought my middle sister was going to lunge at him, but I held her back.
“Are you saying there’s nothing you can do?” said my older sister, rising out of her chair to her full height of 5’2”. She joined us at the door, so now the three of us were physically barring his escape. I thought perhaps we should link arms, but that seemed excessive.
The doctor gulped. “Maybe I could order a chest X-ray,” he allowed. None of us spoke. “I’ll order it for this afternoon,” he said hastily and I moved slightly to allow him to slither out.
The X-ray found mom had pneumonia in her right lung. The doctor prescribed antibiotics and cough medicine. She’s much better now.