“The doctor told your father he’s just getting old,” my mother said quietly to me on a phone call.
Two days before this, my family and I had returned from a multi-generational cruise around idyllic Croatia. It was in many respects a dream vacation, but my dad’s health cast a shadow over it.
A retired teacher who bikes, works out, doesn’t smoke or drink, and is generally healthy, he was suddenly struggling with his balance and needing to sit after just a few minutes of walking or standing. Withdrawn and unusually quiet, he admitted he didn’t feel like himself.
Fortunately, one of our fellow travelers happened to be a physician.
“Dr. Carla” noticed his distress. She struck up a conversation with my dad about how he was feeling, and their talk quickly turned into an informal consultation on the sunny deck of the ship.
She patiently probed his symptoms, studied his gait, examined his feet and legs, and even loaned him her Apple Watch for a day to monitor his heart data. She suspected a compressed spinal disc and urged an immediate MRI.
“You have many quality years left,” she reassured us. “This is not normal aging. This can be reversed.”
On our return to Ontario, my dad managed to see his new family doctor within a couple of days. A welcome surprise.
I called my parents to ask them how the appointment had gone. “It was awful,” my dad said, dejected.
Where Carla had offered her undivided attention, this doctor barely looked away from his computer and didn’t bother examining him. He didn’t engage with what my dad was trying to tell him about his symptoms and abruptly ended the appointment by suggesting that my dad get a walker.
My dad’s recent experience is unfortunately not out of the ordinary. As an elder law lawyer, I often see seniors’ medical concerns being minimized or ignored altogether. This may be due to chronic overwork, underfunding or poor social skills. Whatever the cause, the effect on people is the same. They’re left feeling they no longer matter.
My parents and I scrambled to figure out other options. Try to switch to another doctor at the same clinic, which is probably next to impossible? Try to book another appointment and be more forceful? I wondered out loud: What about finding a private clinic? I almost couldn’t believe I had said this. It seemed to be so… un-Canadian. Nevertheless, my parents, fierce proponents of our public health-care system, seemed to be considering this option too.
After I hung up, the confusion and worry I had felt earlier was soon replaced by anger.
Why should seniors like my dad be made to feel like they are begging for a few minutes of their doctor’s time? Why should taxpayers like my dad feel dismissed by the health-care system they helped build and maintain? And why should we have to consider paying out-of-pocket for health care when we’ve already been taxed to our eyeballs to pay for our public system?
Here’s a thought: if we want to stop Canadians from abandoning public health care, we need to get the basics right. We must demand that patients be treated with kindness, dignity and respect regardless of their age or stage of life.
These qualities are not luxuries reserved for a lucky few; they must be part of the fundamental baseline of care. Yet, that baseline is exactly what vanished when my dad needed it most. He didn’t need a quick prescription for a walker; he needed a doctor willing to look up from his screen.
