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Ryszard Krasowski was born Kolo, Poland.  After graduating from high school with a degree in economics, he performed on stage with the Polish National Sing and Dance Group called "Mazowsze." Later, he became a Polish National TV  film editor.  In 1986, he emigrated to the United States. He now lives with his wife in a small town on Long Island called Hampton Bays. He works as a picture framer, occasionally writing about his experiences in the USA. This article chronicles his experiences at a medical clinic and questions the high price of medical care in the US, especially for someone who doesn't enjoy the job benefits of health insurance. His passion is drawing and painting.  All of the drawings and paintings presented in this article are the works of  Ryszard Krasowski. Additional Resources International Health Care  Articles by Krasowski  Contact Ryszard Krasowski

A Visit to a Polish Clinic "Are you here for the first time?" asked the nurse when I entered the nearest Medical Center. "Yes. Why?" "Before the doctor will see, you I have to do some paper work," she explained. "You know ..., your name, age, address, occupation, history of illnesses. We have to make a file for you to keep on record.  After she filled out the new patient information sheet, she asked, What's wrong with you?" she wanted to know my reason of visiting a doctor. "I am in a bad frame of mind. A headache and a pain in my bones," I said. "Please, be seated," she pointed to a chair. "The doctor will be with you in a moment."

title: The Windmil

After a really short moment a person in a white coat armed with a few sophisticated tools started to examine my body - ears, eyes, throat, heart, legs...

"So far so good," he made a diagnosis. "You just have a touch of a cold. These pills should cure the problem," he handed me a prescription, and I left the Medical Center.

That visit to a doctor took place a long time ago in Poland. I didn't pay for it. The only money I spent was thirty percent of the regular price of the medicine that I had to buy at the drug store. Then, a year or so later I went to America and it just so happened that I had to see a doctor.
According to the American way, I called first to make an appointment.

A Visit to a US Clinic

"Have you been here before?" asked the receptionist when I showed up at the doctor's office.

"No." This time I didn't asked why she wanted to know that because I knew that she had to fill out the card index and make a file, but it appeared that I was wrong. Instead of asking some personal questions she handed me a clipboard with an official form attached to it.

"Please be seated," she pointed to a chair. "Fill out the form and bring it back to me. The doctor will be with you in a moment."

Until now the visit to a doctor wasn't too much different from the one I had experienced before, but after twenty minutes of admiring the waiting room walls, I got a little nervous.

"Please, come with me," a nurse interrupted my contemplation, and she led me along the corridor to a small room at the end. "Take a seat. The doctor will be with you in a minute," she closed the door.
 

title: Scotland

At first I didn't pay any attention to the room I was in, but the doctor was taking longer than 60 seconds, so I looked around. The walls were painted white and there were two pictures on one of them. On the other wall there was a window overlooking a yard with some kind of green bush. In the corner between the ceiling and the wall I noticed a thin spider's web. "Are you all right?" the nurse peeked through the door. "Yes, I'm fine."

"The doctor is with another patient right now," she smiled.

"I understand."

"But he'll be right with you," and she disappeared behind the door.

It was very nice of the nurse that she tried to comfort my wait for the doctor, but what I didn't understand was why I had to wait so long. The day and hour of the appointment was scheduled a week ago, and I was ready.

"Good morning," said a person in a white coat,  interrupting my thoughts. "How are you?"

"Good morning. I'm fine. Thank you." I lied to him. I lied because I was at the doctor's office which meant I wasn't fine.

"What's wrong with you?" he asked looking at the clipboard where it was stated in black and white what was wrong with me.

"I seem to have a problem with my left foot," I helped him to to read.

"Let's see . . . ," he said taking my left foot in his hands. "Well . . . ,"  he said as he scratched his forehead. "We have to take some X-rays," he decided. "The nurse will do it, and I'll see you in a moment," and he left the room.

I resumed admiring the room. The floor was covered with a blue carpet. I didn't like that color at all. It was too bright. But after all it wasn't my room. Whoever cleaned the window didn't do a good job, and the frame of it should have been repainted. The pictures on the wall were very nice, though, a landscape of mountains and trees . . . .

"Please, come with me," the nurse said from the doorway. Four X-rays had to be taken -- two of the front of my foot and one of each side of it.

After the X-rays were taken, the nurse smiled at me and said, "They will be ready in a moment. You may go back now," a she pointed me back to my room.

I resumed admiring the room. I summized the glass cabinet doesn't fit well into this room; it's too small. At least they have a place to keep their tools, I thought. I wonder how many patients come here every day . . . ten, twenty? The frames of the pictures could have been wider . . . .

