The last time I saw a French doctor must have been in my teens—I got my Ontario health card when I became a permanent resident in 2005 and except for a yearly dental checkup when I’m in France, I’ve been dealing with the Canadian healthcare for the past 16 years.
This is basically the only healthcare system I’ve known as an adult. I can give presentations on pregnancy and birth in Canada, offer tips about walk-in clinics and commiserate with anyone who is trying to solve a health problem that takes more than a two-minute consultation with a doctor you’ll never see again and a prescription for the ubiquitous banana-flavoured amoxicillin antibiotic.
As you may have guessed. I have a love-hate relationship with the Canadian healthcare system. I’m grateful that unlike in the US, I will never have to declare bankruptcy due to medical expenses. The Ontario Health Insurance Plan (“OHIP,” i.e. the government-run health insurance plan available three months after establishing residency in Ontario) covers most basic medical and emergency services. This is precious to me because as a self-employed translator, I don’t get “benefits,” i.e. extended coverage through an employee healthcare plan.
But like many, many Canadians, I’m also very frustrated with our healthcare system. There’s a shortage of physicians, so good luck on getting a family doctor—most health issues are handled by walk-in clinics where you’ll never see the same doctor twice and where you’ll wait for a few hours for your five-minute consultation.
In 2007, Feng went from doctor to doctor for a year before being taken seriously and referred to a neurosurgeon for a herniated disk—he ended up getting surgery three months later because by then, it was pretty bad. I spent less than 24 hours at the hospital after giving birth and it wasn’t a pleasant experience—nurses wouldn’t let me sleep (I hadn’t slept for 24 hours by then because I had been in labour) and one of them actually barged into the bathroom shouting “your baby is crying, you should take care of him first” (excuse me, I needed to… pee?). I’ve never been able to get help through two years of postpartum depression. When Mark went through this awful stage when kids are sick all the time, we spent hours in crowded waiting rooms and getting antibiotics was a 50/50 chance, including when he had pneumonia.
I can count on the finger of one hand the number of times a doctor actually listened to me. I can’t even count the number of times I was told to “wait and come back if it doesn’t get better”—and trust me, we’re not a family of hypochondriacs.
When I arrived in France, my 90-year-old mamie was overdue for the COVID vaccine and I had just secured a spot for my mom through the online booking platform. But info and practical details were confusing, so my mom decided to check with her family doctor first.
I was amazed you could book an appointment just to ask questions. Hell, I was amazed she could see us the same week, especially for non-urgent matters.
I tagged along for support and a new cultural experience.
4:59 p.m. We arrive slightly out of breath because I kept on insisting we were going to be late. The receptionist directs us to the waiting room.
5:00 p.m. I suddenly realize I forgot to copy a movie to my phone, bring a book and pack snacks—this is what we do whenever we go to the doctor in Canada because you will be stuck in the waiting room for hours, and if you forget to bring your own entertainment you will be reading pamphlets about SDTs for fun.
5:05 p.m. Doctor greets us and takes us to her office. I’m vaguely suspicious—which kind of doctor is on time at the end of the day?
5:06 p.m. My mom is wondering whether it’s safe for her to be vaccinated because she vaguely remembered an allergic reaction she may or may not have as a kid.
5:08 p.m. My mom is still talking, which is surprising because she isn’t particularly talkative. The doctor is listening and not interrupting, which is surprising because doctors are supposed to treat patients like they’re stupid and not very knowledgeable about their own health.
5:11 p.m. I’m checking my watch. My mom has been talking for five minutes straight. We’re screwed, she’s getting lost in details without getting to the point. I’m staring at her trying to send a telepathic message: “make the most of your five-minute appointment already!”
5:12 p.m. The doctor asks a question, prompting further explanation from my mom.
5:14 p.m. They talk, talk and talk some more. Clearly the doctor is a big CSI fan because now we’re investigating my mom’s entire childhood medical history from 1960 to 1966. At one point the doctor suggests we could maybe locate my mom’s childhood doctor. “He’s probably… ahem, dead,” I feel the need to say.
5:25 p.m. The doctor decides to call a COVID-19 vaccine hotline for healthcare providers.
