Opinion: What the Health? A System Set for Failure

When your humble author awoke on Friday, 13 March with tonsils the size of Luxon’s bald head constricting her inflamed airway, some more superstitious readers might blame the unlucky date. I was certain, however, that a call to Student Health might provide some relief from the raw, burning pain I was experiencing with every breath and swallow.

How sorely mistaken I was. 

Calling just before 10 a.m., I was quickly informed by the receptionist that urgent same-day GP appointments were already completely full. Anecdotally—via the two different receptionists I spoke to—the service had received a record number of calls that morning, akin to flu season. 

My options were: wait and call again on Monday at 8:30 a.m. (70 hours away), call Healthline for advice, take myself to After Hours, or book a phone appointment with a nurse. When I asked whether the nurse could prescribe antibiotics or anything stronger than the paracetamol, ibuprofen, and lidocaine spray I was already taking, I was told that wasn’t possible. 

Upon seeing me sweaty and slightly tearful for the second time that morning, the clerk at the University Unichem pulled his mask up a little higher and suggested that, yes—I probably needed something stronger. Feeling panicked, unable to afford a regular GP, overwhelmed and let down, I decided to push through the day on over-the-counter medicine alone. I diligently conducted a COVID test in the Salient office and attended my three-hour mandatory tutorial that afternoon. 

By evening, however, it became clear that the pain wasn’t going anywhere—it was getting worse. Spurred on by my friends, (“Dude, you need a Doctor”), I let my flatmate drive me to After Hours at 8:30 p.m., figuring a few hours wait would be better than nothing at all. Imagine my surprise, then, when we were told at the desk that After Hours was shutting for the night due to staff shortage. I was directed to the Emergency Department.

I arrived to a full waiting room, feeling slightly ridiculous—yes, I am here for a sore throat, but no, I don’t have anywhere else to go. The triage nurse was dubious, but after shining a light down my throat (the first physical examination I had received all day), she told me that I should stay, on account of the tiny hole that was supposed to be my functioning airway.

Nine hours after my arrival, I finally left ED at 6 a.m. with a generous supply of prescription pain medicine. The following days were spent reflecting, in a codeine-fuelled haze: what is going on with the New Zealand healthcare system? 

The issue is broader than any individual experience. It rests not with the incredible doctors, nurses, and other medical staff that bend over backwards every day to ensure that as many people as possible receive high-quality care, but with a general lack of funding and infrastructure. Staff are burnt out, hospital beds are full, and appointments are in overwhelming demand. Workforce shortages place increasing pressure on the system as workers continue to head overseas for better wages, hours, and conditions—and who could blame them? 

New Zealand’s healthcare system is primarily government-funded through taxation. It saw a budget increase of $5.5 billion for hospital and specialist services, primary care, and community and public health in 2025/26. There was a 6.43% increase in general practice capitation funding, alongside $180 million in new funding for general practice. While this sounds promising, it’s important to remember that healthcare funding must keep pace with population growth, meaning increases are expected every year. 

Clearly, the current uptick isn’t enough.  

On Tuesday, 17 March, health minister Simeon Brown announced an additional $25 million investment to boost hospital capacity, increase staffing, and prepare for winter demand. Again, this sounds substantial—but when spread across the country, the impact is minimal: just 12 additional winter beds for Wellington and a 0.47% increase in staff nationwide. While a step in the right direction, it is, at best, incremental—like peeing on a house fire.

Or, as Salaried Medical Specialists executive director Sarah Dalton more eloquently told RNZ: “I wouldn’t call it an investment or a plan, I’d call it a band-aid.” 

Fleur Fitzsimmons, National Secretary for the Public Service Association Te Pūkenga Here Tikanga Mahi, was similarly critical: “Minister Brown cannot claim to be preparing hospitals for winter while his Government has spent the past two years imposing cuts and job losses right across Health NZ. You cannot gut the workforce and then paper over the damage with a press release.”

And it’s true. The same minister also asked hospitals to cut back $510 million late last year in “efficiencies”, claiming that “back-office waste” could be “re-invested straight back into patient care.” That amount makes Tuesday’s bonus look hardly mollifying.

Brown has also begun decentralising Health NZ, with the aim of allowing regions and districts to recruit and deploy staff independently, while maintaining central oversight for strategy and standards. In 2025, it was revealed that Wellington hospitals were, in some cases, waiting up to six months for approval to begin recruiting frontline staff. While decentralisation may improve responsiveness, it also risks creating uneven capability and workforce gaps between regions.

Mauri Ora Student Health & Counselling specifically is funded largely by the student-paid Student Services Fee, with 59% allocated to health services, counselling, and pastoral care. Routine medical appointments are generally free for domestic students, though charges apply for international students and specialist services such as medicals, ECGs, minor surgeries, and some vaccinations. Here too, additional funding for staffing would ease pressure, freeing up additional appointments for distressed students. 

Wait times for counselling and routine medical appointments in 2025 typically sat at six to seven weeks. March and April are traditionally busy months for the service, as new students must see a GP before prescriptions can be issued. Same-day urgent appointments typically fill by noon—though on my ill-fated day of March 13 they were all gone by 10 a.m. This is in part due to a reduction in same-day triage appointments from 22 at the end of last year to just 12 per day over the past two weeks, in an effort to prioritize continuity of care. 

Mauri Ora now walks a tightrope between reactivity (same-day care, triage) and proactivity (ongoing care, scheduled counselling)—one that may be fraying under the strain.

Yes, my tonsillitis was not life-threatening, and I won’t pretend others haven’t endured far worse. But it was painful, prolonged, and—critically—difficult to treat affordably and accessibly.

Internationally, New Zealand is still seen as a safe, stable, and liveable country, with a healthcare system comparable to Canada, the UK, and many Nordic countries. Increasingly, however, it feels as though that reputation no longer reflects reality. 

Funding, policy, and workforce strategy must change—and quickly—if Aotearoa wants to maintain a healthcare system that is truly accessible.