Healthcare
I grew up in the small town of Huron, South Dakota. Well, Huron at 12,000 or so people was not super small, in fact, 12,000 was large by South Dakota standards, we were the fourth largest county in the state! (I believe they’ve slipped to 5th or 6th today). We had two clinics and one hospital and maybe a couple dozen doctors. I was spoiled by healthcare in Huron and the personal touch physicians brought to the relationships with each of their patients.
Back in the day, Franciscan nuns ran the hospital and the nursing school right next door. My memory is of course impacted by time and my limited (patient only) view of St John’s Hospital but my impression was that the sisters ran it very…hmmm, what’s the right word….in a very disciplined manner (pun intended). Over the years my dad spent quite a bit of time in St John’s and he got to know Sister Basel quite well. It wasn’t always a fun relationship. Dad smoked and eventually the hospital didn’t allow smoking even for patients. He and Sister had spirited, emotional discussions regarding this rule. After one surgery when he wasn’t allowed to smoke, he pulled out all his IVs, ripped off the electrodes, and marched out of the hospital, fanny hanging out of his gown, to smoke his cigarette. Bleeding. You had to know him.
The doctors knew their patients. Sometimes that meant I had to wait hours to see my physician because he was spending time with those sicker than me or who just needed to talk with him about their health (yes, all male doctors). The clinics were right across the street from the hospital and often doctors would leave their scheduled appointments and run to an emergency in the hospital. Although Huron had an ambulance, I don’t remember trained EMTs or fully equipped vehicles like we have today. If you had an emergency someone drove you to the hospital or you’d call your doctor and he’d meet you at your place with the ambulance.
Generally speaking the doctors were all very “human” and not god-like creatures isolated from the lives and environs of their patients. When I was in the Air Force I felt the same sense of community with the flight surgeons as I had with the doctors in Huron. But then, things changed, which is part of living and progress.
I haven’t lived in Huron for over fifty years and seldom visited, the last time was six years ago. The hospital is still there but the sisters are gone. The clinics are still standing. I wonder if the same sense of community among physicians and patients exists. Health care is so specialized today and driven by insurance companies. The “care” part of healthcare is like a walled city, protected by insurance wizards from the doctors and patients trying to breach the wall and get to unbiased care.
I digress. What a surprise. Do I miss those days? Maybe. But then I remember the joy my parents had when a polio vaccine was discovered. And, I remember my grandfather dying on the floor next to me, in his house, waiting for an ambulance to show up along with his doctor. I remember my sister getting on a train to travel hours to see a specialist. Change in healthcare is cool. Learning to be my own care advocate, not quite as easy. I was very spoiled in Huron.
The image above was taken the last time I was in Huron. I’m standing on the levee of Riverside Park, the site of much passion and fun, looking north. When I was young, this park was a garden with flower beds, glorious trees, and wondrous stone walls, but right next to the James River. A great place to picnic, make out, have parties, and enjoy life. Howsomever, every few years, the lazy flowing James River became enraged and would rise and fill the park with silt while washing away the trees, gardens and memories. Huron finally gave up on the gardens and planted grass. And only one of the walls remains. In the image, the top bridge is the railroad bridge. The bottom is the Third Street car bridge, and the bright line of white is the old Third Street Dam, also gone. Life goes on.