Y'all owe me something!

It was another wonderful morning at Disability Physicals. The local bum outside the building was seeking handouts, the room was freezing, and three people had already cancelled...for the third time. I arrived around 9:00, to an empty waiting room, and had just settled into my office when the door burst open, and a thin, nervous-looking man ran in. He stated that he was "here to get my physicals all done," and after an eye exam and a height/weight check, he was ushered into the exam room.

He was a thin man, head tucked in a sweatshirt hood, fingernails dirty. He slouched like some modern-day Quasimodo, one eye leering from under his greasy hair. He stated that "all my insides are a burning, and my mental keeps me from doing anything but think about doing nothing." A predicament indeed. He admitted that he had Hepatitis C, but although he was covered in "prison-made tattoos," and had been a "crank, crack, ice and meth whore" his entire life, couldn't figure out how he became infected with the virus. He stated that if he moved everything hurt, but if he didn't move, he couldn't stop thinking about moving. In addition, his equally Hugoian girlfriend added that "he likes to kick through the walls in the house, because it gives him something to do." You might have gathered from reading some of my earlier entries that I usually have something to say when people spout...interesting dialogue. This was not one of those times.
They rambled about how he "cries when he gets hurt," how he "sees spiders in the attic," and so on, with me simply sitting there, grinding my teeth to keep from laughing. I know that might sound a little cold-hearted, but I'll be the first to admit that I see spiders in my attic too. Anyway, I was finally able to ask my $10,000 question: "So which of these complaints keeps you from working?" and much to my surprise he stated "Well, I cut my foot with a knife, and all my memory came out with the blood." .... ..... Ok then. I didn't really feel like explaining that the memory circuit in his brain was in no way associated with his circulatory system, so I just sat there, nodded an empathic "go on," and let him continue talking. He started to yap about how he had been in prison his whole life because of his drug habits, and although he had been clean for two years, didn't understand why he didn't feel 100% better. I told him that organ damage from drugs is often permanent, and as you might imagine, he didn't take that well. He began to yell at this point, and the following diatribe ensued.
"Y'all owe me something for all the time I did. I needed all that medical care in the prison, but nobody took me seriously when I told them I was sick. As a result, I burn on the inside from my liver problems, and nobody will pay for my special liver tests. I deserve those things! I'm a person too! Just because I was selling drugs doesn't mean that I don't need stuff. The government needs to pay for my medical care because I gave my life to the State Penitentiary!"
I once again empathically nodded...and proceeded to the physical exam. He left shortly afterwards, almost vomiting in my trashcan because “that alcohol hand rub makes me all queasy.”

As silly as it is, the above monologue represents an interesting social conundrum. As a prisoner, one is paying their debt to society for the bad things they did. Unfortunately, and as a prison doctor I know this, resources are very limited for those incarcerated. Medical care, therefore, and especially complicated medical management, often gets overlooked for those detained simply because the system can't afford to pay for it. Some would argue that by breaking the law, one loses the luxury of receiving medical care beyond basic life necessities. On the other hand, prisoners are people, too, and therefore deserve the same level of healthcare available to those in the outside world, right?

The topic of responsibility often arises in these discussions. Should you and I have to pay for expensive medical tests and treatments for someone who will (most likely) never contribute to society, especially if they've done the damage themselves? Most people would say no, but that's exactly what we're doing. I'm not trying to sound harsh, but it really irritated me when the above patient started yelling about how he was owed special treatment because he was incarcerated on and off for 30 years, and had never lived a normal life. I've said it before, and I'll say it again. You are responsible for your own health. If you choose to do drugs, stick yourself with dirty needles and who knows what else, don't expect me to get all teary-eyed when you come down with some disease. Furthermore, don't expect me to shell out tax-dollars so that you can get expensive treatments for your poor choices. You are responsible for you, plain and simple.

And now for the disability quotes of the day:

Patient's mother's written response to the question, "Describe how your condition has changed your life."
"He once was extra above smart, now he ain't."

The same patient's mother's response to the question, "Do you have a good support group at home?"
"Everyone really loves him, his mom, his dad, his friends, even his BFF Kelly."
(Thank goodness for Kelly, I don't think he'd make it otherwise)

Man: "Let me show you how my knees pop all out of socket. Here I go!"
::He bends over with no problem::
"Well, I guess they're not going to do it today..."

Take responsibility for yourself,
-DD