Where have all the doctors gone?

H ealth insurance is not all it’s cracked up to be.

I have a white plastic card in my wallet with cheerleader-blue writing on it. I am hopeful that this card is my safety net. But even with my little plastic card, I’m having a heck of a time getting an appointment for anything.

Let me start with my dentist. I really like my dentist. He’s one of the rare dentists that cleans your teeth. He doesn’t have a hygienist clean your teeth.

I am not one of those lucky people who can get their teeth cleaned twice a year and call it good. The angry tooth fairy’s assistant was drunk the night my mouth was filled and I have really high maintenance gums and teeth.

So my dentist of many years had hip replacement surgery and he wasn’t practicing for a few months. How hard do you think it is to get a cleaning appointment somewhere else?

It never happened. I could not get scheduled with other dentists that I called until 2008.

Thankfully my dentist has returned this month.

Not so fortunate with other specialists. After months of a twisted stomach – who wouldn’t have one with twins graduating and going to college – I was referred to a gastrointestinal doctor. If only there was actually a GI doctor available somewhere in the northern hemisphere to actually see me.

I am laughing as I recall the moment when I was given a prescription for 15 days by my regular doctor and a referral slip. I asked if 15 days of medicine was enough.

She laughed and said, “You’ll be seen by the GI within a week.”

Not this week. Not next week. Not even next month apparently.

Where have all the doctors gone?

A couple of years ago, when my dad was dying in Florida, I sat with him in an emergency room for five days. There were no beds available in the hospital. There were no beds available in any of the hospitals.

He had his little plastic insurance card tucked in his pants pocket. It could not get him a bed. His spine had broken through his skin and was protruding from his back.

After five days, a bed finally became available in a heart unit three hours away. My father didn’t have a heart problem, but we took the bed.

It took a few hours to work with the doctors on the heart floor who tried to have him moved because he didn’t have a heart problem. At the time, I looked at the mess and thought, “Florida has a real problem.”

I felt thankful that I was living in a place that was not experiencing such shortages in the health care system. But I think it’s coming.

I think it’s closer than we realize.

I’m wondering about these little plastic cards. I just don’t think they are delivering what we were expecting.

Sarri Gilman is a freelance writer living on Whidbey Island. Her column on living with meaning and purpose runs every other Tuesday in The Herald. She is a therapist, a wife and a mother, and has founded two nonprofit organizations to serve homeless children. You can e-mail her at features@ heraldnet.com.