Now that Chris and I have lived in Florida for a few months I’ve had a glimpse of the way the health system operates here, which, not surprisingly, caters to old folks, of which Florida has lots. Many of them are relatively affluent to truly rich, but not to be forgotten is that Medicare is available to those over 65. Ergo, there are tons of medical facilities here.
Some old people like to talk about their medical problems, many to the point where other people’s eyes glaze over. (Not a good thing to do around the kids if you want to appear youthful.) In Florida, you can spend your whole day indulging in this pastime because of the demographics. When conversation veers this way I call it “dialling in on medical.” So, where am I going with this? Well, much as I dislike discussing my own health (but don’t mind discussing Chris’s, lol) I can see that navigating much of life here requires a certain attention to the medical.
My post today is what can happen when people move between systems. In Europe, I was on no prescription drugs (with the specialist’s blessings). Apparently, I didn’t have a big enough heart problem or else my atrial fibrillation (A-fib in US speak) was considered minor. I was advised that I could get by on a daily baby aspirin. “Now that we’ve plugged the hole in your heart you’re fine and no need to see a cardiologist was the gist of my send-off.
Today, barely three months into living in Florida, I find myself on two prescription drugs and I have a cardiologist. My A-fib (which I’ve had all my life and is as much a part of me as the freckles on my arms) set off alarm bells at the GP’s office when I went in for a check-up. “But I’m on baby aspirin to prevent strokes and heart attacks,” I protested, “and the Swiss cardiologist didn’t think my A-fib was a problem!” Baby aspirin, the doctor replied, isn’t effective enough. This was news to me, and probably to all those people who are on baby aspirins for the same reason I am. He left the room and returned with three boxes of sample anticoagulants. “They’re very expensive,” he said, “so this’ll tide you over until you see the cardiologist,” which turned out to be the following week.
“You’ve got A-fib,” said the cardiologist after reviewing my records, “and your heart rate is too high right now.” After arguing back and forth a bit with her I wasn’t about to ignore her advice and bravely forge ahead on a baby aspirin, but I still can’t figure out why I can’t just ditch the expensive prescription anticoagulant (twice a day which means a refill twice as fast) in favor of the once a day baby aspirin and the virtue of being on one less prescription med. Well, maybe I can figure this out. Am I being too cynical?
Chris had his own encounter with the long arms of pharma. His new psychiatrist suggested to him at their first meeting back in October that he consider going on injectable Abilify. When I heard this I hit the roof. Injectable Abilify? What the hell did the doctor think he was doing by suggesting to a patient on the first visit, a person who appears “relatively normal” on very little liquid Abilify, that he up his dose and lock himself into perpetual patienthood? Chris told the doctor he would think about it. What have I been doing wrong all these years that Chris would even suggest to a doctor that he would “think about” being locked into something that he is pretty much off of? There are several reasons I can imagine why Chris said it, and only one reason I can think of why the doctor suggested it.
No escape from being on a prescription here is the conclusion one might draw.