During some point in our lives, we’re all going to encounter the bureaucracy of medical treatment. And, we’re going to conclude that our system sucks. It’s often not the people. Sure, I’ve met a few doctors with a grumpy bedside manner, but on the whole the nurses, doctors, home health aides, and medical suppliers I’ve dealt with have been fine people. Some have been the kindest, most caring people I’ve met, who brought needed hope to a loved one in need. So, it’s not the people—at least not the ones on the front lines. But the system is faulty.
Rather than look at the system as a whole, I’d like to look at small details. A lack of attention to small details shows that somewhere along the line there’s an error. I’m sure as I point these things out, others have thought about them. They’ve talked to supervisors, medical suppliers, pharmaceutical companies, and politicians. As the little details have moved up the chain of bureaucracy, there’s been some shortsighted dimwit that has just given the response, “Well, we just can’t do that.”, or “That will cost extra money.”, or “You just don’t understand how the system works.” In some conference room, where the people with the real power make decisions that affect people’s lives, stupidity reigns, because corporate America is ruled by profits, power, and convenience for the small group of soulless jackasses that have the final say. So, let’s look at some of those details. As I’ve helped care for loves ones, it’s often these little details that frost me.
Let’s Read the Fine Print
Or, maybe we won’t read the fine print. Have you seen the fine print? You’d need a microscope to read the print on pill bottles, instruction stickers on medical devices, or the tiny print on a cellphone a home health aide is carrying, because their company thinks they only need one device. Wouldn’t want to pay a hundred bucks for a large tablet so grandma can read the fine print, now would we?
I’ve wondered, as I’ve seen an elderly relative struggle to read the fine print, why don’t they give them bigger instructions? And, why aren’t there instructions on the side of the oxygen tank? I know there’s room. Someone had enough thought to put the company phone number on the side in a thousand-point font, because, well, when that tank is empty, we need a call so we can sell another. Why aren’t things labeled in big, clear, easy to understand ways? Doesn’t anyone think about these things? My only conclusion is that someone has thought about these things. I can’t be the only one. Things were pushed up the chain and eventually died, because a lazy middle manager didn’t want to be bothered. Or, made it all the way up to the boardroom of jackasses and died, because that would cost an extra nickel. Well, if you multiply a nickel by a million orders, I’ll have to buy a smaller yacht.
Pills, Pills, Pills
Ah yes, the bag of pills. It’s a huge bag that’s extremely confusing to someone that can’t read the labels. Because, remember, the label is microscopic. Did you know it’s hard to read small print on a curve? Squint. Rotate. Squint. Rotate. Squint. Rotate. I’m getting a headache. And, why aren’t these instructions in English? I recognize all the characters, so it looks like English, but I don’t comprehend what’s being said. I’m a writer that’s helping my elderly relative. I’ve taught college English classes, so I should be able to figure this out, but there’s a lack of clarity in the wording. And then, it dawns on me. Instructions for something as important as a critical medicine, something that could turn dangerous or even deadly if misused, shouldn’t be reduced to one-hundred-forty characters like a Twitter post. Well, actually, I’m not even sure if they could fit one-hundred-forty characters on this teensy, tiny little label. My thumbnail is bigger
Did you know they can make injection molded plastic into cube shapes? Hard to believe, isn’t it? Simply making the pill bottle larger and square would help the situation. Of course, printing out the instructions on a regular sheet of paper in big print would really help. It may even give room to give complete instructions without any abbreviations or jargon. Yeah, that would really help. Of course, there goes some fuel for some useless jackass’s leer jet.
I have an idea. Now, I know this is going to be bold. It may be so brilliant that no one else has ever thought about it. Why not also print out a full list of all medications the person should be taking? Make it simple—include times, doses, and full instructions. And, include it with every prescription refill, because sometimes elderly people have a change in their medication and simply giving them obscure instructions about their new pill doesn’t tell them whether they should keep taking the old pill or if the new pill replaces the old one. Or, and I’m really spitballing here, because this idea is at an Einsteinian level of brilliance, why not have the pharmacist presort all the pills into little packets—Monday morning pills in one packet, Monday evening in another packet, Tuesday morning in another packet, and so on! I know, I know. Nickels and dimes, leer jets and yachts without fuel, and what if the pharmacy had to hire another person to do all that sorting? Oh, heaven forbid we help grandma and create a new job!
