I recently got an eye exam. Nothing remarkable, you say? I disagree. In fact, I am amazed I got in at all.
It was a five-month trek to obtain medical care. I knew I needed bifocals. I was having trouble reading, I was getting headaches, and I had to go in. Since I am on active duty and need to be able to read to do my job, I thought this would not be any trouble. I was wrong.
When I called for an appointment, I was told, "All appointments are booked up for [this month]. You need to call on the 19th between the hours of 1:00 p.m. and 2:00 p.m. That's when we open up the appointment book for [next month]."
The problem was that on that day I was in a meeting not of my own making, and when I got out of the meeting—you guessed it—the next month's appointments were full. I would have to wait yet another month.
The next month I did what I needed to do to make sure I was free during the holy hour on the 19th: I left a meeting early and got right on the phone. The lines were busy; I hit redial. Busy again. I hit redial again and again until I finally got through, but then it was to a machine that began, "Your call is important to us...."
If my call had been important to them I would not have been talking to a machine. It was precisely because my call was not important that they let me talk to a recording.
So I held the phone up to my ear on hold long enough to cause me to want to see an ear doctor, too, and then made the decision to put the phone on speaker—even though it would drive my office mates crazy with that mind-numbing Muzac. I waited, and waited, and waited. Finally, after being on hold for more than 30 minutes, a human voice came on the line to tell me that . . all that month's appointments were filled.
The following month finally brought me success, but not without the obligatory 20+ minute ordeal of cooling my jets on hold. Obviously, their time was more valuable than mine.
I am convinced these penance sessions were arranged by my boyhood priest who, while in heaven today, still undoubtedly is convinced that I never said quite enough Hail Marys to compensate for my childhood misadventures. Now he's getting even. Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. Now let me get back to my work.
When I finally got in to see the doc, I said to him, "I swear to God this medical system is going to drive me out of the Navy."
He said, "Come on, you're exaggerating. After 20-some years of commissioned service, you can't put up with this?"
My response was immediate: "After 20-some years of commissioned service, why should I have to?"
My real worry is that if it is this hard for me to get timely, quality care as a moderately assertive active-duty captain, then what chances do our junior sailors, soldiers, airmen, and Marines have at getting such care? Not to mention our dependents?
I swear my wife spends more time on hold with TriCare than my family does actually being seen by our healthcare providers.
Anyone who is surprised that retention and morale continue to decline under conditions like this has completely lost touch with reality.
Captain Toti is stationed at the Pentagon, and understands that the sad state of TriCare is in no way the fault of the providers. So doc, next time I pay you a visit, please don’t take this little missive personally, okay?