Growing up in Yellowknife, there are many things I have come to take for granted: the Northern Lights 180 nights a year, being able to eat the fish out of any lake, river or creek you dip your pole in (heheh... joke aside, maybe you don't want to eat anything found in Back Bay,) and, as I found out today, the fact that, if you have a medical issue, you can call a clinic, book an appointment and see a doctor.
The past week I indulged in some good old self-inflicted existential stress, which I am evidently prone to from time to time. While it saps my energy and makes me feel like junk for a couple days, I usually come out of the bouts renewed with ambition and drive to do accomplish some task I've always wanted to do. I'm in that stage right now and I feel good.
But a side effect from these days of trivial anxiety and self-beat-upedness (like that word) is that the rosacea on my face explodes in colour, severity and size. Once upon a time, I had a baby-smooth face, but I believe after working in the arsenic plant at one of Yellowknife's gold mines for six months operating a pump and having to wear a ventilator over my face for long periods of time, I started to develop a small red rash on each of my cheeks. Over time, the rosacea has conquered more territory on my face (MANifest destiny?) to the point where, when it flares up, I look like I have severe acne. (Worse than that 'too many cho-co-lut bars' commercial guy, back in the old days when MuchMusic used to play music videos.)
The rosacea has provided some hilarious episodes, like when the pharmacists in the territories messed up my antibiotics on my first and second re-ups - giving me antidepressants by accident. However, it does bother me and make me feel unhealthy and self-conscious. It also gets itchy and crusty and it feels like I'm wearing a mask sometimes. People think it's sunburn. At work, someone will say, "Looks like someone got some sun this weekend." And I'll say, "Mothafucka, it's been raining non-stop the last three days. How the hell could I get sunburnt?" Actually, I won't say that. I'll say, "Yep, forgot my sunblock. Oh shucks."
With this red, bumpy stuff creeping up my nose to my forehead, I figured, I better go get some meds to fight off the bacterial invaders. It's done the trick in the past and I've been off the drugs since moving to Montreal in October. So I called up a clinic and tried to book me an appointment. You know, because I live in Canada and should be able to do this.
"Who is your family doctor?" the receptionist asked in French.
"I don't have one. I just moved here last year from Yellowknife."
"Okay, do you have a file with us?"
"No, I just moved here last year from Yellowknife."
"Oh, I'm sorry. We're not taking any new clients."
What? New clients? I'm not a client. I'm not a customer. I'm a person who needs to see a doctor. I was appalled and hung up the phone. I looked up another clinic and called and got the same response.
I walked over to my roommate and asked her what the deal was. She said there is such a shortage of doctors in Quebec that no one can get a family doctor anymore if they don't already have one. Fuck the heck?
Also, the only way I could see a doctor would be by going to a walk-in clinic.
For real?
I spoke to some folks at the coal mine... er... call centre over the week and they told me the same thing. They told me I better go in early to get a number. Super early. They said I could go to a private clinic or a dermatologist, but I was like "Fuck that, this is Canada. I'm not paying to see a doctor."
And so it was this morning, I got up early to the buzz of F1 cars on the island, doing practice runs on the Circuit Gilles Villeneuve for this weekend's Grand Prix. I almost thought I was back in Yellowknife for a second, with the cars sounding like the invisible, invincible mosquitoes that buzz in your ears at twilight and turn you psychotic.
I've got three Fridays off this month (shortage of coal at the coal mine... er... calls at the glorified call centre) and I had pegged today as my doctor's visit day. I made my way to the aptly named Complexe Desjardins, passing old bald men wearing Ferrari hats smoking cigars (almost wrote guitars for some reason?) before 9:30 a.m. It took me 30 minutes to find the clinic once at the building. It wasn't the gastro clinic, or the radiology clinic, but instead a hole in the wall on the fifth floor and when I spoke to the receptionist, she told me they were all full for the day. She didn't even hide the fact that she derived some pleasure from telling me this. I hate those kinds of people. Like, just have sex or something and lighten the fudge up. I tapped my book on the table, took a deep breath and... walked away.
For years, I've heard about doctors shortages. Heard we'd be in trouble. Heard people couldn't see doctors or had to wait hours upon hours to do so... While going to school in Calgary, I never had that problem because we had the University clinic. (I won't say why I visited that place, but I'm sure - or at least hope - everyone's gone to a University clinic for the same reasons I did.) And in Yellowknife, that's never a problem at all. You can book three days ahead of time and get an appointment. With all the neck wringing about health benefits for seniors or emergency room waits, at least you can still get the most basic and important service: a doctor's visit. I know that's not the case outside Yellowknife in the smaller communities, but they have logistical issues to blame.
Montreal doesn't.
Is this walk-in, no appointment thing common knowledge amongst Canadians? Am I a small town buffoon for not knowing this?
Either way, the frustration from not seeing a doc is surely to cause my rosacea to expand even further. I'm gonna have to dig some new trenches against this foe. Scalpel.
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