My husband is reading a biography about Abraham Lincoln, and once in awhile I benefit by hearing one of his insights.
"Did you know that Lincoln had a problem with depression?"
"Did you know that Lincoln failed at a business and took 20 years to pay back the debts he incurred from it?"
"... he was skinny as a rail and wore all of his pants too short."
"....he was a spell-binding public speaker and used to like to get up on a soap-box and hold forth."
It has occurred to me, more than once, that Lincoln could never get elected President today.
Or, at least, I would be very surprised, if he was. He was President during the worst time our country ever had. And in four years, he did not win the war of solve all the problems of slavery.
Sometimes I think we suffer from a kind of delusion: the 60 minute TV delusion. We think that every problem has a perfect solution, and it should be be simple, and solvable in 60 minutes (2 hours at the outside), about the length of a TV show.
Sometimes patience is necessary, and humility as well. Difficult problems require patience, and the knowledge that no possible solution is perfect. After all, we are still dealing with the divisions between southern and northern states and the consequences of slavery even now.
So right now we're trying to figure out health care. Some people want single-payer, and others think that Medicare was a big mistake. Some people die because they are unable to get cancer treatments or they have a pre-existing condition. Some are afraid that the solution proposed is too complicated.
Right now if you are over 65 you get Medicare. If you are employed, you often have access to private insurance through your employer. If you are poor enough, you have access to Medicaid. If you are a veteran you have access to insurance through the VA system. If you are unemployed or working poor, you might have no insurance, or you might have some access to insurance through your state, depending on where you live. The cost of your insurance and the choices you have are different depending on the state you live in, and often depending on whether you live in a rural or urban area.
It seems to me that insurance is already complicated.
In the meantime, we're all just trying to make things better for our neighbors, our children.
There are only three things I'm sure of:
1. It's going to take more than 60 minutes to figure it out.
2. Whatever the solution, it won't be perfect.
3. Abraham Lincoln still couldn't get elected President.
Showing posts with label health care. Show all posts
Showing posts with label health care. Show all posts
Friday, March 19, 2010
Sunday, January 17, 2010
A Few Rare Things
This morning, as I was preparing for worship, the worship coordinator approached me and said, "I really liked your sermon last week."
Last week? How often does that happen? (almost never). I savored the moment, just a little. Usually (and I think that I speak for most pastors in this respect), you have the few minutes right after the worship service. Then it's gone.
After church this morning, we had a birthday dinner for my mother-in-law. This was rare for a couple of reasons: my husband's two boys were both in town and could be there; I do not cook much. I know how to cook, I really do. But I have not so much time, and I have a pretty small kitchen and I do not have a dishwasher, so I don't cook much.
I cooked a kind of a rare dish (I've just made it a few times). It's one from one of the Moosewood Cookbooks, and while I was working on it, I remembered why I don't make it so often: It uses about four pots and a casserole, so it's a little messy and involved.
It's called Baked Pasta with Cauliflower and Cheese, and it also features tomatoes, basil and seasoned bread crumbs. It was worth it, if I do say so myself.
This is not so rare, but my mom called. She visited my dad again today, and went home feeling upset. It's both the sense that he seems to be losing ground some days, and also the level of care he's getting.
He was in another care center for awhile; we thought he got better care there, but it is a private pay only facility, which means it is not available to him.
I've been thinking a lot about health care lately. I know that the current bill is fatally complicated, not perfect, all those things. But I despair of doing nothing, which some people seem to think is just hunky-dorey.
A long time ago, I heard that one of my relatives said, "people should take care of themselves." He said this with regard to Social Security, which he thought was probably a mistake. Instead of Social Security, "people should just take care of themselves", he thought.
In the same town, lives another relative of mine, an uncle actually. He never married; he worked his whole life as a farmhand. He didn't save much money because he didn't make much money. From my vantage point as an adult, I think I can say that my uncle did the best he could with what he had.
He's able to live, and have a little apartment in that town because of social security.
So, even though I will admit to not having all the answers, I will continue to hope that somehow we figure out how to cover all people. Because of my uncle. Because of my dad.
Last week? How often does that happen? (almost never). I savored the moment, just a little. Usually (and I think that I speak for most pastors in this respect), you have the few minutes right after the worship service. Then it's gone.
After church this morning, we had a birthday dinner for my mother-in-law. This was rare for a couple of reasons: my husband's two boys were both in town and could be there; I do not cook much. I know how to cook, I really do. But I have not so much time, and I have a pretty small kitchen and I do not have a dishwasher, so I don't cook much.
