I had ten thousand pesos to spare, I would have accepted last night’s referral from one of the municipal hospitals here in Capiz.
I wouldn’t even call it a proper referral.
Stab wound. That’s all I know. Critical, they said. But one of the first things they asked of me was how much money would the folks need to prepare in order top be admitted at the hospital where I work. I said, as I was previously told, at least ten thousand pesos, or a Philhealth Insurance. The phone was passed on to one of the folks who said they had neither. When I tried to connect them to the admitting department, the stranger in the other end of the line told me: “Doc, hayaan nalang po namin mamatay ito. wala na po kaming panahon para diyan. Pag namatay yung pasyente namin sana po multuhin kayo.”
Sorry but, WTF…
Wala xang panahon makipag-usap sa admitting department pero may panahon siyang awayin ako ng halos kinse minutos na parang ako ang sumaksak sa pasyente nila.
“Buhay po ang pinag-uusapan natin dito, doc. Pagnamatay po ito sabihin nalang namin ang doctor sa hospital na yan walang ginawa.”
Again, I’m sorry, but WTF… kung ikaw ba doctor, magkakaroon ka pa ba ng amor na tumulong sa taong ganito?
I understand the stress he must have been under. In fact it was that very thing that made me try to keep my cool and try to sympathize. At first I was under the impression that the call was merely to inquire about financial costs. I wasn’t even given a chance to speak. Masmahaba pa ang lecture niya sakin kesa sa pagrelay ng data ng doktor nila. In the end, when I couldn’t take it any longer, I simply told the person in the line that instead of wasting his time making me feel bad about something neither of us can do anything about, they should make up their minds if they want to come here or not, or he should go try other options… or at least spend time with their dying patient if that is really the case, and politely put down the phone.
If I had ten thousand pesos to spare, I would have accepted last night’s referral from one of the municipal hospitals here in Capiz… But then again, maybe not. If the price for good intentions are ghost threats and 15 minutes of a litany that makes you feel you don’t have a soul, maybe not.
Just because we are doctors doesn’t mean we own the hospitals we work in. For some, it could be true. But not all of us. Just because the job sounds lucrative doesn’t mean we’re all rich. For some, it may true, but not all of us. In fact, many of my colleagues have double jobs just to make ends meet. And just because we can’t change the rules doesn’t mean we cannot sympathize with the families who are about to lose their loved ones to illness or death. Just because it is a sad, sad reality that health and life costs much, doesn’t mean that we are heartless, money making machines in white coats who wouldn’t care if someone falls dead in front of us. For one thing, doctors are not the only people involved in the status of the health care system.
I couldn’t sleep because I was half expecting them to arrive at the ER anyway… The guard at the main lobby teased me that the reason I couldn’t sleep was that the ghost threat was coming true… If it were, I’d apologize. But if it were true, that patient would also be in a plane with a much much wider grasp of the realities of this life to even bother haunting the person his family member simply happened to vent out his frustrations to in that time of great need.
It’s a sad reality though.
Hay ambot. Basta. Lain buot ko.
Jan 17, 2010
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