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An empty doctor's office with a single houseplant, a chair, and a teal wall.
A small office. A single chair. A houseplant doing more emotional labour than the rostering code allows. Notes on the quiet collapse of primary care.
Photograph · Wire Service
Citizens · Reportage Page A2

Why your family doctor stopped calling back.

A small office. A single chair. A houseplant doing more emotional labour than the rostering code allows. Notes on the quiet collapse of primary care.

You called the office. You left a message. Three days passed. You called again. The receptionist remembered you. The doctor was, she said, in clinic. The doctor was always in clinic. You hung up. You drove yourself to a walk-in. The walk-in doctor opened your file, read four pages, and told you to follow up with your family doctor. You laughed in the parking lot for the wrong reasons.

This is the modal Canadian primary-care experience in 2026. The doctor exists. The doctor is, by any honest read, working very hard. The doctor is also no longer the front door of your medical life. The walk-in is the front door. The emergency department is the front door. The pharmacist is the front door, sometimes. Your family doctor, who used to be the front door, has become a slow back office.

What rostering actually pays

Most family doctors in Ontario are paid through one of two flavours of rostering: a Family Health Organization or a Family Health Group. In both, you, the patient, are tied to a doctor's roster. The doctor is paid a per-patient annual amount, plus fees for specific services. The math, simplified: the doctor gets a stipend for keeping you on the books, and a bit more when they actually see you.

The system was designed in the early 2000s to reward continuity. The intuition was that a doctor with a stable roster would invest in long-term care, catch problems early, and keep patients out of emergency departments. The intuition was correct. The arithmetic is what broke.

The per-patient stipend has not kept pace with inflation, with rent on a clinic, with the cost of an electronic medical records subscription, with the cost of nursing staff, with the cost of being a small business in 2026. The fees for service have not kept pace with the time a modern visit actually takes. The result is a quiet inversion. The doctor who answers your call loses money on the answer. The doctor who does not answer your call keeps the stipend.

The doctor who answers your call loses money on the answer. The doctor who does not answer your call keeps the stipend.

The phone, and the file

There is a second arithmetic, smaller and worse. A phone call about a renewal, a referral, or a result is not, in any meaningful billing sense, a service. The doctor can spend twelve minutes on the phone with you and bill nothing for it. The doctor can also spend twelve minutes seeing you in person and bill a number the doctor's spouse will laugh at. The phone call, on a good day, costs the doctor money. The visit, on the same day, barely covers the receptionist who booked it.

The doctor's response to this arithmetic is rational. Move the phone calls to the receptionist. Move the renewals to a portal. Move the lab results to a follow-up visit. Move the nuance, in other words, into a place where the system at least pretends to pay for it. The patient, on the other end of this rationalisation, hears a phone that does not ring back.

What the country actually built

The country built, with extraordinary effort and decades of effort, a network of family doctors. The country then asked those doctors to absorb a slow, structural pay cut, every year, by inflation alone. The country then asked them to take on more administrative work, more electronic charting, more pre-authorisations for medications that used to be one signature. The country then expressed surprise that, somewhere in the middle of all that, the doctors stopped calling back.

None of the doctors are villains in this story. None of the patients are unreasonable. The province, on the other hand, is the actor in the room with the cheque book. The province is the only actor that can adjust the per-patient envelope upward, the fee codes meaningfully, and the rostering math toward what the country thought it was buying. The province has, for at least a decade, declined to do so. The next minister of health will be the seventh in a row to inherit the file. The file does not get easier with age.

What a country could ask for

A country could ask for three small things. One: a fee code that pays for a substantive phone call, capped, audited, and subject to the same documentation standards as an in-person visit. Two: an annual escalator on the per-patient stipend tied to a transparent inflation measure. Three: a reduction in the administrative burden imposed by drug plans, insurance, and provincial systems on doctors whose time is the file's most expensive line item.

None of these is a moonshot. None is even particularly novel. They are the dull, costed proposals of the medical association, the auditor general, and three different provincial reviews. They have not been implemented because primary care has, for a generation, been treated as the province's spare wheel. It is not a spare wheel. It is the suspension. The country can feel the road through it.

The doctor will not call back today. Possibly not tomorrow. Possibly the doctor will retire, in the next eighteen months, and the new doctor accepting your roster will, by quiet practice, be in Calgary. The country has not yet decided whether this is a crisis or a budget line. The decision will be made, as most decisions about primary care are made, by the people who never make the call.