Glibbertysmidgeon

“If I get sick, I don’t want to go to the doctor, I just want to die.” This is my father on health care. He has called me “…just to chat, while I still can.”

Dad hasn’t paid his phone or electric bills in a while, and expects them to come turn it all off any day now. I told my father that I worry, knowing that he lives like this. He assures me that he’ll go out and get a job soon. “The only time I think about money”, he explained with a chuckle, “is when I don’t have any.”

I didn’t find that answer very comforting. Since I didn’t know how to answer, I returned to the topic of health care.

“If only our country provided health care to everyone”, I complained, “Not just the people with good jobs, like Kris.”

“All those countries”, he responded, “like England and Canada and Germany, who have state health care-“

“All the first world nations except the U.S.”, I interrupted sourly

“The rich in those countries”, he continued with an air of pride, “come to the U.S. to get their health care.”

“I’ve heard that too,” I conceded, “maybe we do have the best doctors and hospitals in the world, but what good are they doing for Donna?” I told him about my sister’s mammogram, on which she made payments for most of 2004. What would she have done if it had found something?

Last week over lunch, some friends told me similar health care stories from their friends in France who are fond of complaining about how long they have to wait to get a doctor appointment, and how far they travel to visit specialists.

“But,” I answered, “can’t the wealthy just pay extra to get the best care, like they do here?”

My two friends admitted that, in fact, for people with money, the health care system in France is about the same as it is here in the U.S. “It’s just for the poor that it’s different,” they agreed. “In France, the poor can go to the doctor.”

I tried to explain to my father how frightening it is for me to know that my father, my brother, and my sister are all without health insurance. After working full time while going to college for 8 years, then paying on the student loans for another 10, I finally have a safety net of my own. I have a good job, and my husband has a better one. Kris’ job gives us both health care coverage. He gets paid vacation, paternity leave, dental and vision coverage. But these won’t help me if something should happen to a member of my family.

I picture my father alone in his small trailer house in the bitter Missouri winter. He is sitting in his easy chair with his little dog on his lap, smoking a cigarette in a room lit only by the fire in the woodstove.

How fragile my safety net feels to me with the weight of my whole family, heavy with possibilities, hanging dark over my head.