The system is broken

My recent trip to Boston left my heart full of hope for the web design community, and my ankle full of blood thanks to the massive internal hemorrhaging that I enabled from my tumble over a case of Sam Adams (running sober, no less).

When I came home, common sense (Arielle) prevailed and a trip to the doctor was arranged. At least one was attempted. Finding my so-called “personal care physician” and setting up an appointment within a reasonable amount of time proved to more difficult than getting an audience with the pope. So I sucked it up and hobbled into the emergency room at our nearest hospital and began the long wait.

Having only been to the ER once before for drinking darkroom chemicals when I was a kid, I was unsure of what to expect. Appalachian Emergency Room came to mind, and Pittsburgh did not disappoint (remember, it’s only 50 miles to West Virginia).

From my experience, I bring back one simple question: What is up with American health care? Does a visit to the doctor really need to be weighed against the monthly mortgage payment? Thanks to my magic insurance card I was spared the entirety of the bill, but come on. Is this really necessary?

My hospital bill -- $1,005

For $1,005 (less my $35 deductible) of imaginary fairy money I was treated to the best that the UPMC health care system had to offer, including:

  • A 1 minute conversation with the receptionist
  • 45 minutes in the waiting area, complete with Jerry Springer on the television and an old man who made sure that all in attendance knew that he was “92 YEARS OLD” and that “MY PIPES ARE CLOGGED”
  • 8 minutes with the billing lady
  • 45 more minutes in the waiting area, old man, Montel, and nurses who thought it was a good idea to yell last names from the next room instead of getting up and walking ten steps to call someone in
  • 4 minutes with a nurse (?) who typed in “LEFT ANKLE INJURY, RUNNING”, “BOSTON”, and “TUESDAY” on my chart.
  • 30 minutes in the waiting area
  • 10 minutes with the X-ray technician who, when I asked if he wanted to see my ankle or at least have it unwrapped, laughed and said, “Why would I want to see that?”
  • 15 minutes in a curtained-off bay in the emergency room that smelled like dirty diapers
  • 5 minutes with a nurse who pronounced my ankle sprained, wrapped it with a new Ace Bandage, and gave me an ice pack
  • 20 minutes in said bay, diaper smell still present despite the appearance of a custodian who emptied the garbage
  • 5 minutes of answering exit interview questions with a nurse, who graciously showed me the X-ray of my ankle after I asked to see it

All in all, a good time. I really think I got my imaginary fairy money’s worth.

April 11 2007