It started with a cold. We’d driven 2700 miles from home, were staying in a hotel in Canada, and I felt miserable. Coughing, running nose, wheezing. I found the nearest pharmacy where I bought a box of Mucinex DM. Then it was back to the hotel and falling asleep as the medication calmed the symptoms. I awoke the next morning with the hope that it would be a quickly passing bug. A fruitless hope. The cold wasn’t subsiding. While we’d planned to tour Montreal that day, and while we’d been looking forward to Montreal the whole way as we drove from the west, I wasn’t going anywhere that day. We ordered room service, and the only food I could tolerate was the soup. A second night of sweaty virus dreams while hoping the following day would be better.
It wasn’t. As I arose the next morning and went into the bathroom to shower, I coughed. Just a regular, cold-induced cough to clear my chest. I’d been coughing for a couple of days by then, so I thought nothing of it as it happened. But this time, I felt a familiar pinch in my lower right back. I’ve had issues with that muscle since the early ‘70s when I worked as a warehouseman. That pinch told me that my back was about to become painful. While I’ve experienced this for years, this time, though, what started as a pinch quickly became a searing stab. I doubled over to relieve the tension on the affected muscle. That reduced the pain. But I found I couldn’t move any part of my body without radiating pain from that point in my back to everywhere. If I moved either leg, the pain would stop me. Even moving my hands to steady myself was exceedingly painful. After a few minutes, I realized I was immobilized. I called out to wake Mary for her help.
First, she tried to help me move. But any movement exacerbated the pain. With more time, my leg muscles were getting fatigued from my hunched position. I needed a solution. I could tolerate the pain of moving if that would bring some relief. But going all the way to the floor seemed like a bad choice since I knew I wouldn’t rise again. It would’ve been nice to have a wheelchair where I could collapse, and the thought of a wheelchair reminded me that the hotel room had an office chair. Mary brought it to the bathroom door, positioned it, and I painfully pivoted so that I could slide into it while ignoring the tormenting pain. It took a while, but I got into the chair. After I fully landed, Mary pushed the chair back to the side of the bed. It would take more agonizing movements. With her help, I eventually landed on the bed – at an odd angle – but fully on the bed. We weren’t going to see Montreal that day either.
I spent the day taking some emergency pain pills that Mary had brought along. If there’s a plus side to living with someone who suffers from fibromyalgia and rheumatoid arthritis, it’s that she travels with pain medications to cope with occasional flare-ups. Those dulled the pain only slightly. I remained immobile. As the day proceeded, I found that I was trapped in place. There was no evidence that I’d be able to leave the bed anytime soon. I’d had back problems for years, but nothing like this. I needed medical help. However, we were in a foreign country with no understanding of the medical system. We called the front desk, explained the situation, and asked the clerk what we should do. The clerk explained that the province of Quebec has a special line to call. We should call 811 where a nurse would answer and help us.
We called and were greeted by a nurse who briefly took my medical history and got some critical details about my health, medications, and current condition. I explained that I’d been taking Mary’s pain medications with little impact. The nurse responded to ask if we had any muscle relaxants on hand. She couldn’t tell me to take any of the muscle relaxants that Mary brought with her. However, she could recommend that we obtain an over-the-counter muscle relaxant called Roboxin that contained methocarbamol, a medication that Mary knew because her physician had prescribed it for post-surgery the year before. Robaxacet was a version of the same drug with acetaminophen added. Both were available at any nearby pharmacy.
The nurse explained that I should try a muscle relaxant and wait for two hours. If there was no improvement at that time, I should call 911 for on-scene emergency assistance. She started a file so that, if necessary, EMTs would have preliminary information on me. I hung up the phone, took one of the muscle relaxants that Mary had, and we waited. Within two hours, I could move my arms and legs without initiating pain that previously streaked throughout my body. The pill worked. Within four hours, I could adjust my position on the bed so that I could sleep. The next morning, I used the office chair by myself as a support to get up and get showered. I was slow, but I could move well enough to get to the elevator and out to the parking lot. A pharmacy nearby had walking canes, and I was able to drive to purchase a cane and some Robaxacet. We extended our stay at the hotel to allow my back to get rested. Between the rest and the medication, I became well enough to drive and finish the next 3,500 miles of our trip. I walked with a cane for a few weeks afterward, and I was cautious about standing too much or twisting or lifting.
The experience provided a few lessons. Most importantly, the experience reinforced the value of what gets derided in the states as “socialized medicine.” Quebec offers its 811 service to its residents, as well as to passers-through like me. If I’d had a similar event in the U.S., I would’ve had to find a way to get to an urgent care center or hospital emergency room. That would’ve been unimaginably painful to do. It would’ve been impossible to do by ourselves and most likely would’ve required an ambulance. If I’d gotten there, the expense to my insurance would’ve been much more than a box of pills and 30 minutes time by an RN. Probably, if I’d been in the U.S., a call to the front desk where I explained that I was immobile would’ve meant a call to 911. The costs of transporting me, and then the additional costs of emergency services would’ve been astronomical. I then would’ve waited for hours while physicians ran a lot of expensive tests to confirm a diagnosis. Finally, I would’ve been given an expensive, prescription muscle relaxant.
Instead, I found relief in a few hours. I spent no time in a hospital or urgent care clinic. My private insurance and Medicare didn’t have to pay thousands of dollars. The medication I needed was readily available without prescription – which makes sense since physicians, even in the U.S., have been prescribing methocarbamol since the 1950s. It’s a safe, relatively inexpensive, and non-narcotic medicine that works well. Quebec’s 811 system kept me free from lengthy, costly, and unnecessary treatments. Because of it, I experienced quicker relief of my pain at a fraction of the cost that I would’ve incurred in the U.S.
Now it’s someone else’s turn: Tell me your story that proves the evils of socialized medicine.
