It was 3:30 in the afternoon. The front door chimed. I could hear the cheerful voice of our receptionist talking. My next patient wasn’t scheduled for another 30 minutes, so I made my way up front to see if I could help.

Two people stood at the reception desk. One was professionally dressed, standing tall, smiling, and making friendly conversation with our receptionist. Her relaxed body language told me that she was not new here. It was as if she had walked into her favorite salon and was chit-chatting with her long-time hairdresser.

The opposite could be said for the other one she was with. This young woman was hunched over the desk signing some paperwork, and I could feel her misery. Inaudible to me coming around the corner, she must have mumbled a request for a vomit bag as our receptionist quickly handed her one from the drawer. This was the miserable look of an acute illness. I’ve seen the same long pale face, arm held across the belly, inability to stand up straight, and careful slow gait a thousand times over the course of my primary care career.

Appendicitis? Gastroenteritis? Bad gallbladder? UTI? Influenza? Pregnancy? Migraine? What medications was she taking? What is her temperature? Blood pressure? How tender and soft is her abdomen when I push? The list of possibilities mounted in my mind as I offered my concerned smile in the waiting room.

The nurse ushered her quietly back to Exam Room 3, as I continued to listen to the well woman left standing at the front desk. Her smile was even bigger now.

“I knew that this was the place to come,” she said proudly. “Missy has migraines all of the time, and this one today is bad. She works for me, you see. When I told her about your clinic, she was so relieved to get help that I drove her here myself! Usually, she just goes home for the day to sleep it off. Without insurance or knowing how much it will cost to go to Urgent Care, she has been scared to see a doctor. You know…” Her voice trailed off because we all do know. “Well, call me when you’re done, and I’ll come back.”

Right about then, I heard the exam room door open and close softly – they must be ready for me. I excused myself and walked down the hall to Exam Room 3. The lights were off, but the window still streamed in light through the opaque shade.

It was, in fact, one of Missy’s typical migraines. The fifth one this month. The second one this week.

After a dose of Zofran for nausea, Toradol for pain, and 20 minutes in a quiet room, I saw her smile for the first time. Relief.

Next, we spent time and came up with a plan to reduce the frequency of these attacks and what to do for breakthrough migraines. Grateful is how I would describe her handshake.

I texted her the next morning, and she was happy to report she was completely headache-free and back at work. We set up a time for a long overdue check-up and to follow up on our treatment plan for those nasty migraines.

Sound like just another clinic visit? A doctor with time in the middle of the afternoon to come meet you in the lobby? No waiting when you’re sick? A clinic you’re proud to share with your coworkers? Just $25 total for the cost to get in-clinic nausea and injection migraine pain medications? A text message from your doctor the next day to see how you’re doing?

This is DPC. This is Direct Primary Care. This is the kind of doctor I always wanted to be. This is the kind of care anyone can have.

Yes, there is a monthly membership fee to join a DPC clinic. That is the most difficult part of DPC to understand. It’s different. It’s transparent. It’s an investment. It’s proactive. And, it’s new.

As I was thinking about this fictional, but based-on-reality, story above, I wondered who would pay for Missy’s monthly membership.

Obviously, Missy has a lot to gain by having a regular, approachable physician to text or see when needed. If we are able to reduce her headache frequency from 5 per month to even 2 per month, then she would have three extra days per month she can work. If she made just $10/hr and worked a typical 8hrs per day, those 3 days would make her $240/month. That alone would easily pay her $100/mo membership.

Now what’s the value if we can prevent all 5 migraine days? Or, what if she makes $20/hr? Or, when she needs stitches for a laceration down the road? Or, has UTI symptoms on Sunday afternoon? More so, what if having regular check-ups catches hypertension or prediabetes so early that she is able to manage it with a “free” nutrition and lifestyle plan based on evidence and avoids the expense and trauma of having a heart attack, stroke, or diabetes in her 60s? What if…?

Then it came to me. Maybe her kind and compassionate boss is going to pay, or at least help pay, for Missy’s DPC membership. Will $100/mo keep Missy at work more often? Will her time be more productive, more valuable, without a lingering headache? Will she appreciate the benefit of having some kind of healthcare from her employer enough to not quit when a different job comes along? What if the clinic offered her company a discount if she got it for all of her employees? (wink, wink. We do.)

As medical care and insurance get more and more expensive for both individuals and businesses, the value of DPC gets easier and easier to see. Healthcare that really cares, is just a bonus.

It may be new, but DPC is it!