I cooked a kind of a rare dish (I've just made it a few times). It's one from one of the Moosewood Cookbooks, and while I was working on it, I remembered why I don't make it so often: It uses about four pots and a casserole, so it's a little messy and involved.
It's called Baked Pasta with Cauliflower and Cheese, and it also features tomatoes, basil and seasoned bread crumbs. It was worth it, if I do say so myself.
This is not so rare, but my mom called. She visited my dad again today, and went home feeling upset. It's both the sense that he seems to be losing ground some days, and also the level of care he's getting.
He was in another care center for awhile; we thought he got better care there, but it is a private pay only facility, which means it is not available to him.
I've been thinking a lot about health care lately. I know that the current bill is fatally complicated, not perfect, all those things. But I despair of doing nothing, which some people seem to think is just hunky-dorey.
A long time ago, I heard that one of my relatives said, "people should take care of themselves." He said this with regard to Social Security, which he thought was probably a mistake. Instead of Social Security, "people should just take care of themselves", he thought.
In the same town, lives another relative of mine, an uncle actually. He never married; he worked his whole life as a farmhand. He didn't save much money because he didn't make much money. From my vantage point as an adult, I think I can say that my uncle did the best he could with what he had.
He's able to live, and have a little apartment in that town because of social security.
So, even though I will admit to not having all the answers, I will continue to hope that somehow we figure out how to cover all people. Because of my uncle. Because of my dad.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
A Short, Boring Post About Books
Just wanted to let everyone know that yes, I am still reading, plugging away on the reading challenge I've given myself. It's an eclectic list today, so I may leave any great comments for another time.
Here's where I've been lately:
35. Ask, Thank, Give, a book about Stewardship, in conjunction with our Fall Stewardship campaign.
36. In Dying, We are Born, a short, provocative book about congregational renewal. Very thought-provoking.
37. The Blessing of the Beasts, a great and wonderful illustrated book about a cockroach and a skunk who want to go to the Animal Blessing Service at St. John the Divine Cathedral in Manhattan.
38. The Healing of America, T.R. Reid. Reid went all over the world, checking out the different ways that different countries have achieved fairer, cheaper, universal coverage (or not.) Lots and lots to think about. Made me mad (among other things.)
Here's where I've been lately:
35. Ask, Thank, Give, a book about Stewardship, in conjunction with our Fall Stewardship campaign.
36. In Dying, We are Born, a short, provocative book about congregational renewal. Very thought-provoking.
37. The Blessing of the Beasts, a great and wonderful illustrated book about a cockroach and a skunk who want to go to the Animal Blessing Service at St. John the Divine Cathedral in Manhattan.
38. The Healing of America, T.R. Reid. Reid went all over the world, checking out the different ways that different countries have achieved fairer, cheaper, universal coverage (or not.) Lots and lots to think about. Made me mad (among other things.)
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
What I Know for Sure (About Health Care)
I don't have a pre-existing condition, and, at this point in my life, I am able to pay the deductibles on my insurance. I even have a little bit of mental health coverage. So, in many ways I consider myself lucky. Although I'm not wealthy, I don't consider myself poor, either. However:
*there was a time in my life when even paying the deductibles I pay now would have absolutely broken me. There was a time in my life when I had Major Medical insurance and I prayed not to get sick. Therefore, I can imagine what it is like for those who fall between the cracks of our system.
*there was a time in my life when I lived in a rural area, and discovered that Health Care is not equal in every part of the country. I did not have all of the resources available there that I have where I do now.
*mental health care is especially unequal in rural areas.
*health insurance is very complicated. When my husband was set to have minor surgery, and was trying to figure out what he would owe after the deductible, he could not get anybody to tell him the actual cost of the surgery.
*poverty is bad for your health. Poverty is bad for your health because 1) you cannot afford health insurance, 2) the places poor people live are often unhealthy, 3) you have the added stress of living on the edge.
*it is getting more and more difficult for congregations to provide health care coverage to clergy and other employees.
*health care is a moral issue
What do you know for sure?
*there was a time in my life when even paying the deductibles I pay now would have absolutely broken me. There was a time in my life when I had Major Medical insurance and I prayed not to get sick. Therefore, I can imagine what it is like for those who fall between the cracks of our system.
*there was a time in my life when I lived in a rural area, and discovered that Health Care is not equal in every part of the country. I did not have all of the resources available there that I have where I do now.
*mental health care is especially unequal in rural areas.
*health insurance is very complicated. When my husband was set to have minor surgery, and was trying to figure out what he would owe after the deductible, he could not get anybody to tell him the actual cost of the surgery.
