Beyond Band-Aids: Why Sick-care Isn't Enough

My exam room is a circus, and I'm barely holding on as the ringmaster. It's part urgent care clinic, part preventative health hub, and a dash of mental health triage. Every 10-15 minutes, a new patient walks in with a lifetime's worth of health issues. My job description seems limited to "address the thing that hurts today," but I refuse to settle for being the band-aid dispenser.

Don't get me wrong, I get the focus – ear infection? Strep throat? We fix 'em. But behind that cough is a smoker I haven't convinced to quit in years, or a blood pressure creeping up that we ignore because "that's not why I'm here today." Meanwhile, Mrs. Johnson wants a full physical despite Medicare refusing to pay, and Mr. Smith's anxiety is spiking but we don't have time because he technically booked this for his knee pain.

The cracks in this "sick-care" system are getting wider. We're not just treating illnesses, we're managing a population growing older, sicker, and more complex. Yet, the system often rewards band-aid fixes, not preventing the heart attack three years down the road.

Across town, some of my colleagues have a different view. It's an "us vs. them" world. Their pride sits in turning people away, in saying no to anything outside the appointment's narrow scope. Sure, there's value in focus, but where does it end? When does saying "no" become harming the very people we're supposed to heal?

This isn't about more money or more time. This is about broken thinking. I slip preventive care reminders between questions about a headache. I squeeze in a mental health check while testing reflexes. It's exhausting, it's imperfect, but I refuse to let my patients fall through the gaps.

Patients feel the whiplash too – bounced between specialists, no one truly seeing the whole picture. Their time, their money, wasted in a system designed for simple problems in an era where simple problems barely exist. What makes this system so complex is that each human, by themselves, is complex. This isn't hard to understand.

Cynicism creeps in; I've seen colleagues succumb to it. It's a tempting shield against the frustrations. Yet, a flicker of stubborn hope remains. We, on the care team, need to do better. We need to demand changes to a system that grinds down both doctor and patient. It might be messy, it might be slow, but dammit, our patients deserve it.

I'm not burnt out. Years ago, I was just another frustrated cog in the system. Then I got stubborn. I took charge of what I could control – my exams, my patient interactions. My outcomes I follow. The data is there. Progress over perfection. My patients are healthier, not because of some miracle, but because I chose to do the work, to fill the system's gaps.

I don't blame the system entirely. Yes, it desperately needs fixing. But change starts with us. It's about rejecting learned helplessness, the "that's not my job" excuses. It's about – doctors, nurses, admins – finding creative ways to give truly holistic care within the constraints we face.

This fight isn't about a single hero. It's about the power of the "we." Can we demand better from our system? Can we hold ourselves to a higher standard, refusing to settle for just patching symptoms? Can we work together to give patients the comprehensive, preventative care they truly deserve?

I don't have all the answers, but I'm going to keep working towards them, one patient, one interaction at a time. Providing proactive care in a reactive world. Because anything less isn't true healthcare.