Volume 195 - Issue 6
The long road from city to country
Author: Katrina J R Watson
Med J Aust 2011; 195 (6): 358. || doi: 10.5694/mja11.10938
Published online: 19 September 2011
Published online: 19 September 2011
A city specialist consulting in the country ponders the tyrannies of life, including health care, in the bush
One of the many privileges I had while in clinical practice as a gastroenterologist was to work in the country. I consulted and did procedures in the beautiful regional city of Bairnsdale — in East Gippsland, about 3 hours’ drive from Melbourne — for 2 days in 1 week every month, for several years. The secretaries in my rooms in Melbourne used to dread my “Bairnsdale weeks”, because I would leave the office with a large suitcase half-full of files, and return with the same suitcase completely full of files, plus multiple dictation tapes. They also dreaded the letters, which were very long because they usually contained detailed information about the patients for the referring general practitioners, so that much of the management of the patients could be done without the need to see me again, given that I was not in Bairnsdale full-time.
Bairnsdale is a lucky town when it comes to medicine. It has an outstanding collection of GPs, many of whom have worked in developing countries, so they have excellent skills in anaesthetics and obstetrics which they are keen to maintain. They are empathic, compassionate and strong advocates for their patients. Bairnsdale has a few specialists of its own, and used to have an unusually strong program of visiting specialists. But the Bairnsdale visiting specialist program has been cut back severely. People can get to the city, can’t they? Just give them a subsidised train fare. Apparently it is better to make 60 patients travel a 600 km round trip, rather than just one doctor.
On my drives back to Melbourne I would have the feeling that I had done more good in 2 days’ regional practice than in a month of city practice. It felt similar to my thoughts on returning from a trip to the developing countries in which I had worked — Samoa and Zimbabwe, for example. The people of Bairnsdale, I gradually came to realise, faced multiple tyrannies, starting with the tyranny of distance. I remember once apologising to a patient for running late. “I’ve had a 3-hour drive this morning, from Melbourne”, I said. “Well so have I”, the patient shot back, “from Mallacoota” (240 km from Bairnsdale). Another patient commented to me somewhat bitterly that city folk were always reluctant to come to the country, but country people have no choice but to make trips to the city: “It’s a lot longer from Melbourne to Bairnsdale than Bairnsdale to Melbourne”.
But it was not only the tyranny of distance: it was the tyranny of poverty. I could see its mark in many of the patients I saw. There were demographic patterns — the young drug users, now clean because they had moved away from “the valley” (the industrial Latrobe Valley, an hour’s drive to the west of Bairnsdale). There were the thin, careworn young mothers of four children by four different fathers, one child with autism, one or two with ADHD, and one with epilepsy. A history of childhood and domestic abuse seemed to be the rule rather than the exception. There were the toddlers destroying the consulting room — in the city, toddlers did not often come with their mothers; perhaps there was more support at home. And there were the young men with alcohol dependence, perhaps chronic pain syndrome, living in trailers in forestry towns, who could never come to Bairnsdale for review because of the cost of petrol.
The tyranny of isolation meant that middle-aged farmers with body mass indices over 30, waist measurements over a metre, and abnormal liver function couldn’t walk for exercise because they didn’t have the time or company. Single mothers with chronic hepatitis C could not join an interferon program because there was no one to support them or help with the children.
And then there was the tyranny of nature: in January 2003, many men and women, including all the orderlies in the hospital, had gone to fight bushfires, and the town’s economy was suffering. In February, Bairnsdale itself was threatened, the sky dark and the sun red. In March, a farmer with tears in his eyes told me about his cattle burning, and then — laughing sarcastically about government bushfire “relief” — that the authorities decided the new funded fences (replacing the burnt ones) had to be dingo-proof, with wires down to 10 cm from the ground. His farm had steep ups and downs, and this new fencing was “bloody impossible to build”, “bloody expensive” and “bloody stupid”. In April, his new fences all washed away into the Gippsland Lakes during floods.
In my work in Bairnsdale, I know I changed peoples’ lives — people with gastro-oesophageal reflux disorder, hepatitis C and colitis. If I had not gone there, those people would still be suffering; they just could not, or would not, have come to the city. Subsidised train fares for them to come and see me in Melbourne would not have fixed their problems.
However, many other specialties easily available in Melbourne are just not available in East Gippsland, even though we, in both the city and the country, all pay (and are effectively paid by) the same taxes. Overservicing in the city and no servicing in the country? Yes, it’s a long way from the city to the country, and distance is not the only tyranny.