As I got older and listened to my parents, the words were given more explanation always preceeded by, "Make no mistake we are not rich." "There is a difference between private practice and academic medicine." I was told. "Private practice you get paid per patient and academic medicine you get a salary no matter how many patients you see. And besides Daddy works for the state--he's a government employee." (I recognize this was VERY SIMPLIFIED for me and it was also surrounded by conflict between my parents...) Bottom line, I knew my daddy being a doctor did not guarantee we were monetarily rich...
But we were rich--we were rich in ways I had no idea. We were rich in medical privilege; for a long time, I just didn't understand it.
Here's what I did know
- We didn't pay co-pays--professional courtesy they called it--insurance only
- We didn't wait in the waiting room at the ER (I will never forget when my sister cut her finger shortly after being married. She called us and said, "I had to wait for hours to get it looked at." (Love you Meredith...)
- We didn't have to get referrals to see specialists
- We didn't have to wait months and months for appointments
But what I didn't know was others did...
There was so much I didn't know. I have had 8 knee surgeries (yes you read that right--8). After the first my parents decided I needed to see an expert so off to Columbus Georgia we went and then later to Birmingham, AL where I saw Dr. James Andrews. He was great--I liked him, but I didn't realize who he was. I didn't realize people wait months if not years to get into see him. (Renowned Orthopedic Surgeon) I sort of got the clue when I was scheduled for my 4th surgery and my time was bumped back a couple of hours because the Prince of Saudi Arabia need to be the first case due to security reasons....
When Chris and I were getting married we were told I most likely would not be able to conceive on my own--(and no smart alecs that didn't mean I just needed Chris' help). While this worried me a great deal, my world famous reproductive endocrinologist reminded me that the insurance we had covered 100% of any--yes you read that right ANY infertility treatment including invitro. (For years he would pass Daddy in the hall, shake his head and say, "I just don't get it." Daddy would respond with either, "Well she's pregnant again." or "Let me show you pictures.")
It was around this time some of my privilege began to niggle at me. Some of it made me just a tad uncomfortable; why was I given special treatment?--When I was in labor with SK (FOR HOURS AND HOURS) there was a sign put on the door, "Do not disturb--no residents permitted." I gave birth to her at the Medical College of Georgia--a teaching hospital, but no one was learning on me. I wanted to nurse her immediately upon delivery which was not standard hospital practice--it was for me. And then the most disturbing...
I was in my room trying to get some sleep when there was a knock on the door. A smiling young woman came in and began talking to me about WIC and Right from the Start Medicaid. She handed me brochures and oohed and ahhed over SK. (Who by the way was a beautiful baby--that perfect head makes a c-section almost worth it.) This kind young woman was asking me how I was feeling and if there was anything she could do for me as the door burst open, "What are you doing in here?" a nurse bellowed, "Do you have any idea who this is? This is DR. KANTO'S daughter--get out!!" The young woman turned bright red, began apologizing and slithered out...I did nothing.
That scene has haunted me for years. Why didn't I speak up? Who cares who my daddy is? This woman was doing her job; she was kind; she was professional. Why did I let her leave feeling humiliated when she did nothing but treat me with dignity and respect long before she "knew who I was." I so wish I knew her name...
It's been a process. I'll admit it; I have used my privilege--my maiden name over the years. I have made sure my children had the best care--any trip to the ER is preceded by a call to Daddy so he can let them know we're coming. Any specialist we needed to see was vetted by Daddy before we went--and there have been many times we were extended that "professional courtesy." And I am ashamed to admit that when Caroline was attacked by a dog and needed over 75 stitches in her face I wasn't the kindest person when I said, "Are you a resident?" "Yes m'am" he responded. "Well you're going to need to go and find someone else. There is no way you are touching my daughter." (And I didn't say it kindly or with respect...)
I have used my privilege, but what I wonder is why can't everyone have the same privilege? Why can't everyone have the same access to the quality care? Why can't everyone be treated like they're important--like they're somebody's child? Cause guess what? They are--we are all beloved children of God and as such we--each and everyone of us is deserving of dignity and respect.
It's a tension I live in--a paradox I am not always proud to be a part of, but one that exists in my life. And it is why being appointed to the Family Health Centers matters so much to me. I don't have a lot to offer--I'm not a doctor, a successful business person (ask Chris about my financial expertise ;) ) or a marketing genius. What I do have to offer is my experience of privilege in the medical field, my discomfort with that experience, my belief that everyone should have the same access to medical care and money should not be a barrier to caring for ourselves and our families, and possibly most importantly my deep, non-negotiable belief that ALL PEOPLE regardless of circumstance are worthy of dignity and respect in all areas of their lives. I am so humbled and honored--
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