ano man ang estado mo sa NZ, di pinagkakait ang healthcare

THE TIME HAD COME. For around five years, I had been living with a heart murmur, which at the time was harmless but had to be monitored every now and then, because it could become something.

Today (around a month before this blog) it had become something.

The murmur indicated that my heart had been overworked so that it had enlarged, enough that I needed surgery.

The trouble was, in the NZ public health system, I was to be operated on only if I needed it urgently. I didn’t needed it right away, but I wasn’t far off. I was scheduled for surgery around mid-July. Until then, I could actually go to work and perform normal functions.

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Before leaving the hospital, I asked the doctor about some shivering and low-grade fevers I had experienced a few times the previous week. He initially said it probably had nothing to do with my heart, but changed his mind and ordered a blood culture test (screening blood for bacteria and bugs).

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LESS THAN TWENTY-FOUR HOURS LATER, the doctor’s receptionist frantically tried to reach me at home, at work and back at home. As phones weren’t allowed in the production area, the message for me to return the call came to me late.

“Noel, what time do you finish work?” asked the doctor asked rather emotionlessly.

Around six doc, anything wrong?” barely hiding the concern in my voice.

Well, you need to have yourself admitted to hospital if not now, as soon as you finish work,” replied Doctor.

I didn’t argue, and later learned that my blood had bacteria in it.

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For the next 24 hours, I had a battery of tests, but they just confirmed what the doctor already knew: that the infection had reached my heart, and I needed surgical intervention to save my life.

True enough, I had a regular echocardiogram, transesophageal echocardiogram, an angiogram, a CT scan, and X-ray. They all confirmed what the doctors (now a ten-person cardiothoracic team) were theorizing: that I needed urgent surgery like yesterday, and each day of delay was crucial.

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I was moved from the small town where I worked to Christchurch Hospital where the facilities matched the expertise needed and urgency present in my situation.

The total cost of the tests themselves in the Philippines would have cost six figures, the professional fees of all the doctors more than half a million, and all the other fees would have totaled the cost of building a very small house on the fringes of Metro Manila. (meaning between P2M and P4 million).

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Luckily in New Zealand, everything was free. I can’t tell you Precious Reader how lucky I am. If this had happened in the Philippines, I probably wouldn’t be here to tell you my story.

All the patients in my room (four to a room) weren’t as lucky as me. Because even though they were cardiac patients, their cases weren’t as urgent as mine, they didn’t have a firm (actual) date for surgery.

I was already getting ready for mine, as soon as I moved into the cardiothoracic ward: fasting starting midnight, cleaning my body with special antiseptic, and having me sign all the waivers and paperwork.

More to follow. Thanks for reading, mabuhay!