[Living as a trauma patient for a month]

[Living as a trauma patient for a month]

On Saturday, March 2, while mopping at home, a piece of reinforced floor got stuck in the palm. First of all, I went to a local orthopedic clinic without looking back and received emergency treatment. I took out the visible piece, but the doctor recommended that I go to a large hospital. "I originally have to go to a university hospital right away, but I'm on strike, so just go to a secondary hospital specializing in manual surgery on Monday." He endured two days and visited a manual surgery hospital in Mapo-gu on Monday. After an ultrasound examination, I found out that I still had a 7cm piece in my hand. I left it with a piece of wood stuck in my body for three days. Perhaps because of that, the inflammation did not ease even after surgical removal.

Would the situation have been better if there had been no strike by the major and the examination had been conducted at a large hospital immediately on the day of the accident? It is a pointless assumption, but it is difficult to easily dispel such thoughts. Anyway, things happened, and now I am used to living a one-handed life enough to type more than 150 strokes with just my left hand. However, while I was in and out of the secondary hospital, I had various experiences with the medical system. I didn't want to pour out my unrefined anger by thinking about 50,000 thoughts every day, so I just took a note. Let's share some things that I have come to realize greatly.

1. There is a lot of medical information, but too little at the same time.

He was hospitalized in the first week, and went to the hospital every day in the second to fifth weeks (now twice a week). Each time he went, he flew an average of two hours. But actually, about 15 to 30 seconds to talk to the doctor about his hand situation face-to-face? Even the desk in the doctor's office is "standing up." With the door wide open, treatment takes place as if it were undergoing immigration at the airport. When the patient comes in, the doctor hurriedly checks the condition with the stand and ends the treatment with "See you tomorrow." Why?

There are few hospitals specializing in manual surgery in Seoul. Every time I go there, as many as 50 patients are waiting. Is it only me who gets sick? The person in front of me doesn't have a leg, and the person in the back has a cut off his finger. If it's me, I'm going to have to wait modestly. As everyone is waiting for their turn with their hands clasped, the door of the clinic is open to look at the scene. Most of the patients waiting look at me, waiting for me to pass by quickly. "It hurts. How long does it have to hurt? What additional treatment can I do at home? I don't have more senses than yesterday. What should I do?" The same question goes, "It gets better over time. Next time." Hoo. Yes. Let's endure it. Repeating this life and daily life for a few weeks can make this wait dull.

But I can't help it. The pain area also changes every time, what is the nerve in the finger, why is it like this, why is the inflammation not disappearing, etc. So I end up searching and searching. However, as online medical information is usually used, there is a lot of information on profitable medical treatment, but it is hard to find information on trauma recovery like mine. I look up and read the article on the Q&A bulletin board on the website of Bucheon Yeson Hospital, which is famous for being a specialized hand hospital, but it is not very helpful. Each case is so different.

I bought a human anatomy program for the iPad and carefully examine the neural structure, but my frustration doesn't go away. However, I don't want to mention the most favorite "pulchic button" of doctors and lawyers, that is, "I saw it on the Internet..."

I pay to see a professional, but why does my heart get frustrated? ... I wonder, but when I wait in the hospital with 40 to 50 other patients intertwined, I just think, "I don't know, and let's just get it done quickly." Some of them might have wanted to go to a university hospital and get treatment. Unfortunately, in this part of the secondary hospital, we were tangled up, and we just repeated the order to "let's just hold it in." I started physical therapy last week, when the pain considerably eased, but I got to understand my condition better by talking to the physical therapists. Doctor, we're not asking for much emotional labor...

2. You're going to get real loss insurance anyway

I found out later that my hospital was famous online for "including a lot of unnecessary medical care". I didn't understand what it meant after sending the hospitalization documents to the insurance company. But how can a patient know that? There's a piece of wood stuck in my body and I'm cutting it out with a knife. What's the luxury of insurance for non-class girls' high school.

