I am practicing slow medicine, just like the slow food movement.
It took a year to set up my clinic, because I wanted time with people more than anything. And how could I do that?
Low overhead, of course. The lower the expenses, the more time I would have with patients.
I did math and based it on medicare. I estimated what medicare would pay. I dropped obstetrics, can't afford the malpractice and anyhow, the hospital was hostile by then. That cuts malpractice insurance by two thirds. And I chose not to have a nurse, because people are the most expensive thing. Just me and a receptionist. And a biller once a week and a computer expert who rescues us when we kill another printer or need new and bigger computer brains for ICD 10.
My estimates were on target except that it took three times as long to build up patient numbers as I thought. Ah. Oops. I was advised to borrow twice what I thought I needed and that was good advice, because I had not counted on my sister dying or my father dying or me getting sick for a while.... but so far the clinic remains open.
Slow medicine. I schedule an hour with a new medicare patient or anyone new and complicated. People who say they aren't complicated are lying, but we schedule 45 minutes for them. And for the really complicated, we have 45 minutes for follow ups. Most visits are 25 minutes: the only visit that is less is to take out stitches.
What does slow medicine allow? In the end it allows people to speak about things that they don't know they need to talk about. A friend dying. Fears about a grandchild. Family fighting. The dying polar bears. The environment. This difficult election. The world. And sometimes I think that freedom to speak about anything is the most theraputic part of the visit.
I had one woman last year who established care. Complicated. I think she was in her 70s. And the medical system had made mistakes and hurt her. Delayed diagnosis, delayed care. But she was laughing by the end of the visit. She stood in the hall and said, "This is the first time I can remember laughing in a doctor's office. This is the first time in years that I can remember leaving with hope. And you haven't DONE anything!"
....anything, except give time and listen.