In a recent USA Today article, author and health care advocate Christine Bechtel shared how she broke down in tears during a medical appointment because she felt her physician brushed her off.
“All I wanted was a human connection, but the doctor-patient relationship – the most important element in all of health care – was dead on arrival,” she wrote.
Ms. Bechtel attributed the death of that relationship primarily to the health insurance industry, which reimburses so little that doctors are forced to ration their time and the care they provide in order to see enough patients to pay their own bills.
The average visit with a primary care provider in the United States is only ten to twelve minutes, with newer doctors spending as little as eight minutes per visit with patients, according to recent studies.
My own experience as a practicing physician confirms these facts. And it’s why, in my current practice (The Center for Anti-aging, Aesthetic and Rejuvenation Medicine in Viera, Florida), I refuse to accept the handicapping limitations that the low rates of insurance reimbursements require.
Let me tell you my story.
After nearly four decades as an anesthesiologist, working primarily in cardiac surgery, I’ve witnessed this demise of quality health care at the hands of insurers and administrators, who are forced to cut corners to make a profit. One key strategy for hospitals and clinics: squeeze every insurance-billable hour out of physicians by loading up their patient caseloads until a visit to your caregiver resembles a Ford assembly line.
In 2016, a catastrophic experience changed my trajectory. I became critically ill with Acute Respiratory Distress System, was intubated and lapsed into a coma that lasted six weeks. Twice during that period, I suffered cardiac arrest two times. In layman’s terms – I died twice. Thankfully, I was revived. My own doctors said they were ready to “pull the plug” when I unexpectedly regained consciousness.
This was followed by six weeks in a rehab hospital and two years in outpatient rehabilitation. I had so many medications, my home looked like a Walgreen’s pharmacy.
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