My Journey for Equal Healthcare

"We don't treat COVID here," declared the urgent care receptionist, who had checked in my White husband just two days earlier for identical symptoms.

"This can't be right! A doctor here prescribed Paxlovid for him. I need it now, before it becomes ineffective," I insisted, my calm tone somewhat concealed by my face mask.

Receptionist as Gatekeeper

The receptionist dismissed me with a wave of her hand, as if erasing a mistake from a blank canvas. I recognized that familiar look of disdain—one that many of us experience when facing rejection or prejudice due to our skin color or unfamiliar surnames.

"No, that’s not accurate," she retorted sharply. "We never treat COVID here, and our doctors certainly don’t prescribe Paxlovid."

She was a young White woman in her twenties, with long, unkempt blond hair pulled back in a tight ponytail. Her raised eyebrows and wrinkled nose made it clear that I would not be permitted to cross the invisible border at this urgent care facility. I lacked the necessary "papers" to gain entry to her self-appointed checkpoint.

"But my husband is waiting in our car. I’m going to get him," I pleaded.

"If your husband has COVID, he better not come here and disrupt our protocols," she barked, her voice echoing like a fire alarm.

I turned away, feeling as if I were fleeing from a raging fire, and returned to our car.

"Joe, they won’t see me," I sobbed, collapsing into the passenger seat.

"What?! Again?!," my dear husband Joseph exclaimed, incredulous.

This was the third urgent care clinic I had attempted to visit since returning to New England, and once again, they turned me away. Our small town lacked hospitals, leaving us in a precarious situation.

Earlier Barriers to Care

The first instance of medical rejection occurred in 2020, when I fell and broke my shoulder. It was the height of the COVID pandemic, and we had just relocated back to the Northeast, still without a primary care doctor or local connections.

In desperation, I called my health insurance company.

"Hello? I think I broke my arm and shoulder. Can you help me find a nearby facility within my network?" I asked, my voice trembling with anxiety and pain.

"I'm sorry to hear about your accident. Let me assist you," replied a kind insurance representative.

"There's an urgent care clinic a mile away equipped with X-ray machines," they informed me.

Relieved, I quickly scheduled an appointment, but to no avail. The receptionist at the clinic denied me access to a doctor, forcing us to drive several miles to the nearest hospital, where I finally received treatment.

Finding Kindness Amidst Challenges

This time, my at-home COVID test confirmed my illness. Lacking a primary care physician, I felt lost and frightened by the crowded emergency rooms that were miles away.

Once again, I searched for local doctors within my insurance network who could assist me that day.

"Hello. I’m new in town and urgently need your help. My insurance listed you, and I tested positive for COVID. The local urgent care centers refuse to see me," I explained, my voice quaking.

Being so candid was unfamiliar for me, but as a middle-aged woman battling COVID, I needed medical attention to mitigate long-term effects. I felt as vulnerable as a sailor caught in a storm.

"Please hold for a moment," the medical receptionist replied. "Let me see if Dr. Ann Kane can see you today, either in person or via telemedicine."

This video discusses the closure of two Steward Health Care hospitals and its impact on local communities.

This video covers the public outrage regarding the impending closure of two Steward hospitals in Massachusetts, highlighting community concerns.

Advocacy in Times of Need

While I waited for my appointment, I contemplated how I might have better advocated for my rights when the urgent care clinic denied me. I thought about the laws designed to protect my right to healthcare.

As a former law professor, I had educated countless students on property law and the protections afforded to individuals. I reflected on the sacrifices made by civil rights activists, which led Congress to mandate that hospitals and other facilities be public accommodations, ensuring that no one could be unjustly excluded.

The laws we have now emerged from a time when travelers faced perilous conditions without access to safe shelter, leading to a legal recognition of their needs.

Minutes later, I had my telehealth appointment, was seen by the doctor, and received a prescription for Paxlovid.

"Thank you so much! Your quick assistance means everything!" I expressed gratefully.

"You're welcome. I’m aware of these issues in our area. Please schedule a follow-up appointment," the doctor replied kindly.

Though I was born and raised in New York, as a daughter and sister of first-generation Latinx refugees, our journey continues.

Everyday tasks—visiting the doctor, going to work, buying groceries—are laden with risk and uncertainty.

Self-appointed gatekeepers like that urgent care receptionist see us through a distorted lens, viewing us as less than human.

We traverse from store to store, urgent care to urgent care, school to school, and face rejection time and again.

Deported from our everyday lives.

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P.S. What has your experience been like when seeking urgent medical care? Please share. Gracias.