Sorry, all, but this is aimed at anyone who wants to slam “socialized medicine”. No knitting content (for reasons that will soon be clear…)
In late October of last year, I went to my GP with severe shortness of breath, also an annoying dry cough that pre-dates covid. When I say severe, I mean, “get out of bed and stand beside the bed for a couple minutes to catch my breath” severe. I mean “can’t walk from the living room to the bathroom in my 60m2/645ft2 apartment without stopping halfway to gasp for air” severe. The GP didn’t tell me what her thinking was, but sent me for bloodwork. That was on a Wednesday, the blood draw was in the early afternoon so I knew I wouldn’t get the results until the following day. They weren’t available, weren’t available, weren’t available, so finally Friday afternoon I called the lab and they did something, and suddenly the results were available. Reader, they were bad. The only phone number the GP had for me was a phone number I no longer use, but that is still taking voicemail messages – she apparently left me a message, once she got the results, thinking I would get it.
The following Monday was a bank holiday, and the first appointment with the GP was early afternoon on Weds 3 November. I spent the weekend assuming I was in heart failure and might not outlive my parents. I left home for the GP’s office with a backpack containing a nearly-done sweater project – I had sewn the fronts and back together, and picked up and started the neckband, and had the sleeves also in the project bag – and my handbag, but no other handwork. I got to the office in plenty of time, only to find out that she was running an hour late, but hey, gives me plenty of knitting time! I got several rows done on the neckband. When she finally called me into her office, her first question was, “why are you here, did you not go to the ER like I left a message for you to, I’m amazed you’re not dead.”
Now, GP appointments in France, as in the US, are 15 minutes long. She was already running an hour behind. I have no idea how long I was in there, as I don’t usually wear a watch, but I know for sure it was more than 15 minutes! She gave me a very complete work-up, then had her med student give me a very complete work-up. Then she sat me down and had a very frank talk with me, which ended with her calling a blue-lights ambulance on me. She printed out all her notes, my bloodwork, and etc., and sat me in her waiting room to wait for the ambulance while she tried to get her afternoon schedule even slightly repaired.
The ambulance showed up with three paramedics, who were not impressed to find me sitting in the waiting room clutching an envelope, and weren’t really convinced I actually needed them, especially as I said that I could walk out to the rig myself as long as we walked slowly, they didn’t need to go back and get the gurney tyvm. One of them hovered at my elbow the entire way out, and when I climbed onto the rig and had to lean against the wall to catch my breath before sitting down on the gurney, they were willing to accept that I wasn’t wasting their time. A few checks, oxygen mask on my face, I lay down and they belted me to the gurney, called the hospital with an initial report, and we were off on lights and sirens. They called in an update at least twice on the way to the hospital.
In the ER, I had several vials of blood taken, an EKG, and an up-the-nose covid swab. Bloods they were running included arterial blood gas, potassium, and D-dimer, as well as at least a partial hematology panel. I waited for a while, then was wheeled off for a pulmonary CT scan with contrast. Waited for a while more, and then was visited by the on-call hospitalist who said yes, I had a pulmonary embolism and would be admitted to the cardiology ward as soon as they had a bed available, they were discharging a couple patients and had also had an even more urgent case than mine come in. In the meantime, here’s your first dose of Xarelto, here’s a horse pill of potassium to treat the hypokalemia, now lie down and try to relax.
The next day I had another EKG and a cardiac echo, and another CT scan, again with contrast but this time of the abdomino-pelvic region. Friday morning I had ultrasound exam of both legs, and gastroscopy, and in the afternoon I was taken off to OB-gyn. All of this was aimed at trying to figure out where the clot had come from – we never did find it, but as I’d had shortness of breath for over two weeks it might have been too late. Friday afternoon I had a bag of iron sucrose added to my IV, and that evening I got a unit of packed cells because the hematology had showed moderate iron-deficient anemia. Saturday another unit of packed cells, and Sunday and Monday another bag of iron sucrose. I was on oxygen for I think three days. Because the cough continued this whole time, I had several ventolin treatments – they didn’t help, I actually kept coughing even while inhaling the nasty stuff! I had horse pills of potassium I think three days in a row, twice a day I think? I had Xarelto twice a day. When my recurrent corneal erosion recurred, fortunately I had the scrip for those meds still in my handbag, and the pharmacy dispensed the eye drops and ointment needed.
I had three meals a day – and good meals, more than I could eat and I’m a gourmand; roast pork with onion gravy and broccoli, roll, cheese, fresh fruit; cold roast beef with seasoned rice, spinach, and something else, plus roll, cheese, and fresh fruit; breakfast was portion of a baguette with butter and jam on the side, plus yogurt and fruit.
There were on-call nurses and nurse’s aides 24 hours a day.
I was finally released on Wednesday, a full week later. SO MUCH knitting time, and me with no knitting! I finished the neckband on the first full day I was there, and had nothing to do. Fortunately, they had a very few English-language books that had been left behind by anglophone patients, and I forced myself to read slowly. I have to admit, if it had been only French books in their “lending library” I probably would have begged for the loan of a textbook or reference book or something – French fiction writing is just not my taste.
So, if you’re keeping track:
- Admission via the ER department
- covid test
- two EKGs
- cardiac echo
- two CT scans with contrast
- gastroscopy
- OB-gyn visit with ultrasound
- detailed leg vein ultrasound
- Xarelto 2x/day, 7 days
- oxygen, 3 days
- several (3-5) ventolin inhalable treatments
- potassium, I think 2x/day, 3 days
- IV fluids, 7 days
- 3 bags iron sucrose
- 2 units packed cells, plus all the blood-testing and cross-matching and surveillance to make sure I wasn’t getting the wrong blood and wasn’t reacting during the transfusion
- repeated blood draws for hematology and clinchem
- 3 good meals a day
- constant nursing care
- eye drops and ointment for an unrelated condition that needed treatment.
- daily drive-bys from the cardiologist
I shudder to think how much it would have cost for all of this in the US. Because I’m outside the French health system, this came out of my pocket. I have to admit, I did spend some time fretting about how much it was all going to cost me. And in the end, it cost me…
Just north of 6100 euro. Let me say that again, in words because you might think I had missed a zero somewhere. Just north of six thousand, one hundred euro.
In today’s conversion rates, that would be about 6500 USD. The day I was released, I think it was about 7000 USD. There was no itemized bill, they did not count every scan and every pill and every meal and every everything else. There was simply a bill saying “you were admitted on this day at this time, you were discharged on this day at this time, at a rate of X per day that makes your bill this much.”
So don’t talk to me about how terrible socialized medicine is, because I don’t want to hear it. Yes, the tax rates here in Europe are high, and I paid into the French system for ages. The hospital was there when I needed it, and gave me good care at a decent price. I didn’t have to worry about declaring bankruptcy, I didn’t have to sell a car to pay the bills, I didn’t have to stiff the landlord because I couldn’t pay rent and the medical bill. If I’m going to be sick enough to need a hospital, I’d far rather have it happen in a country with “socialized medicine”.
There's a cat hair in my knitting! 