5:28 p.m. I’m getting a headache from all the talking. “So, it’s okay for her to be vaccinated?” I ask, trying to speed things up because we have two questions and we haven’t talked about my grandmother yet.
5:30 p.m. Oh, here we are, talking about my grandmother. Except we’re not actually talking about vaccinating her yet, we’re back to medical history and development since her last visit. This is going to be quick, my 92-year-old mamie has been telling everyone she’s dying for the past 70 years but she always feels healthy and doesn’t understand what everybody is so worried about when we drag her to the doctor.
5:35 p.m. We’ve established that mamie is a lovely lady but a pain in the butt. The doctor volunteers to get her vaccinated.
5:36 p.m. Back to my mom, the doctor is following up on resolved health issues.
5:38 p.m. I have a question about eligibility for my own COVID vaccine. The doctor takes my phone number and promise to check.
5:40 p.m. Looks like we’re do… nope. Doctor is providing helpful advice.
5:41 p.m. I hand over €25 because my mom doesn’t have change and the doctor doesn’t take debit cards. I can’t do math but I’m pretty sure the hourly rate is lower than mine as a copywriter or proofreader.
“How did you find her?” my mom asks when we exit the building. “I always find her so rushed…”
Oh maman, if only you knew how lucky you are!
How I miss my doctor in Grenoble! It was exactly like that, one phone call away and there we went! Always asking questions, listening… I have a family doctor here, but believe me, he’s always in a rush to get me out of there. Yes, it’s free. But to what extend…
And I think the healthcare situation is even more dire in Quebec (outside pandemic times). Apparently, finding a GP in Montreal is next to impossible :-/
I was lucky (got mine right away) but yes, it’s quite complicated unless you have diabetes, heart problems or something similar.
I think I was on a national waiting list for six years in Ontario… never actually worked, I found my GP alone. But she’s no longer practising apparently, so back to square one.
Génial !
Tu devrais écouter les chroniques de Baptiste Beaulieu sur France Inter “alors voilà” tu vas adorer !
Je note, merci!
HAHAH oh bless your mom ! yep she needs to come visit and see how it is in Ottawa.
I have a love and hate relationship with doctors. I have been a victim of medical racism and it is infuriating. I think only 2 doctors in my whole life (since 16 I have been going to dr on my own) that ACTUALLY LISTENED TO ME AND TRIED TO WORK WITH ME. I am in the process of breaking up with my current dr so I can find dr similar to me.
Wow, this sucks… I can’t imagine (obviously, being white…). I already feel I’ve been treated as a idiot sometimes because I was a woman so being a black woman must be a whole different challenge.
Last year, I had an abscess on my leg (it was the size of tennis ball ) and I went to AppleTree and dr gave me a tylenol and told me to go home and take a hot bath and it would come down in a few days. I went to work the next day and I was in horrible pain so I decided to go to ER and I saw an Indegeneous nurse and he was mad the dr did not take care of it because the abscess grew. I’m going to spare the details of rest, but this taught me to advocate loudly for myself even if they look at me crazy. Folks are afraid to go to drs and It is a shame that some drs act like that. My own mother is afraid of getting vaccine because she think drs are experimenting on ppl.
Abscess friend here! Had the exact same issue about 15 years ago, was told to take a hot bath with Epson salt. Yeah… that didn’t help.
Ingrown hair? I get these onnce in a while, although most of the time it’s a tiny abscess and it’s manageable. (Sorry, TMI).
I’m not scared of the vaccine. At this stage, just shot whatever you have in my arm and let’s end all this madness. Life isn’t worth living.
I feel like the hot bath soothes, but does not reduce swelling at all. Nope.
Yes, it was 🙁
I have been waiting for months for the vaccine. Yes, i have a bit of fear, but I want to protect my family and myself.
I’ve never found a perfect solution for ingrown hair and abcesses. Hot water, definitely… I was lucky, the last time it happened to me was in Brazil a couple of years ago so the hot and humid weather helped (and the fact I was able to wear shorts, leaving it exposed).
Haha I’m glad my mamie isn’t the only one who claims she’s been on the verge of dying for as long as I can remember.
I wonder if we’re going to be like that at one point 😆