Prescription for pain, angst and 'silly old buggers'

Bob Hawke once infamously referred to a senior citizen as a "silly old bugger" before he inevitably became one, but it seems bureaucrats and some private enterprise operators want to make life ever more complicated for this significant percentage of the population.

Telcos, banks and health insurers are among the many businesses I'd include in the bracket that fail to recognise more than 17 percent of their customers are probably over 65. Many will find the latest "apps" and upgrades difficult to navigate, especially when callers are subjected to conversing with an AI bot before being directed to some lady in an Asian call centre who has difficulty in speaking or understanding English.

My latest head scratching, hair-pulling moment involved a pharmaceutical business which made me glad all over again that I walked away from that industry after completing a pharmacy apprenticeship straight out of High School.

I'm obviously not a fan of Big Pharma, vaccine mandates or vaccine injury indemnities as I have frequently stated, but don't get me wrong - there are obviously many very good pharmacists and perhaps my latest negative encounter was the result of some weird obscure government regulation.

But I doubt it, and staff at the emergency department of our local private hospital couldn't fathom it either.

How so? Well, it started with pains in the belly which were worse than the pains in another part of the anatomy experienced from sitting and watching Federal Parliament's Question Time for more than 15 minutes, so yes, pretty bad and they kept me awake most of the night.

Next day it was off to the hospital emergency department where I spent about four hours waiting on the result of a blood test and CT scan, which helped a busy and efficient doctor to diagnose an internal infection.

He gave me the choice of being admitted and having an antibiotic drip or taking a course of antibiotics at home.

It took me about a nanosecond to reply, "At home, thanks Doc!"

So he printed out a list of foods to avoid (many of my favourites including anything spicy, with roughage, or fried) and a fairly bland list of approvals. I'm ok with that.

He also gave me two prescriptions for an antibiotic with the instruction, "Take two a day for five days from the first script and if your condition hasn't improved, get the second script filled and take them for another five days. If you're still no better, come back here…"

All good. Next morning my doting wife who is just recovering from cataract surgery took my prescription to a local major pharmacy chain during a rain deluge and returned home wet and with a soaked package containing one dry box of antibiotic tablets.

"Where is the other prescription," I asked. (The two scripts had been joined together).

"I don't know, that's all they gave me…"

So I phoned the pharmacy and spoke to a young woman who told me initially the woman who had dispensed was on a lunch break but there was no other prescription.

I insisted there was and repeated the doctor's instructions so she put me on hold for about 10 minutes before coming back:

"Yes, there is a second prescription but if you want that dispensed it will cost $20, not the $7.70 concessional fee you paid for the first one."

"Well can I just come and pick it then and I'll decide if I need to get it filled."

"No, you will still have to pay $20."

"Even without the extra tablets?"

"Yes!"

"Well, that sounds very strange." (I could have said a lot more, but I bit my tongue).

"Well, that's just the way it is." (Implied - it's your problem, not mine). Bye.

After sitting and stewing and recounting the conversation to my wife, I decided to phone the hospital and tell them what had just happened.

The senior nurse in the emergency department probably had a lot more pressing problems to deal with but she listened to my story and agreed it did indeed sound very strange.

"It's your script. I'll phone them and check it out."

Ten minutes later she called me back.

"They gave me the same story. I just don't understand it."

"Well if you can't, how the hell could I?"

We both laughed before she said, " Look I'll get a doctor to write you another script and leave it with admin…"

So today, in some less pain and no rain, I ventured back to the emergency department where I expected I would have to do some explaining to the staff on duty.

But as soon as I walked up to the glass window with a narrow slot and told the woman on duty my name, she smiled and said "This is for you." An envelope with my new script inside.

I asked if she was the lady I had spoken to the previous day.

"No, but I heard the conversation … it's unbelievable!"

Another woman sitting at a desk beside her was smiling and nodding in agreement.

I thanked them both. One small win, and I'll take it!

But then back home I received another text telling me to make a booking with my GP for an annual prostate antigen (PSA) test which caused some angst and a verbal arm wrestle with a pathology lab technician this time last year.

The rules had just been changed and I wrote about it in an article titled "Medibank Messing with Movember".

This was part of the exchange:

"Read this, the Medicare rules have changed from November 1, and you might now have to pay for your blood test, which was previously free…that's what the delay was as I tried to explain it to the previous patient, but in the end, he refused to have it."

"Well I can understand that. The government claims it's reducing the cost of medical care but in the past few weeks I've had to consult an eye surgeon, a cardiologist and a skin specialist which has cost me an arm and a leg and now you tell me I might be charged for this blood test!"

She gives me another sceptical look, noting that no limbs are missing as she replies, "Yes, it's complicated … read the paper and fill in the questions."

These related to whether I or any close blood relatives had ever had prostate cancer or a range of other conditions aligned with this frequently problematic male organ. I tick a couple and place crosses besides others. .. She casts an eye over it and says, "Well that might qualify you for a free test but I can't say for sure."

"Will my doctor know when I go for the test results?"

"No, he won't know and you won't know until when, or if, you receive an invoice on your mobile phone."

Great! Maybe there will be another giant Optus stuff-up and it will be lost somewhere in the cyber-world.

Anyway, she painlessly draws enough blood to provide Dracula with a pre-dinner drop of his favourite O - red, I bid her goodbye and she looks relieved to see her next patient is a young woman. But as more men arrive, I think she'll be in for a long day…

I must have qualified, the bill never arrived, my PSA level was ok, but will I be thrice lucky?