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On a late-night visit to Wonthaggi’s emergency department Catherine Watson finds plenty to be grateful for in our public health system.
By Catherine Watson
LAST year in the Post (For better or worse, June 5, 2025) Liane Arno described her partner Matt Stone’s encounter with an unusual medical condition called Giant Cell Arteritis which started with bad headaches and ended with him losing all but a sliver of his eyesight.
The evocative name and harrowing consequences lodged in my brain, which is how I came to be in the emergency department at Wonthaggi Hospital one recent cold and wet midwinter’s night.
LAST year in the Post (For better or worse, June 5, 2025) Liane Arno described her partner Matt Stone’s encounter with an unusual medical condition called Giant Cell Arteritis which started with bad headaches and ended with him losing all but a sliver of his eyesight.
The evocative name and harrowing consequences lodged in my brain, which is how I came to be in the emergency department at Wonthaggi Hospital one recent cold and wet midwinter’s night.
After three weeks of headaches it was becoming clear that all was not well in the old noggin. Now with almost constant fizzing, zapping and hallucinating in my head, I wondered if it could possibly be …
I didn’t mind dying but I did mind going blind.
Dr Google agreed that Giant Cell Arteritis seemed likely, warned me that loss of eyesight could be sudden and irreversible and advised me to get to a hospital as soon as possible.
A human doctor concurred and wrote me a note to take to the emergency department. That very night they started me on the steroids that are the frontline treatment in preventing blindness.
By now it was close to midnight. The doc pressed me to stay the night but accepted it when I said I had to go home to let the dog out for a piddle and give her a cuddle. I promised to return if anything went amiss and enjoyed the first good night’s sleep for weeks.
A battery of scans, biopsies and tests later the diagnosis was confirmed. I’m on the medical conveyor belt for now but with every prospect of getting off again.
I haven’t had much to do with the medical system up till now, a matter of good luck rather than good management. My luck ran out, as it does eventually for most of us. Yet not entirely since Matt’s experience and Liane’s story possibly saved my eyesight.
There is one more piece of luck to mention: living in a country with a robust public health care system. It might be creaking but it’s still functioning, and it's rarer than you might think. I'm not the first Post writer to comment on that.
I haven’t paid a cent for the full gamut of expensive tests to diagnose the condition or treat it. Now I’m about to start an expensive medication but I will pay just $7 since it’s on the PBS.
Just for interest, I looked up the cost in the US – land of the brave and free – to discover it’s up to $2,500, thanks to Donald Trump’s much vaunted “market-driven individual choice”.
My other discovery was the way our new regional health system works. This year Bass Coast Health became part of Bayside Health, a much larger organisation incorporating the Alfred and Frankston hospitals.
On the night I ended up in Emergency, my very able young doctor sent my test results to the specialists at the Alfred and consulted them on my care.
The Alfred team took over the follow-up. If you haven’t been to the Alfred, it’s a mini city with many hundreds of staff and thousands of patients every day. All a bit intimidating for a kid from the country.
I didn’t mind dying but I did mind going blind.
Dr Google agreed that Giant Cell Arteritis seemed likely, warned me that loss of eyesight could be sudden and irreversible and advised me to get to a hospital as soon as possible.
A human doctor concurred and wrote me a note to take to the emergency department. That very night they started me on the steroids that are the frontline treatment in preventing blindness.
By now it was close to midnight. The doc pressed me to stay the night but accepted it when I said I had to go home to let the dog out for a piddle and give her a cuddle. I promised to return if anything went amiss and enjoyed the first good night’s sleep for weeks.
A battery of scans, biopsies and tests later the diagnosis was confirmed. I’m on the medical conveyor belt for now but with every prospect of getting off again.
I haven’t had much to do with the medical system up till now, a matter of good luck rather than good management. My luck ran out, as it does eventually for most of us. Yet not entirely since Matt’s experience and Liane’s story possibly saved my eyesight.
There is one more piece of luck to mention: living in a country with a robust public health care system. It might be creaking but it’s still functioning, and it's rarer than you might think. I'm not the first Post writer to comment on that.
I haven’t paid a cent for the full gamut of expensive tests to diagnose the condition or treat it. Now I’m about to start an expensive medication but I will pay just $7 since it’s on the PBS.
Just for interest, I looked up the cost in the US – land of the brave and free – to discover it’s up to $2,500, thanks to Donald Trump’s much vaunted “market-driven individual choice”.
My other discovery was the way our new regional health system works. This year Bass Coast Health became part of Bayside Health, a much larger organisation incorporating the Alfred and Frankston hospitals.
On the night I ended up in Emergency, my very able young doctor sent my test results to the specialists at the Alfred and consulted them on my care.
The Alfred team took over the follow-up. If you haven’t been to the Alfred, it’s a mini city with many hundreds of staff and thousands of patients every day. All a bit intimidating for a kid from the country.
Our new sister hospital - the Alfred - is a virtual city.
It should be chaotic but I haven’t waited more than half an hour for any of my appointments. Most miraculous of all, the myriad bits of data from various tests seem to end up where they should.
It seems to me we now have the best of both worlds. We have our flash new hospital just down the road – still small enough to be familiar and welcoming when things go wrong – but we also have access to an incredible specialist knowledge base.
I don’t want to sound like Polyanna but I can’t find a thing to whinge about. To my relief, no one’s even told me to give up gin, coffee, tobacco, chocolate or spicy foods.
It seems to me we now have the best of both worlds. We have our flash new hospital just down the road – still small enough to be familiar and welcoming when things go wrong – but we also have access to an incredible specialist knowledge base.
I don’t want to sound like Polyanna but I can’t find a thing to whinge about. To my relief, no one’s even told me to give up gin, coffee, tobacco, chocolate or spicy foods.
Best wishes for a complete recovery.
Liane and Matt's story and yours are helpful stories to educate others. Knowing we have Wonthaggi Hospital is a great security blanket to have.
I live with Giant Cell (temporal) Arteritis now and have managed to graduate to not needing to self inject the Actemra needle till day 30. At $800 per quarter I am glad I no longer rquire weekly jabs! I shall certainly make enquiries again as to whether my drug is now on the PBS. i just count my blessings that I wasnt robbed of eye sight after. 8 weeks confined to horizontal and managing to haul myself up for a weekly blood test till being raced off to Leongatha Hosp for a fast-tracked biopsy . They were a marvellous team there of whom I also speak glowingly. What had appeared to be the mother of all ear aches converting to a non-stop exploding head clearly had my lovely Cowes GP stumped for too long. My Rheumatologist says that "they dont know much about this rarer auto immune disease" so I'm still endeavouring to do my own research, without knowing of others suffering from the same. Certainly I'm not the Duracell Bunny that I once was, but it's good to still be breathing, and one modifies one's expectations of the old bod.. All the very best to you with moving forward.
Good to hear something positive about how our health system which, whilst not perfect, has many great benefits,
All the best for a good outcome with your treatment.