Courtesy of Connecticut College Counseling Services, Facebook
About a month ago, I woke up with a left eye the size of a baseball. Turns out, that stabbing pain I felt the day before had been a stinging insect which hurled itself into my oncoming face as I was running down the street.
Naturally, I panicked. I pulled out my laptop, and quickly searched the Connecticut College student health portal to book an appointment. After a few minutes of trying to navigate the confusingly wordy website, I clicked on the sign-up link. No appointments available. So I called. No answer there, either. I waited a few minutes and called again, still without a response. I had to do something—my eyelids were practically glued shut and the left side of my face was starting to look like an inflatable balloon animal. I decided to march over to Student Health Services (SHS) in person. Surely, they couldn’t deny me to my face.
I entered the building and was told to sit down and wait since I didn’t have an appointment. In five or so minutes, a woman entered the lobby and invited me into her office. She said they didn’t have any appointments at that time, which was obvious given that my throbbing face was still in the waiting room. I asked if it was serious enough that I should go to urgent care. She said yes, and that I should probably go, “sooner rather than later.” Great idea, I thought. See me now, then!
Clearly, whatever ooze was filling up my eyeball was dangerous enough that I should get it checked out as soon as possible. But, I couldn’t book an appointment, couldn’t speak to a receptionist on the phone, couldn’t be seen by a nurse, and wasn’t even offered to be checked out later in the day. Since nobody there was going to help me, I had to take matters into my own hands. Luckily, I had a friend who could drive me to a place a few minutes away, but if I didn’t, SHS certainly wasn’t going to offer me a ride.
I eventually made it to an urgent care where I was told I would need to pay nearly $200 out-of-pocket before even seeing a doctor. I promptly exited the waiting room and made my way to CVS for an ice-pack and a tube of Benadryl. An at-home remedy would have to do. Yet something stuck in my mind: What is the point of college-affiliated medical services if there’s nobody to help when a student needs it? Does my eye need to be popping out of its socket for them to take me in? Perhaps my headless body sitting down in the lobby would be enough to warrant an appointment. Instead of providing genuine care, I was turned away to an off-campus facility and forced to argue with a frazzled receptionist about whether or not my insurance would cover a five-minute conversation with a doctor.
Medical care on a college campus boils down to this: Students who need aid should get it. Whether they are afflicted by a chronic medical condition or an abrupt sickness, they should be cared for simply and efficiently. I shall not waste my words speculating on the capabilities of the Health Center—whether they are lacking funds, staff, or equipment is not the point. People receiving help is the point. Every student should be afforded the right to evaluations, medicine, transportation, and an appointment when needed. The well-being of our student body determines our college experience, something that should never be taken for granted. If SHS learns nothing from my experience or the countless horror stories I’ve heard from fellow students, at least pick up the damn phone when we call.
Experiences like this are just frustrating, especially now with the college stripping funding from SHS. Thank god I’m graduating, I do not want to imagine the horrors that SHS will become next year with even less staffing.