anuary 31, 2009
Hospitals are leaving a trail of unpaid bills across the state but, as Kate Benson discovers, nobody is being held to account.
IF the NSW health system was a patient, it would be struggling for air, festering wounds dotting its limbs and not a relative in sight to wipe its fevered brow.
As the Greater Western Area Health Service was admitted to intensive care this week, under a mountain of unpaid bills stretching back more than four months, those charged with its care fell over themselves to leave the room.
Buck-passing and finger-pointing became more popular than an ice cube at the tennis as everyone from the Premier, Nathan Rees, to the director-general of NSW Health, Debora Picone, and Greater Western's chief executive, Claire Blizard, ducked for cover.
Even the Health Minister, John Della Bosca, was not making anyone accountable, despite six of the eight area health services owing creditors $113 million by last Thursday.
Only two, Sydney South West and Hunter New England, were clear of debt. The Children's Hospital at Westmead, which manages itself, owed $4.5 million.
Last year the Garling inquiry heard that the non-payment or late payment of bills was common across NSW and routinely led to the suspension of services and delays in supplying goods.
In the past few months, patients in the Greater Western area have gone without meat and vegetables, and a Parkes security firm threatened to withdraw its services, putting nurses' lives at risk, to get the money it was owed.
But the problems stretch across the state. Nurses at Mudgee use petty cash to buy blood glucose strips from the chemist while those at Orange bought cupcake papers to use as medication dispensers because there are no pill cups.
Merimbula taxi drivers, Dubbo coffee shops, Broken Hill computer technicians and security guards from Hay, to name a few, were all lining up this week with their palms out.
Sydney has not been immune. Last year the pharmacy at the Sydney Children's Hospital was without hot water for three days because of unpaid bills, and patients' files at Prince of Wales are not sent to treating doctors because courier companies are all owed money.
Nathan Rees, however, was "too busy with other things" on Tuesday to discuss the crisis or the $117.5 million owed across the state. He spent the day at a Penrith high school encouraging teenagers to stay longer at school. Fabulous careers in politics - or health management - awaited them if they could hold out until 17.
Here's hoping none had aspirations to be surgeons. At Dubbo hospital, staff have gone days without gloves and bandages, patients have lacked morphine and those in intensive care spent five days this week sweltering in 37 degree heat because suppliers and maintenance workers had cancelled services pending payment.
Rees's advisers angrily asked if we had taken up the matter with the health minister and the Health Department. After all, it was a health matter.
The Health Department's boss, Picone, had not spoken on the issue since it boiled over days earlier and her advisers seemed bemused about our request for a comment. It was an area health service matter, and they look after themselves, they said.
Picone was willing to issue a two-line statement saying one small business operator, owed $6000, would be paid that day, but she was not prepared to talk about anything else. She changed her tune the next day, phoning to explain how the situation had become so dire.
Costs had spiralled since the Australian dollar fell, distances in the Greater Western area were huge and retaining staff was near to impossible, Picone said.
She made no excuses for late payments and stressed that she had firmly told the health service's boss, Blizard, that she had five months to clean up the mess. But there was no mention of heads on the chopping block if the debt remained.
Blizard is in charge of an area health service employing more than 7000 people and covering 56 per cent of the state. She deals with 6500 creditors a year, offering up 30,000 invoices and manages $460 million a year of public money.
Last year her health service owed creditors $60 million. Thanks to a $28 million advance from the health minister, and stern words from Picone, last week that debt was down to $23 million. But in rural areas, where she prefers to do most of her business, that still represents a lot of heartache for small operators employing only a handful of staff and relying on drought-stricken residents to keep food on their tables.
When the
Herald approached her in Dubbo on Wednesday, she hid behind closed doors and sent someone out to ask that we "move down the street or go and have a cup of coffee" so she could slip away.
We politely declined and waited in 38 degree heat on a public bench outside the door.
Exiting out the back door would not have looked good. Half an hour later a visibly uncomfortable Blizard relented and agreed to answer questions - but not in the street.
The credit crisis had been building, she said vaguely, but had only became a monumental problem unexpectedly in the middle of last year. She was doing her very best to resolve the issue but creditors needed to ring her hotline if they expected to get paid.
Submitting an invoice with a due date was simply not good enough. And neither was expecting payment in less than 45 days, despite the State Government giving its creditors only 28 days to pay.
Security of staff seemed to be paramount, but food supplies were not. She was vague on staffing numbers, unclear as to who was still owed money and could give no end date to the crisis for desperate business owners. "I am aiming to make an improvement but it may not be done by June," she smiled, seemingly confident that her job was not on the line.
Later that evening, she supped at an upmarket restaurant with bureaucrats, glass of wine in hand and a smile on her face.
The circus starts again. But who is tending to the patient?
Bookmarks