Two rural ladies kept on me until I saw Michael Moore’s “Sicko.”
I know why, now — I tend to become a laser-pointed missile when I’m pissed off, and I’ll do something about it, and I don’t think they could. Maybe I can’t do a LOT, but I’ll do something (the Grain Of Rice or Grain of Sand model — it all adds up to harvests or beaches).
I knew what was in the film Sicko, but when I saw it all together, I was ready to kill. So I marched into the local clinic, and changed my Emergency Care paperwork to “No care” in the case of an emergency. I said that if my body had to be kept on life support for 30 days, I wasn’t going to make my husband sell our house to keep me alive.
The clinician muttered, “You don’t want government health care.”
Threatening his rice-bowl, I see.
I had government health care in the army — and I want it back! They fixed my teeth and took care of me as a soldier, and I want everybody to get the same, now.
Why should a woman raising children have to take a job to get her kids’ teeth fixed? Why should businesses be burdened with insurance payments? Why should we end up paying higher emergency room costs when all a homeless guy needs is a bandage or some antibiotics?
If they can bail out Wall Street and bad auto companies, where’s our health care? Where are our college educations? Why do people in Canada and France and CUBA pity us? Do we WANT to be redefined as a third-world nation?
The clinician’s Czech secretary totally understood. His young American secretary understood after we explained that SHE — and her kids — could have had the higher-paying job if the older woman had been able to quit — but she couldn’t because she needed the health insurance.
I told them all that if the lack of health care murdered me to keep my husband off the street, then so be it.
I think I embarrassed everybody. I HOPE SO.