The Real Death Panels

Last night, I made a trip to the pharmacy to pick up the medications that, well, keep me alive. I left, instead, empty handed because I could not afford my medications. My insurance had changed its plan on me, so that it no longer paid $2,000 per semester for medications, but rather, $2,000 per year. As someone with a chronic illness, that is absolutely nothing. Had I paid for my medications last night–Advair, Singulair, and Allegra–I would’ve been less more than $400. As I walked back home, I pondered my options. I couldn’t beg my parents for money every month. They can’t afford to pay that much every month, either. I once looked into a prescription program through the state, but I wasn’t eligible because I’m not a legal resident of the state I live in now. It occurred to me on this trip home that insurance companies were the real death panels. It was they who really decided who was to live and who was to die. Because I have severe asthma and allergies requiring medications to keep my airways open, and therefore cost my insurance a lot of money each month, I was marked for death. My previous insurance did this to me once, too, after a concussion. They refused to pay for my doctor visits because it was an accident, then raised my bill, first, by $15 a month, then by $40. My mother canceled her own insurance in order to afford this. When she developed degenerative disks in her back last year, she had no insurance to cover her medications or doctor bills, so she initially refused treatment for months because she knew she couldn’t afford it. She was in too much pain to drive, dress, or bathe herself, and her emails to me began to contain hints of suicide after my father was diagnosed with cancer.

How is it that we praise our country as such a free, democratic society, when our citizens cannot afford their own medications? Did my ancestors fight against what they saw as British tyranny so that, over two-hundred years later, I could slowly begin going into respiratory arrest the same way that my grandpa, who had the same insurance, died? Do we, like Nathan Hale once famously stated, each day regret that we have but one life to give for our system of government that allows our citizens to die for lack of affordable health care?

And why don’t we have affordable health care, anyway? Each day of the Iraq war costs the US $720 million–that’s $500,000 per minute on war, imperialism, and death in the Middle East. That money could be used to provide 163,525 people health care every day. Every day? That’s enough to provide health care for everyone in the United States that needs it. Why must our tax dollars be spent on death, and not life? The Declaration of Independence declares that all have the right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. Where is my right to life if I cannot afford my medications, and how can I be free to live my life or be happy if I am sick? America needs a new system of health care that would ensure the wellness of all people. Instead of protesting an unborn child’s right to life, why not demand the right to life of the already born?

The War on Health Care

Recently, much media attention has been dedicated to the Genitalia Bomber and subsequent new security plans.  Meanwhile, 45,000 Americans are dying every year due to lack of insurance.

On Tuesday, President Barack Obama was fiery when he made his public statement after meeting with his national security team about the airline breach: In seeking to thwart plans to kill Americans “we face a challenge of the utmost urgency,” he said. He talked about reviewing systemic failures and declared we must “save innocent lives, not just most of the time, but all of the time.”

This is all very admirable. Imagine if this same urgency was applied to a broken system that causes 45,000 unnecessary deaths per year. Since stimulus funds will now be directed to supply more scanning equipment at airports, what about spending money to ensure mammograms and prostate exams at community health centers?

Sing it, Amy Goodman. Sing it. Why do some, such as the Tea Baggers, focus so much energy on terrorism when even more Americans are dying from lack of affordable health care?

On Being Human

Whenever things go wrong with my body, I find that I feel strangely human. That is, when I feel well, I don’t really ponder the state of my body or my finite existence, or if I do, my ponderances seem different–more far away and eventual than something to worry about at this point in my life. When I feel bad, though, I can’t ignore my own vulnerabilities. I can’t escape to my life of the mind when my body is demanding immediate attention. Today was one of those days, when my routine check-up revealed that I am in the beginning stages of hypertension, thanks to my medications.

I’d known something was wrong for a while, but ignored it. A part of me didn’t want to know something else was wrong. I just hoped I didn’t someday faint in a public place. As I heard my latest diagnosis, I readied myself to inform her that, you know what? I’m not taking any more medications, thank you very much. I’m tired of putting a small pharmacy in my body every day. I’m tired of going back to the pharmacy pretty much every week. I’m tired of spending $700-900+ per month on my medications. The problem is, I still like breathing and staying out of the hospital. So, begrudgingly, I’ll still go to that pulmonologist appointment tomorrow, even though I’m tired of being examined for signs of allergy inflammation and I’m tired of some doctor listening to my lungs and I’m tired of trying to blow out all the candles on the computer screen’s birthday cake (I’m a big girl and can use an electronic peak flow meter without Kindergarten graphics, thanks) and, most of all, I’m tired of my insurance paying about $1,000 per visit, only for me to get another letter from my insurance months later saying that she can bill me for still more, then another letter saying she has graciously decided to not completely squeeze me dry yet.

Of course, what I’m really tired of is having a chronic illness in the first place. I’m tired of having to keep a lookout around me to make sure no one is smoking. I’m tired of having to actually give up my seat at the bus stop to go stand in the rain to get away from some rude smoker who, in this case, actually followed me out into the rain to silently stand next to me as if I were the rude one for getting up and leaving as soon as she sat down next to me. It’s okay. Please do make your little point that you can smoke wherever you want outside and piss off as many people as possible in the process. I didn’t need to breathe. I digress. While we’re on the matter, though, I’m also sick of having to think of the mall as some form of purgatory for all the smells I must endure, from the smokers lining the doorways, sidewalks, and bus stop, to the perfumes everywhere I look, to the dyes in fabrics, to candles and incense burning in stores. In winter, just walking through the mall causes my scarf to smell like a mix of perfumes, which causes me to have an asthma attack as soon as I go outside and put it back around my mouth and nose.

