Breaking up is hard to do — especially when it’s with your doctor

The letter arrived last week, ending our 23-year relationship. 

It opened the way you’d expect — “this letter is probably the hardest one I have ever written” — before going on in great detail and with much sadness about how the timing wasn’t right, before giving me the old “it’s not you, it’s me” line.

The writing had been on the wall for some time now, but even though I had an inkling it was coming, I was still shocked.

After more than two decades together through the good and the bad, in sickness and in health, it was over in just a few lines.

There was nothing I could do or say to make this right. All the sad songs started playing in my head. They said they had tried and tried to fill the void, but alas, despite a valiant effort, it was not meant to be.

And so it was that my doctor told me he is retiring, taking down his shingle after some 41 years of dedicated service to his practice and patients.

I offered to pay for his medical licence renewal. I even asked if he was willing to do under-the-examination-table jobs. 

I had been one of the lucky ones. Now, I and the 2,000 other patients on my doctor’s list were among the growing number of people in Newfoundland and Labrador with no family physician — around 136,000 people at last count.

So I signed up for the I Need A Doctor website and followed it up with a phone call. The helpful person on the other end, who must hear some troubling stories, said some people who signed up through the portal have been waiting for over a year.

She also told me the allotment system was based on postal codes. So, if an opening with a physician or nurse practitioner became available in the area, whoever is next on the wait-list would be accommodated first.

I can’t argue with that rationale. Fair is fair — but I am willing to travel outside of my Canada Post zone for medical care. Like the Proclaimers, I would walk 500 miles.

What will I do for care?

Next, I called the clinic in my area to see if, by some chance, I was on the registry there.

No dice.

I asked the kind woman on the other end of the phone how adept she was at conducting a physical. She laughed.

I was serious.

A friend of mine told me about a clinic that was accepting new patients. I called, and to my delight, they were — for the fee of $65 per visit.

The frugalness in me took over: “Well, I’m not that sick.”

I am willing to be poked, and possibly prodded, by anyone with some semblance of medical knowledge. A mechanic is pretty close, right? What is an engine but a combination of organs and a nervous system? Cars, like people, can be diagnosed with computers. And as both get older, our frames and chassis wear out. 

Heck, I am willing to see someone who has been banished to the wilderness by the college of physicians and surgeons. Maybe even someone like The Simpsons’ wisecracking Dr. Nick Riviera.

No medical licence, no problem!

Patient auditions

Recently, the farm’s veterinarian was here. I asked her if she was taking on any new clients. How much of a difference can there really be between animal and human medicine? There are some glaring discrepancies, but maybe it’s mostly just smaller dosages and less tail-wagging?

Maybe physicians should start interviewing new patients. Go in, bring your CV — or, in this case, your medical file — and audition. “Hi I’m Bill. I am in relatively good health, and as you can see, I only go to the doctor once a year for a checkup and blood work.”

If there is a singing component to this, I’m done for.

Medical Idol would be a good name. Sadly, it’s looking more like Survivor.

For those of you lucky enough to still have a doctor, respect them and their time. 

To the no-shows for medical appointments, get a calendar. There is someone in the queue who is waiting.

Losing your doctor is a diagnosis no one wants to hear. It’s a tough pill to swallow.

Finally, a note to my doctor. In your letter you said the role of a family doctor is to walk with you along the journey of life. Throughout your long and distinguished career, you have been there through many of life’s milestones — from your obstetrical practice ushering in new life, to bedside care and comfort in the final moments.

You did it with honesty, compassion, dedication, and empathy.

I wish you good health.

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