When you "knee"-d care but cannot get it

I turn 54 today. I don't mind, because it's one of those birthdays that isn't near anything ending in 0. But what does bother me is that after spending 38 years in the workforce -- I got my first job, at Dandy Dogs, pretty much the day I turned 16 -- I can't get in to see an orthopedic doctor. Or at least, not many of them here along the Connecticut Shoreline.

See, I have Medicaid ("Husky D"), which I've had for a few years. After leaving my full-time editorial job in Manhattan in 2008, I bought Cobra and used it for as long as it lasted. It was mad expensive (as the kids say) and tapped every bit of savings I'd accrued. I figured, though, that by the time it ended I'd either be reporting for Reuters or Dow Jones or who knows? I wasn't worried. I went to Prague and London for my birthday that year, confident that I would enjoy a few months of my busy freelance life and then jump into another proper job.

After many interviews, it was clear something was amiss. The recession, the worst in my lifetime, was in full swing. Add to that the challenges of journalism's implosion, and my own advancing age. I would face 25-year-old editors across the desk and feel insecure. Was I on enough social media? What's Android? Do I have varicose veins? And then I had more and more problems with my teeth. After extractions, I could hardly afford to replace them. Try smiling if part of your mouth looks like a jack-o-lantern.

Anyway, I'm on Medicaid.

I went to Texas in May because my mom, who lives there, was experiencing some health issues. I was very worried about her so of course, flew out there. She was fine enough to go on a trip a few days before I left, so good for her. But I was behind on my bills, behind on my work, and terribly stressed out about having been away from home. When I got back to Connecticut, I was whirling around like a mad dervish when I tripped over my upright rolling suitcase and my right knee slammed into the ground. Not a nice cushy linoleum, mind you, but hard cement-like tiling.

That was May 25. After all this time, there is a patch of numbness and when I walk, it feels like a rubber band is stretching tightly beneath the knee cap.

On May 26 I went to Milford Hospital ER, where they took an x-ray and found that I didn't have a break. "It's soft tissue damage, a contusion, but in time you will be OK." I got a referral to an orthopedic doc whom I was to call if I didn't get better soon.

I called him, went in for a visit, and he said we wouldn't do an MRI because it was not necessary with soft tissue injuries... "The best thing is time." He didn't prescribe anything, not even a pain killer. He did say to keep taking Ibuprofin as needed. He said to call in two weeks if I wasn't better.

I wasn't. I wanted to go in and see him and again, he looked at the bruise, the numbness, this time feeling the area and said his advice was the same. More time. He said eventually the numbness would go away or at least become just a tiny patch. "I've seen enough of these injuries," he said, "to know what to expect."

I trusted him.

But then I was in New York with a young lady I used to tutor. She, coincidentally, suffered a fall while skiing and was about to have knee surgery.

"Why didn't you get an MRI! That's messed up," she said.

I worried. I called the doctor the next day, and as I was getting the words out, he said: "Let's get an MRI. Maybe we missed something."

I was relieved.

I had the MRI at Milford Hospital. I didn't get a call with the results, so called the doctor's office. He was out and so I got a call later from a physician's assistant, who told me the doctor would discuss the results, but basically I did not need surgery.

Here's where the problems started: I went back to the doctor, innocently expecting a polite conversation about the next course. Instead, he comes into this office, and without looking me in the eye seems very ticked off. Just stares at his piece of paper as if I am not in the room. "The MRI doesn't show ..." I don't remember his exact words.

I said with a smile, "Well, we didn't think that the MRI would..."

He pounced, "We?! I (capital I) did not think we needed the MRI. YOU INSISTED upon it!"

I thought I was facing a monster or a wild animal and my heart began to quickly race. This is NOT what happened at ALL! "But doctor, no, I was just ---"

He looked at me in this really mean way so I asked him if he was angry.

"I'm frustrated! There's nothing wrong with your leg!"

I said, "Yes there is! It is still swollen and numb - look at it! I've had other doctors look at it and say -"

"What doctors!"

"My GI dr, my eye dr, my dentist - they weren't treating me for it obviously but they just saw how swollen it was. Everyone has! see!"

"Yes, there IS something wrong with your knee. (then he talked about an island, a dent of some sort) but nothing I can do anything about!"

