The DJP Update

It’s December, 2038, and young Kurt isn’t feeling well. “No, problem.” His mother replied, cheerily, in an attempt to lift the countenance on his pale face. She placed her thumbprint on the home interface and securely messaged the principal at General High School that Kurt would be absent that day, for medical reasons. Whump, whump, whump, whump papers hit the printer catch tray immediately. Three were forms for the medical office to complete validating the medical reasons for absence, each to be returned to a different government office by 9AM tomorrow. The final page was a homework assignment, due upon return from medical leave, to write 600 words on how his absence affected his civic duty to attend school, and about how he would change his focus to be of more help to the principal in the future.

His mother handed him his homework with another vacuous smile on her face, and addressed the interface for an appointment for her son. “Oh, how lovely, we have an appointment for you in thirty minutes. Oh dear, it’s on the other side of town.” She messaged again, asking for the office he had been seen in three of the last five times, which was four blocks away. The response from the smiling representative was that since all benefits are equal for all patients, all patients are equal, and all providers of healthcare are equal that this appointment would need to be kept. His mother opened her mouth as if to speak, and hesitated, drawing a cross look from the representative who said sharply, “you wouldn’t want me to fill out a form 27B/6, would you?”. Kurt was bemused that his mother quickly said, “no, no, the appointment will be fine.’, because he knew she had no idea what a form 27B/6 was.

Emerging from the glistening high speed magnetic monorail directly in front of the medical office Kurt smiled. He always smiled on the monorail, because as a part of the Great Economic Recovery of 2025 his father, Sam, had helped build it. That he had died during construction, victim of a freak monorail air conditioning accident, only made Kurt more proud of him, having sacrificed himself for the greater good. They passed under a sign which read “Everyone covered. Everyone seen. Everyone treated.”

At the check-in terminal his mother paused, and explained to the smiling face on the screen that they were there for Kurt’s appointment, but that she didn’t know which doctor he was to see. “Health Retrieval Officer”, the smiling face corrected. “Oh, of course,” his mother answered, “I’m just a little worried, that’s all. This is the sixth time he’s been to the doctor for this…” “Health Retrieval Officer” hissed the no longer smiling face. Recovering her smile, the Health Information Officer, encouraged them to proceed directly forward to room DZ-015. Upon entering, a touch-screen form was glowing at him. He answered each question dutifully, then took his seat.

Shortly, a short, officious appearing man entered, with a bland expression on his face. Without acknowledging the waiting pair he scanned Kurt’s entries, then glancing in his direction, sighed, and lifted himself laboriously off his stool. He shined a penlight in his eyes, his mouth, palpated both sides of his neck, pushed his head back and forth, and returned to his stool. Tapping at his screen, a bottle slid down a chute, which the HRO handed to Kurt. His mother picked it up and looked at it. “But, he’s had this before. How is this going to help his being tired?”, she asked. “Tired?” the HRO seemed surprised. “His appointment is for dizziness. Why do you think he’s in room DZ-15?””He was dizzy, last year, but this is the fifth time we’ve come to the doctor for fatigue”.

Obviously aggravated, the HRO said tersely, “Look. I’ve corrected you once. HROs. There haven’t been doctors for years, since those dark ages of medicine, before the Great Consolidation of the Peoples Care Act. Even if you wanted to see one, there are only a handful still seeing patients. Err, I shouldn’t have even told you that… Now you need to stop this right now or I’ll have to fill out a form 27B/6!” “I’m sorry, I’m sorry” she said, no smiling any longer, her face crumbling into a tearful distortion. “I just want him to be helped.” “Helped?!” he replied, getting red faced. “Look, you’ve gotten the best of healthcare. You’ve gotten instant access, free healthcare, free medication. What more do you want?!” “But, but, but…” she stammered. “This medicine, it’s the same one he’s gotten five times. I’ve had it twice. My husband started a bottle of it three days before he died”.

“Look” an obviously angry HRO said, “Everyone covered. Everyone seen. Everyone treated”. That’s the motto, that’s the deal. Do you want it to go back to the way it was?” He continued, with a disparaging tone, “Waiting for an appointment. Waiting in the office. Seeing the same ‘doctor’ over and over every time. Talking to tell your story, answer a bunch of questions, take expensive medicines. Is that what you really want? No. Wait. My time is up for this visit. Don’t answer that question or I will fill out a 27B/6. Good day.” With that he arose and brusquely bustled out.

With obvious disheartenment and slumped shoulders they exited under the shining sign which read, “Everyone covered. Everyone seen. Everyone treated” and walked towards the monorail. A man in a long coat bumped into Kurt, and pressed a small card into his hand. Taking a seat in the monorail, Kurt unfolded it, and read the words “Dr. Harrison will see you.” He showed his mother, but neither knew what it meant.

Arriving home, they were surprised that their home was dark. She turned on the lights, and sitting at their table was a man. On the table, next to the picture of her parents, George and Hazel, was an oddly shaped black bag. “Harrison?…Dr. Harrison?”, she asked. He arose, tall and smiling, salted temples and dark hair. “Tell me what is wrong, so that I may help”. After thirty minutes of listening to both of them recount his symptoms and story Dr. Harrison provided Kurt with the most detailed examination he had ever experienced.

Sitting down with them afterwards the doctor painstakingly explained to them his findings and recommendations. Starting to scribble on a pad, he said “He really will need this prescription, but it will be difficult to obtain outside the Nationalized Health Services. It will set him right in a few weeks…”

A large explosion blew the front door halfway across the living room, knocking over the Christmas tree. Through the smoke, dust, and flickering strands of lights uniformed men rushed in, restrained Kurt and his mother, shackled Dr. Harrison and rushed him out of the door. A short, primly dressed, bureaucratic little woman entered. She said, “Finally, we’re done with that menace. Free lance, free market doctors indeed! He was the last of them. And as for you two…. Here, complete this and be in my office at 9AM” she hissed, handing them a form. Kurt looked at it, Form 27B/6. The woman pivoted on one heel and brusquely exited. Kurt slumped, feeling very tired.