*poverty is bad for your health. Poverty is bad for your health because 1) you cannot afford health insurance, 2) the places poor people live are often unhealthy, 3) you have the added stress of living on the edge.
*it is getting more and more difficult for congregations to provide health care coverage to clergy and other employees.
*health care is a moral issue
What do you know for sure?
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Intensive Care
I've been going to visit a woman in intensive care. She sleeps a lot, so I read scripture, pray, sometimes sing a hymn. I figure she can hear me. I don't know how she's doing.
My father-in-law spent a week in intensive care before he died. We thought he was going to get better, but he didn't.
Intensive care can be a scary place: all the machines and tubes and noises, people scurrying around. Sometimes you're just there for a day; sometimes intensive care goes on for a long time, and you don't really know what will be the outcome. And sometimes you know, but you don't want to face it.
"It's really a spiritual crisis, isn't it?" she said to me at the end of our conversation.
We were talking about health care: she's a nurse, and she was talking about some of the end-of-life issues she deals with when she cares for older patients. Sometimes a patient will confide in her that they really don't want to go through a difficult surgery, but that their children are pressuring them; sometimes a doctor will wonder about doing an invasive surgery for someone in their eighties. Will their bodies be able to handle it? they wonder. But if the person's mind is active, shouldn't they do the surgery anyway, on the outside chance of a good outcome? Then there is the emerging language about "death panels", and "health care rationing", all because of language in the health care bill about "end of life discussions." (The language has now been removed.)
"It's really a spiritual crisis, isn't it?" she said at the end of our conversation.
What she meant was this: as a nation, we cannot speak well about death, about the fact that we are all going to die someday. Of course, this is universally true; there's that old gospel song with the title "Everybody wants to go to heaven (but nobody wants to die)". But I think that this has become especially true in the United States in this time. Both modern medicine and technology conspire to make us think that we can do anything we want, live as long as we want, fix every problem -- even death. But someday, we are all going to die; even when we save a life, it is only temporary. We are not immortal. But we have a hard time looking at death, talking about death, acknowledging death.
It's a spiritual crisis, as my nurse friend says. It's a spiritual crisis that we do everything to cover up the truth of the fact that our bodies tire out, wear out, give out. It's a spiritual crisis because our behavior has become driven by our fear rather than our hope.
Intensive care. Some people get intensive care, and others do not. Some people are afraid that they will be thrown away when they are old, and others are being thrown away right now, because of fear. And it's a spiritual crisis, a crisis where our fear of death speaks louder than our hope for life -- both this life and the life to come.
You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, with all you strength, with all your mind. And the second is like it: You shall love your neighbor as yourself.
Your neighbor as yourself. What does that mean? It means that I want my neighbor to have the same things I have: a meaningful life, an opportunity to work, good health, friends and family. It means that I want my neighbor to know abundance, and to have hope in dying.
It's a spiritual crisis, isn't it?
My father-in-law spent a week in intensive care before he died. We thought he was going to get better, but he didn't.
Intensive care can be a scary place: all the machines and tubes and noises, people scurrying around. Sometimes you're just there for a day; sometimes intensive care goes on for a long time, and you don't really know what will be the outcome. And sometimes you know, but you don't want to face it.
"It's really a spiritual crisis, isn't it?" she said to me at the end of our conversation.
We were talking about health care: she's a nurse, and she was talking about some of the end-of-life issues she deals with when she cares for older patients. Sometimes a patient will confide in her that they really don't want to go through a difficult surgery, but that their children are pressuring them; sometimes a doctor will wonder about doing an invasive surgery for someone in their eighties. Will their bodies be able to handle it? they wonder. But if the person's mind is active, shouldn't they do the surgery anyway, on the outside chance of a good outcome? Then there is the emerging language about "death panels", and "health care rationing", all because of language in the health care bill about "end of life discussions." (The language has now been removed.)
"It's really a spiritual crisis, isn't it?" she said at the end of our conversation.
What she meant was this: as a nation, we cannot speak well about death, about the fact that we are all going to die someday. Of course, this is universally true; there's that old gospel song with the title "Everybody wants to go to heaven (but nobody wants to die)". But I think that this has become especially true in the United States in this time. Both modern medicine and technology conspire to make us think that we can do anything we want, live as long as we want, fix every problem -- even death. But someday, we are all going to die; even when we save a life, it is only temporary. We are not immortal. But we have a hard time looking at death, talking about death, acknowledging death.
It's a spiritual crisis, as my nurse friend says. It's a spiritual crisis that we do everything to cover up the truth of the fact that our bodies tire out, wear out, give out. It's a spiritual crisis because our behavior has become driven by our fear rather than our hope.