I was so scared, and I knew we had to end this conversation right away. I asked about PT and he spat, "You want that? I will write you a prescription."

And he bolted out, leaving me in tears, tears which he saw even before he left.

His secretaries saw my tears. It was horrible.

I went to the mall for retail therapy and I wanted to buy some bath oil. That would comfort me. Out of the blue, I mentioned my problems at ortho to the saleswoman. "Who was your doctor?!" I said his name. "You won't believe this. I just saw Dr. So-and-So last week and he said the same thing for my X" (I am keeping her name, the doctor's name, and her body part private).

I could not believe it.

Then I had to deal with Medicaid issues.

I thought I could get a 2nd opinion at a top university medical clinic. They had the referral from my GP for over a month when I called. I was told the head guy was on vacation but my request was on the top of the pile. A week and a half later, when I called, I was told that he did not think I could be helped. "You need six months of conservative therapy and then, if you still have problems, you can see me."

I went crazy. I was so upset!

I was going to tweet about this. And so I did. And then magically, the very next day, this hospital's patient relations division wanted to address my concerns. I got a phone no. and contact name.

I spoke to this nice woman at patient relations, but guess what! She said some doctor said the original Ortho I had seen was just dandy and so this hospital would not see me!

I went crazy again! I told her about what the saleswoman had said, and anyway, this doctor even told me that I should get a second opinion. He said he was glad that I had already put in the request for this (I forgot to tell you that).

I said: "I am so upset I am losing my voice. I have been walking around with a hurt leg for two months and I can't even get a second opinion on what to do! Please go back and find out if Ortho will see me. Only call me if you can make that happen."

I am losing track, but somewhere in here, a nurse friend out west told me she was worried about the swelling. "Go to ER and make sure you don't have a blood clot."

I was worried. I went back to Milford Hospital. I didn't have to say much, and the doctor just looked at the puffy knee and said, "Laurie, let's get an ultrasound and make sure there isn't a blood clot."

I was grateful for his thoroughness but I was incredibly scared as they wheeled me in.

I won't say whom but I need to add, on this day, completely again by happenstance I spoke to someone who said: "My mother had the same experience with Dr. X. He was awful to her as well."

I went ashen. I was worried as they were wheeling me in for the ultrasound that I would DIE that day from a blood clot simply because of the crappy attention from the first doctor and lack of care I'd received from the university hospital.

Thank GOD no blood clot, and then they re-xrayed me to make sure a chip of bone wasn't traveling around the knee. All clear.

The kind doctor suggested I use a cane (or maybe I did, and he agreed) but in any event, I am happy to have it. A local pharmacy wasn't even 100 percent sure Medicaid would reimburse them but they just gave it to me anyway (14.99) and I was so grateful. These bits of kindness in what has been a hellish experience for me are greatly appreciated!

Then yesterday: another call from the university patient relations woman. They now recommend I get physiatry. I said please ask that doctor to see me first. It's wearing me out.

I am not against physiatry, it sounds plausible for my condition, but again they need to see me. "How can a doctor make a determination based on some paperwork from people who don't care about me?"

"Don't say that!"

"It's true. No doctor can make a determination on patient health unless he sees the patient."

"That makes sense," she replied. "I'm going to ask him again. I will get back to you."

Me, now feeling desperate, resorted to humor: "Please tell the doctor if he sees me, I will bring him a Starbucks coffee."

She laughed.

I then looked up physiatry and stumbled across local doctors, finding the one that the saleswoman told me she is now seeing. I didn't think they accepted Medicaid, but after seeing it listed on their website, figured it was worth a call. "No, we only accept it as a secondary insurance," the young woman replied nonchallantly (forgetting that a live person with a hurt leg was on the other line.)

"Oh, it's primary, so I guess I can't be seen."

"That's right." ...

So that was that.

This is America.

I am a Master's candidate to a college in London. I am hoping my loan comes through, but if it doesn't and I remain in the US, clearly my healthcare options must be widened.

I am college-educated, resourceful and smart, but what about the single mothers without even a high school diploma? The ones trying to raise two children alone while their dirtbag exes run off with another woman? What about the cancer patients who can no longer work but are stuck with Medicaid and are told that they can't see certain doctors? How can this be allowed in a civilized country?

The answer is on every level, it's morally wrong.

The sytem is corrupt and it must change.