Then there is the pill splitter. Let’s give an elderly person with bent hands a pill the size of ladybug and expect them to split it with a little, cheap, injection molded plastic device. How’s that working for them?
Why are some of these pills so small? Don’t they have any fillers that could make them a reasonable size for disfigured hands to hold. We’ve all found a loved one’s pill on the floor. Somewhere along the line, with the forty-seven pills in their hand, one broke loose. We don’t know when it happened. We’re just glad they’re still alive.
Touchscreens
Zombie fingers. Have you heard of zombie fingers? No, well, you’re about to learn something. Have you ever watched an elderly person fumble with a cellphone? Or, maybe it’s that touchscreen a home health aide hands them. You know, that device that has crucial information they need to read and understand. And then, instead of focusing on the information, it’s a struggle to scroll, pinch, and expand text. Touchscreens are designed to register electrical signals from contact with skin. But, people with circulator issues, or other medical conditions, may not have proper blood flow and function in their fingers. That can impact the electrical signals and the touchscreen doesn’t work properly.
Everything anymore is designed to function around the touchscreen. If your fingers work properly, that cellphone, tablet, or device can make your life easier. But, if your fingers don’t work properly, all those devices just make life harder. I’m not saying get rid of touchscreens. If you try to take away my iPad, you’re going to have a fight on your hands! But, there needs to be alternate ways to access information for elderly patients that need medical care. The touchscreen may not be the right tool for them, but what does every visiting nurse, home health aide, or medical supplier carry?
Zombie finger is well known. I found out about it, because I watched an elderly relative consistently struggle with a cellphone. I did a little research—nothing in-depth, just a quick Google search. I mentioned it to a home health nurse, who was carrying her touchscreen, but had never heard about it. Why? Why wouldn’t she know? Do you think device manufacturers are aware of the issue? And, in boardroom discussions, do you think there was talk about keeping a lid on this little problem? There could be research into make the device friendly for all users, but then, nickels and dimes, nickels and dimes, there goes my vacation to Bermuda. Why worry about the disenfranchised few when the phones are flying off the shelves? So what if grandpa is getting his physical therapy and is struggling with that touchscreen his occupational therapist gave him. It’s not our problem!
The Oxygen Tanks
Tank would be a good word. These things are huge. And, heavy! Really heavy! They’re not heavy for me or the guy that brings them to the house. No, we’re healthy men. We don’t have rheumatoid arthritis and breathing issues. I deadlifted twenty times the weight just this morning. But for a small, elderly woman with rheumatoid, these things are huge. Why? Can’t they make them lighter? We have plastics, polymers, and carbon fibers. Oh, right, nickels and dimes. But, once the tank is made, the company takes away the old tanks when they’re empty. I assume they sterilize them and refill them. So, the cost of a better tank is a one-time investment to make someone’s life easier.
Why are they round? Won’t a round tank roll around in the backseat or trunk of someone’s car? Plus, doesn’t a cylinder have less volume that a cuboid shape? So, a cylinder would have less oxygen than if the shape was squared off—meaning it has to be bigger to carry the needed oxygen. I know some engineer right now is thinking about the problems of manufacturing a cuboid shaped oxygen tank made of a lightweight polymer. There probably are issues, but we put a man on the moon, didn’t we? And, I’m sure that man needed some oxygen.
Summary
I know sometimes I think too much about things, but I also know others have come to these same conclusions. The little details at times can be infuriating. These little details can become big struggles. Or, sometimes a big catastrophe that leads to a hospital stay or even death. The small details are just a symptom of bigger problems. And, that’s really at the heart of many of the problems of our medical system. We sometimes treat symptoms and don’t uncover the underlying illness. And, that underlying illness is usually the nickels and dimes that fuel some useless extravagance.