Intensive care. Some people get intensive care, and others do not. Some people are afraid that they will be thrown away when they are old, and others are being thrown away right now, because of fear. And it's a spiritual crisis, a crisis where our fear of death speaks louder than our hope for life -- both this life and the life to come.
You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, with all you strength, with all your mind. And the second is like it: You shall love your neighbor as yourself.
Your neighbor as yourself. What does that mean? It means that I want my neighbor to have the same things I have: a meaningful life, an opportunity to work, good health, friends and family. It means that I want my neighbor to know abundance, and to have hope in dying.
It's a spiritual crisis, isn't it?
Sunday, July 5, 2009
....And I Have Good Insurance
The last few weeks, I have been engaged (off and on) in an unpleasant activity. Perhaps it could even be considered hair-raising. At the very least, it has been enlightening.
I have been paying medical bills.
Admittedly, it's been an interesting spring. At the end of March, I had a bout of severe flu that sent me to the emergency room in an ambulance to get intravenous fluids. Then, later in spring, I fell down in a parking lot (not unlike our esteemed Secretary of State, I'm sure) and broke my arm. I managed to get by with a visit to Urgent Care and four X-rays this time.
And I finally got a couple of new pairs of glasses (two, because I'm always misplacing one of them.) They are progressive lenses, which of course, makes them more expensive.
It hasn't been fun paying the bills for all these things. I'll tell you one thing: I'm going to think long and hard before I go anywhere in an ambulance again. And while I haven't been happy about the amounts that I pay out, when I look at the original bills -- well, that's the enlightening part.
Now I have good insurance. It covers (except deductible) almost everything, including certain mental health coverages I might need. And it's not cheap. I know what our church pays for us to be able to have this coverage.
I also might note: these have been minor illnesses. My arm needed no cast, and I spent no overnight time in the hospital when I had the flu. These aren't the catastrophic diseases and accidents some people have.
So while I am paying and looking at bills and cringing a little, I'm also thinking: what would it be like if I didn't have insurance? How would I feel if I was getting these bills and I didn't have insurance or didn't have work, or had uncertain work? Wouldn't it affect so many aspects of my life?
I realize that the issues surrounding health care are complicated ones; when we had a health care forum at my congregation a couple of weeks ago, a couple of nurses brought up the great point that besides money and insurance and good doctors, one thing that people need (and many don't get) is education: education about their bodies, about nutrition, about health.
Still, if I was getting bills and I had to write out these checks, and I didn't know how to pay them, I think I'd feel a lot less healthy.
I have been paying medical bills.
Admittedly, it's been an interesting spring. At the end of March, I had a bout of severe flu that sent me to the emergency room in an ambulance to get intravenous fluids. Then, later in spring, I fell down in a parking lot (not unlike our esteemed Secretary of State, I'm sure) and broke my arm. I managed to get by with a visit to Urgent Care and four X-rays this time.
And I finally got a couple of new pairs of glasses (two, because I'm always misplacing one of them.) They are progressive lenses, which of course, makes them more expensive.
It hasn't been fun paying the bills for all these things. I'll tell you one thing: I'm going to think long and hard before I go anywhere in an ambulance again. And while I haven't been happy about the amounts that I pay out, when I look at the original bills -- well, that's the enlightening part.
Now I have good insurance. It covers (except deductible) almost everything, including certain mental health coverages I might need. And it's not cheap. I know what our church pays for us to be able to have this coverage.
I also might note: these have been minor illnesses. My arm needed no cast, and I spent no overnight time in the hospital when I had the flu. These aren't the catastrophic diseases and accidents some people have.
So while I am paying and looking at bills and cringing a little, I'm also thinking: what would it be like if I didn't have insurance? How would I feel if I was getting these bills and I didn't have insurance or didn't have work, or had uncertain work? Wouldn't it affect so many aspects of my life?
I realize that the issues surrounding health care are complicated ones; when we had a health care forum at my congregation a couple of weeks ago, a couple of nurses brought up the great point that besides money and insurance and good doctors, one thing that people need (and many don't get) is education: education about their bodies, about nutrition, about health.
Still, if I was getting bills and I had to write out these checks, and I didn't know how to pay them, I think I'd feel a lot less healthy.
Monday, March 2, 2009
Some Small Things
Yesterday when I got in my car to go to church, the temperature in the car read zero degrees. (Why does my car need a thermometer anyway?) As someone said to me last week sometime, as we were getting about 8 inches of snow dumped on us, "Winter just won't give up this year."
