Health Care for the Rich and Famous

At the end of February, like any good patient, I went for my annual checkup. At my doctor's suggestion, I agreed to a few extra tests. Ten weeks later, when the worst of winter was almost behind me, I received a voice message on my cell phone. Apparently one test, one I had assumed must be normal, came back not so normal. 

"Sorry we didn't get back to you sooner. But unfortunately," the message began, "there's been a change."

A full ten weeks later, I finally get notified about my test. I have to assume some of the responsibility for this time lapse. Had I been more aggressive, I would have called about the results. Not having heard, though, I assumed no news was good news. It is most of the time.

But aside from my own reluctance to push the envelope, the greater responsibility lies with my doctor. When I asked his nurse why it took so long for me to get the results, she said it takes time for a radiologist to dictate a letter. Then once the letter gets dictated, it has to be typed up.  Then once it gets typed up, it has to be sent. Then once it gets sent, the doctor has to have time to read the report. Then once he reads the report, he has to have time to call the patient.

Does it usually take 70 days, though, I asked. Not usually, she said. But sometimes it does. The next time, call us if you don't hear from us, she said. The next time I will.

But you and I both know: If I had been say, Angelina Joli or Hillary Clinton, I would not only have gotten those tests results back in one day, but my doctor would be at my front door with test results in hand.

"I pride myself on giving the same care to all patients," Dr. Victoria McEvoy writes in this morning's paper, "but the reality is that celebrity patients, such as Senator Kennedy, have entirely different experiences than 'normal' people when they access healthcare."

Dr. McEvoy goes on to say that when she treated one famous family, she often left her office to make house calls, took the family's late night phone calls, and even went on vacation with them. She had, as she admits, been seduced by the thought of being one of those physicians who stands proudly in the spotlight at press conferences in starched, white coats.

Now, I would no more deny Senator Kennedy the best care he can get in his fight against an insidious form of brain cancer. He has been an ardent champion for the underprivileged and for those who don't have healthcare.

Nor would I have denied my father, who was a prominent physician, the best care he received at Duke University when he learned he had prostrate cancer. Upon receiving his diagnosis, my dad immediately got on the phone to colleagues at Harvard Medical School. They talked with him about the latest treatments at Dartmouth and Duke. Within 72 hours, a top surgeon at Duke performed my dad's surgery. Within six weeks, Dad was up and training for another Boston marathon.

At the same time, I've got this really dear friend who waited months to get into an exciting new clinical trial for ovarian cancer. She was a great candidate, her doctor said. She recently learned, though, that now she doesn't qualify because of a change in her condition. I'm willing to bet, though, she would command  state of the art treatment if she had celebrity status. Or tons of money.

I know. That's just the way the world is. Those people who have thick wallets and name recognition don't have to wait in crowded waiting rooms or jump through dizzying hoops like the rest of us ordinary folk. Baseball players get moved up on the list for liver transplants. Basketball stars receive the latest in HIV treatment. Politicians command a whole team of world-renowned specialists to buoy them up in their darkest hours.

The rest of us wait. And jump if the phone rings.