I'm on my way back to New York, after quite a long visit home to DC. Originally, I only planned to spend a few days at my parents' around the holidays. But we make plans, and God laughs.
Traditionally, my mom's sister Lori and her husband Brad always spend Christmas at our house. Lori is practically a second mother to me, having lived with our family through the first decade of my life. In fact, her nickname, "Gobie", originates from the early 80s, when my older sister struggled to pronounce Lori's name.
The day before New Year's Eve, Aunt Gobie got seriously sick. Her stomach cramped so fiercely, we found her banging the wall with her fist and mumbling incoherently in the bathroom. We debated back and forth about whether her condition warranted an ER visit, but were too afraid of how high those medical bills might be.
Gobie and Brad both work more than 40 hours a week, and work hard. Brad is a master of concrete pouring, and Gobie a dental assistant. Both work for small companies that are unable to provide health coverage to their employees, and yet they can't really afford private insurance on their own.
And so, crippled with pain, but with nowhere to turn, Gobie went to bed to try and sleep it off.
The next day, we had no choice but to rush her to the ER. She was bleeding internally, and extremely weak. Hours later, the doctors explained that a blood clot had formed near Gobie's colon, depriving about 40cm of her large intestines of oxygen and nearly killing that tissue.
She was lucky to be alive.
The care we received at Washington Hospital Center was outstanding. We imagined that spending New Year's Eve in the ER would be hell---with all the drunks and party-going-accidents streaming in. But they put us in a private room with a real door that blocked out the madness outside, even knowing that Gobie was uninsured.
The teams of doctors that treated her over the next nine days were unparalleled in their attention to detail and concern for the wellbeing of the entire family. We found out that our doctors were each nationally recognized leaders in their respective fields, and yet took the time to explain every minute detail until Gobie understood completely.
I went back to New York for two days to take care of some work responsibilities, but came back as soon as I could to keep Gobie company and interpret hospital lingo as best as I could.
When she was finally released, we were so very grateful for the care she had received and the speed of her recovery. And yet, I couldn't help but be a little angry.
I was angry that we had waited to take her to the hospital because we didn't have insurance. How pathetic, that in the wealthiest nation on earth people make medical decisions based on financial concerns, and not their actual medical needs!
How unfair, that a couple of hard-working, salt-of-the-earth, blue-blooded Americans, should have to suffer the overwhelming stress of being one serious illness away from financial ruin.
During the last several days that Gobie was in the hospital, we plowed through the process of setting up a payment plan, and began to apply for insurance. The dollars and cents of it would be overwhelming to even the most financially successful among us.
A year ago, I was so optimistic about the promises of healthcare reform. The campaign rhetoric tugged on my heartstrings in a way that often evoked tears. And now, as the gap between rhetoric and reality becomes more apparent, it is hard to not be discouraged. Even if the current bill passes, I fear that we are too far gone to ever realistically live in a country where people need not worry about their health care coverage. The current bill is far too short-sighted in scope: It is the victim of partisan bickering and the fear of electoral reprimand.
And yet, to do nothing would be succumbing to despair. I don't expect my government to take care of my heath care needs, but I can't stop hoping that government action might bring some equity tothe playing field. We shall see.
For now, I am so grateful that Gobie was healthy enough to leave the hospital and drive me to the bus stop this afternoon. Hugging her ever more tightly, I realize that our family is one of the blessed ones. Every day, there are thousands of other stories like ours, and not all of them end positively.
As I head back to New York, I can't stop wondering what I can do to improve the situation. I've written and called my representatives in congress. What else can I do?
- Posted on the go, from my iPod!
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