"I've got your X-rays," the doctor came in saying. "There is a small bone here that causes the problem. I can remove it if you like."

"What do you mean if I like? Is it necessary?"

"Well, I can perform an operation and everything should be all right," he said. He didn't sound convincing to me, so I changed the subject of our conversation.

"How much will it cost me to have a surgery?" 

"Let's see," he said bringing his hand to his chin. The operation will cost about three thousand dollars. Then there's the fee for hospitalization, anesthesia, post-operative medicine and care.  That should run about $3,000.  I think you can expect to pay around $8,000, alto altogether.

"Wow, that's a lot of money!"

"It's up to you. Right now, I can give you some pills that will ease the pain," he said after he'd started to pull out his prescription pad.

A bit worried, now, I asked, "If I make a decision to have this operation, how much time will it take for me to be able to walk and work again?"

"About three months, I think," replied the doctor, still writing without ever looking up from his pad.

"Thank you, doctor . . . . . I'll have to think it over," I said and got up as he handed me the prescription. On my way back to the front desk, I was thinking feverishly. I couldn't afford not to work for such a long time. Where could I find that kind of money? Could the problem be solved differently? Was the operation necessary?
 

Approaching the front desk, I saw the receptionist glance up at me as I neared. "Are you paying for the visit now or would you like us to send you a bill," she asked in a way that seemed both sensitive and triumphant. "I'm paying now," I said, still  "It will be two hundred for the first visit, one hundred and eighty for the X-rays so it makes three hundred and eighty all together," said as if it had been practiced, and it's delivery a pre-requisite for the receptionist position. I was astonished. Maybe I should have been more aware of clinic costs, but I so rarely ever go to a clinic or a hospital. "The first visit costs more than following visits," the receptionist explained with utter, rehearsed ease." The next will cost you less."

title: Hunting

I gave her my credit card, and in a few minutes, she handed it back to me along with my prescription and told me to have a nice day. She didn't realize how much I needed her farewell slogan. The nearest drug store sold me the prescription medicine for forty dollars which made the cost of the visit to the clinic, and the news I needed an $8,000 operation, come to $420.

Two Months Later

It just so happened that two months later I saw my friend from Poland who came to the US with a ballet group and who was an orthopedic doctor. One word led to another and I told him about my problem and about the visit to a local doctor.

"You don't need any operation," he said looking at my left foot. "All you need is a support."

"How much would it be?" I was wondering.

"About ten dollars, I think."

"Wow! You are saving my life!" I exclaimed.

"Make a foot-print, and I'll send you a support when I get back to Poland."

Waiting for the promised support, I used up all my pills, and I went back to the clinic to get a new prescription.

"The doctor can't give you a new prescription without seeing you," the receptionist surprised me.

"Why not?" I couldn't understand. "I just wanted to get more pills."

"He has to see you," she insisted. "Maybe it is necessary to take another X-ray."

"How much is this visit going to cost me?"

"One hundred dollars plus X-rays and medicine . . . ."

"Oh! Thank you very much, I don't want to see a doctor. I just need a new prescription. Have a nice day," I said to the receptionist as I was halfway out the door.
 

title: Connecticut

On my way home I stopped at the drug store. "May I get something over the counter that has a similar effect as this medicine?" I asked the pharmacist a I showed him the empty container. "Sure. You can use Advil," he said delightedly. "I'll try it. How much is it?" I said almost flinching. "Five dollars," he said. A few weeks later, I received the support my friend had sent, and all went well.  The sore area on my foot went away after a few months, and I didn't have to have the surgery.

As an old Polish saying goes, "The further in, the deeper." I had sunk so deep I felt I'd been swallowed up by a sea of questions.  I'd had complete confidence in the clinic, so when the doctor proposed surgery, my only concern was where I would find the money to pay for it.  Why did he tell me I had to have surgery if I didn't need it? Why was I going to be charged for $8,000 worth of medical expenses if I could  solve the problem with a ten dollar foot support.  Why was I prescribed a medicine that cost $40 when I could have gotten the same treatment for five dollars. Why did I have to pay for the first visit if I wasn't sure if I would have to come back for a second visit?  Maybe I'd choose to go to a different doctor.  Why? Why? Why?

When I was going to pay a doctor a visit  in Poland I wasn't afraid of it. Well, maybe a little. But here, in America, I am scared to death. I am scared to death, not because I have a health problem to solve, but because the visit makes me sick even more.