However, when combined with the aforementioned 'frustration caused by lack of information', this subtle betrayal sometimes results in unbearable anger. They pour three hours a day into the hospital every day, including the time they go to and from the hospital, but every time they met the doctor was only 15 seconds, they cursed a lot inside. On some days, the reality of the entire medical system came strongly, and even the needle was sorely inserted, and the swear word came up to my throat. Dong-in, the medical staff is innocent. The feeling subsided only after I kept repeating, 'The nurse is even more.' In this jagged biorhythm, I pay money every day, and I live by wrestling with the insurance company every day.

As I keep filing claims for indemnity insurance, I see some things. Many things stand out on the street and from people around me. Otolaryngology and throat recommend sleep apnea surgery (which provides loss insurance), while orthopedic surgeons recommend all kinds of physical therapy (which provides loss insurance). We are in an environment where non-essential treatment is recommended, but at the same time, the medical system that can properly treat this urgent trauma that we have suffered is a strange state that has stopped. Where on earth did it start and how twisted it was.

In the midst of dithering, some doctors' Facebook posts raise eyebrows. "Korea is still good. Look at other countries. There's no such thing as a medical system." Right. But what's wrong with me? Is it right to get a 15-second cut? Is it right that there are no other hospitals in Seoul that can go than here? No, it's not like patients want emotional labor.  

3. It's like this in Seoul, but the countryside is like this

When I was first recommended by the primary hospital to a hospital specializing in fisheries, I felt sorry. "I recommend you to go to Bucheon Yeson Hospital. It's specialized in hand." Huh? No, I'm living in Seoul paying high rent, and you're recommending Bucheon Hospital? Now that I think about it, I understand. There are only two options, Bucheon or Mapo, and Bucheon Hospital seems better, so you must have recommended it. At first, however, I wondered if that doctor had received a bribe from Bucheon Hospital.

Hand trauma is no match for cancer surgery. Until now, I've been careful not to go to a university hospital anyway. However, I found out that there are not many secondary hospitals where I can make an 8cm incision and take something out. Even in Seoul, it's like this, but how can the provinces be.

In response to your curiosity, I looked at the current status of the Department of Surgery specialists by region on the website of the Korean Society of Surgery. There are 76 people in Seoul, 3 in Jeollanam-do, and 0 in Ulsan. Many of them specialize in plastic surgery. In certain areas, even if injuries or diseases are not life-threatening, they have no choice but to use the tertiary disease of KRW 8. In the aftermath of the strike of the major, the option of a tertiary hospital disappears, and there are cases where it becomes difficult. Unfortunately, I did that in March.

4. Bad feelings accumulate quietly and become a certain public opinion.

People are not stupid. Most people, both large and small, know vaguely that 'hospitals and doctors make money through such a system'. It is a sea of agreement that Korea's medical care is superior to other countries. However, in order to maintain this structure, patients themselves experience being placed on a conveyor belt, and they also feel that they have to prepare for a private medical insurance system called loss insurance. Hospitals also construct a pricing system assuming a 'loss-secured system'.

This experience imprints unexpectedly bad memories. There may be many excellent medical staff, but in most cases, anger builds up regardless of the medical staff's personality or intentions. Even if it melts, there are still debris, so the debris from this emotion gathers and becomes a kind of public opinion. This is why it is difficult to agree emotionally with the strike of the major, and why I close my ears without realizing the claims of doctors. Of course, that doesn't make sense to fix the increase in medical school capacity at 2,000.

It is none other than the other patients who calm down the bad feelings. When I sit in the hospital waiting area and observe others calmly, I imagine their respective lives. There are a young woman with a cast on her foot looking at the Excel screen, an old woman taking care of her husband in a wheelchair, and an old man smiling and saying "Thank you" to the nurses on the way back from the shot when one of her legs was cut off. A hospital is a place where diverse people gather. As I sit calmly and wait for my turn, I hope that the people who will pass by will recover soon and return to their daily lives. After all, some of them should have been treated in a larger hospital. I also have a strange relief that I'm not the only one suffering.