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My husband and I make lunches, and get our three daughters dressed, fed and through the daily battles of teeth and hair brushing.
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If I were at home right now, I’d be catching a bit of sleep between logging off my work computer for the night and heading back to it in the morning.Ī typical day for me starts around 6 a.m. Although family medicine is the bedrock of our health care system, family doctors are among the lowest-paid physicians, and with the rapidly increasing costs of education and running a family practice, fewer and fewer can afford to choose this specialty.ĭrip, drip, drip.Raindrops slide down the hospital window, and the snow outside is turning to slush.
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British Columbia’s descent into a primary care crisis is part of a larger trend across Canada in 2019 there were approximately 4.6 mil lion Canadians without regular health care providers. Some walk-in clinics, which previously provided a safety net to people who didn’t have a family doctor, have been shuttered, in part because there aren’t enough physicians to staff them, and also due to rising costs and a lack of government support. Nearly one in five British Columbians-close to a million people-are now without a family doctor. She gave birth to her fourth child in January.īut things have changed, a lot. Herrling suffered two miscarriages during the pandemic. These relationships are what being a small-town family doctor is really about. When I’m doing a home visit, a dying man pats my hand and tells me he worked with my grandpa 60 years ago. I love to see the kids from my practice running around the schoolyard and soccer field when I’m there with my own family, and it makes me smile when a dad watching his children from the sideline shouts, “Hey, doc!” and shows me how much the baby strapped to his chest has grown. I love that I’m the doctor for the wonderful elementary school teacher who taught me, my sisters and my dad. In the span of a few hours, we may treat strep throat and tick bites, do flu shots and COVID swabs, diagnose cancer and heart failure, perform excisions and biopsies, and support a patient who is near the end of life or one struggling with thoughts of ending their life. tool conflict, an insect in someone’s ear, or a person having a heart attack who needs stabilization until the ambulance arrives. You never know what will walk through the door next: a deep laceration from a hand vs. One of the best things about my practice is that it can be anything, and it changes every day. Family medicine is the work of the generalist the breadth of knowledge is wide, and the relationships run deep. I applied to medical school after becoming interested in Médecins sans Frontières but I quickly realized that there was great need right here in British Columbia, and that family medicine was where I could make a real impact.
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My parents worked hard as a shipwright and a bookkeeper, but our weekends were always full of camping and hiking in the backcountry. Otherwise, we had books and the forest to keep us busy.
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We turned on the generator to operate our tiny black-and-white TV only on important occasions, like when the Canucks made a run for the Stanley Cup in ’94.
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My two younger sisters and I grew up in a three-room cabin with no electricity or phone, as it was far too expensive to get hydro poles up the old logging road that was our driveway. I work in a small town in British Columbia, the same town where I was born and grew up, where my dad was born, and where my mom’s dad was born, in a tent, before his family’s homesteader cabin was built almost a century ago. It’s been a tough few years, and the thought of something going wrong today, leaving him to explain things to our three little girls, makes me swallow hard before the next contraction comes. I glance at my husband, who’s catching a brief nap on the chair beside me. I know that things don’t always turn out well.
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I don’t deliver babies myself, but as a family doctor, I learned how to do it in medical school and residency. My C-section is scheduled for tomorrow morning, but this baby-my fourth-clearly wants to put its own stamp of approval on its birthday, which has fallen in January of 2022, in the middle of British Columbia’s first Omicron surge. There is concern for possible placenta accreta, a condition where the placenta, instead of implanting nicely against the uterine wall, sends its tendrils deep into the uterus like a murderous weed. The baby gives a reassuring kick just before another contraction hits. I watch the saline flow through the plastic tubing into my arm.