When I got to church, though, everyone was commenting on how clear and blue the sky was. "Look at the blue sky!" people said, as if there were things to be happy about, even on a cold March day.
We signed a Lenten prayer at the 10:00 service yesterday, but I didn't get to be a part of it: instead, I led my very first "Praying in Color" workshop. Response was underwhelming, but there were a couple of hopeful signs: one woman drew a manger in the middle of her paper, remembering the name for God "Emmanuel." ("It's a trapezoid!" some others informed me.) Another woman commented afterward that it helped her concentrate on God, so that her mind would not wander so much during her prayer.
At 11:15, a few people made their way to the Education wing to view part one of a DVD series: "Unnatural Causes: Is inequality making us sick?" I got to watch a good part of it before slipping out to prepare for the birthday dinner. The one statistic that stuck with me was that over 50% of households in the U.S. live on $48,000 a year or less.
Watching this video series may seem like an odd Lenten discipline, but to me it's just right: during Lent we need to look sin in the eye: both the individual things that get in our way and keep us from God, and the systemic injustices we participate in.
It's a cold day in March, but the sky is clear and blue. There is a lot to pray for, to repent for, and to work for. And there are signs of hope, for those who have ears to hear and eyes to see.
When I got to church, though, everyone was commenting on how clear and blue the sky was. "Look at the blue sky!" people said, as if there were things to be happy about, even on a cold March day.
We signed a Lenten prayer at the 10:00 service yesterday, but I didn't get to be a part of it: instead, I led my very first "Praying in Color" workshop. Response was underwhelming, but there were a couple of hopeful signs: one woman drew a manger in the middle of her paper, remembering the name for God "Emmanuel." ("It's a trapezoid!" some others informed me.) Another woman commented afterward that it helped her concentrate on God, so that her mind would not wander so much during her prayer.
At 11:15, a few people made their way to the Education wing to view part one of a DVD series: "Unnatural Causes: Is inequality making us sick?" I got to watch a good part of it before slipping out to prepare for the birthday dinner. The one statistic that stuck with me was that over 50% of households in the U.S. live on $48,000 a year or less.
Watching this video series may seem like an odd Lenten discipline, but to me it's just right: during Lent we need to look sin in the eye: both the individual things that get in our way and keep us from God, and the systemic injustices we participate in.
It's a cold day in March, but the sky is clear and blue. There is a lot to pray for, to repent for, and to work for. And there are signs of hope, for those who have ears to hear and eyes to see.
Friday, June 15, 2007
Fixing Health Care
"Of all the forms of inequality, injustice in health care is the most shocking and inhumane." --Martin Luther King Jr.
Yesterday I attended a meeting regarding the health care crisis in this country. Do you believe there is a health care crisis in this country? There are 46,000,o00 people who do not or cannot get affordable health care here in the richest nation in the world. I heard a few other statistics yesterday, others about disparities between health care for the white community and communities of color. But mostly I heard stories. And I told stories. I heard the story of a pastor whose daughter was denied mental health coverage, and his feelings of betrayal. I heard the story of a man who has to choose between surgery and his home. He is still paying off a $60,000 medical bill. For myself, I know that disparities exist even among clergy, where coverage is often excellent. I know that clergy in rural areas have less access and fewer resources. I know that people in rural areas often have fewer resources -- particularly for mental health coverage.
We heard a few statistics, it's true, but this was not a day for "experts" to come and talk to us about what's wrong with health care, and what we can do about it. For the truth is, we know what's wrong with health care. All we needed to do was begin sharing stories of our own lives and the lives of people we know and care about, to begin to see that this is true. The first task then, is to begin and continue to tell our stories -- to stop giving all of our power to "experts" who tell us what can and cannot be done, who keep us believing that our dreams are impossible to achieve.
We heard the story of Jairus' daughter, and the story of the woman with a flow of blood. We heard the story of her courage in a system that denied her healing. How she reached out and took it. How she didn't wait for "permission." We admitted that most of us are "Jairus" -- most of us have power and access to health care, although there were a few among us who did not. And we admitted that as "Jairus", most of us have more power than we are willing to admit, or use. The catch is, we have to band together. We have to organize. We have to show those in power that we are serious.
In September, there will be a joint meeting of clergy and religious leaders and members of the SEIU. We will be talking about our commitment to changing the health care system. And we are planning to have 500 people at this meeting.
Do you have a story to share about yourself or someone you know who is not treated with dignity by our current health care system? Do you know a child who is a child of God -- but doesn't have access to basic care? Do you know an older person who has fallen through the cracks?
Tell your story. It's true. It's powerful. And it's the beginning of change.
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