Usually, I don’t really worry about all the medicines I take and all the effort involved in staying healthy, but today I find myself tired of it all and just wishing I could remember what it was like to not be on any medication whatsoever. Unfortunately, the last time I wasn’t on any medications, my asthma and allergies became so bad that my peak flow reading was so low, the school nurse was amazed I’d even been able to walk in the office. If the nebulizer treatment she gave me hadn’t raised my peak flow so much, I would’ve been hospitalized. So, my memories of not being on medications are vague because I was so very sick and didn’t even really notice it, simply because I felt so bad.

It’s strange for me to have gone from being such a healthy child to an adult that seems to be collecting ailments, allergies, and medications. It’s strange to have such a reinforcement of my own vulnerabilities and mortality. It seems much more normal for me to worry about everyone else but myself as if nothing will ever happen to me, but here I am just as human and as fragile as anyone else. Is it too late to be a demigod?

The Costs of Mental Illnesses

A ten-year survey found that mental illnesses are some of the most costly to treat. On top of this, the number of people diagnosed also increased dramatically. (The source I read said almost 100%, but this makes no sense mathematically because 100% would mean everyone on earth is seeking treatment for a mental health issue.) Among the most diagnosed mental illnesses in this survey were depression and bipolar disorder.

Mental illnesses were estimated to have cost Americans $96 billion in 1996, according to the Surgeon General. Other costly conditions are heart disease, cancer, trauma-related disorders, and asthma. (Thus, if you have, say, three of these, sucks to be you?)

You’re going to help out the mentally ill in that magical health care plan, right, Obama?

Nighttime Asthma? Well, Join the Club.

This is what youtube is for, after all. (Tell me this isn’t the most awesome video ever.)

Why Does Mike Ross Hate Poor People?

This question was asked on the Arkansas Times’s blog recently in regards to how vehemently Mike Ross is against Obama’s healthcare reform. In fact, he’s so against it, other Democrats in the US House of Representatives created a document to show how badly people in his own district–my home district, the 4th District of Arkansas, where I still vote (but not for him, thank you very much)–need help.

First of all, let us review the statistics about my home district. The 2000 census listed its population at 666,266. The median income in this district is $29,675. This is lower than not only the national average of $49,133, but also the average Arkansas income of $37,653, provided by the Little Rock metropolitan area and northwest Arkansas, one of the fastest growing areas in the country which has yet to feel the results of the recession, home to Wal-Mart, Tyson Foods, and J. B. Hunt trucking. Arkansas’s 4th, however, is home to the timber industry, farmland, Hot Springs National Park, Mike Huckabee (we’re sorry), and part of the Mississippi Delta, one of the poorest areas of the country. John McCain swept the district with 58% of the vote last year, and George Bush before him received 51% in 2004. In summary: poor, religious-right Republicans, farms, trees–and my family. The very sort of people who cannot afford healthcare.

One mustn’t look over a very important detail in this story, however: Mike Ross is a pharmacist from teensy, tiny Prescott [that's prez-kit] (median income $21,612, thank you very much).  In fact, until May 2007, he owned his own pharmacy, making him a small business owner, just like so many others in his district, and just like my own father. Yet, as he’s done time and time again in the past, Mike Ross has gone against the better interests of people in his own district–people who voted for him, and will continue to vote for him because he presents himself as a good-old-boy, rated A+ from the NRA for his opposition to gun control (a major issue in rural, red Arkansas). Thus, despite being a Democrat, Republicans–such as my brother–love him. In fact, no Republican bothered to run against him last year. One lone Green party member did, whom I voted for, knowing full-well he would be thoroughly walked upon with Ross’s 87% of the vote.

I think “hate” is too strong a word. I think “disregard” is a better one. Mike Ross, why don’t you care about the people in your own district? When are you going to stop looking out for number one, and start remembering whose votes elected you in the first place: the poor, uninsured, hardworking people of your district. The photos above and below are photos of my hometown and other parts of the 4th District of Arkansas.

What If Every Time You Turned on the Lights, a Child Was Harmed?

It happens every day in Appalachia. Due to our dependence on coal produced by mountaintop removal mining, communities are poisoned, mountains are blown up, and the people that have lived in these areas for generations are sickened. How do you feel about this being done in your name?

Wind energy would provide more jobs for more people, wouldn’t poison the people, or blow up the mountains.

Suffering Soldiers

Despite being diagnosed with mental illnesses, soldiers are being deployed back to Iraq and Afghanistan–in one case, only 18 hours after being released from a mental hospital. What is the cost of war?

What Does Secondhand Smoke Do to an Asthmatic?

The short answer: It causes an asthma attack, which can potentially be life-threatening, should the asthmatic go into respiratory arrest; likewise, secondhand smoke can increase the severity of attacks of those with asthma. Also, secondhand smoke can cause asthma and a number of other diseases in those who must be around the smoke often.

 

The long answer: It greatly affects the quality of life of an asthmatic. An asthma attack is the most obvious, dramatic result of secondhand smoke, but the effects go beyond the acute attack. Without enough oxygen, the asthmatic’s organs slow down, causing the person to become sluggish. The asthmatic may not even fully realize what is happening, thinking s/he is just tired, until s/he is near collapse. This is when things become truly dangerous because respiratory arrest, and possibly death, are just around the corner. The asthmatic at this point requires immediate emergency treatment at a hospital, which can be very expensive. Being around secondhand smoke can cause asthma to worsen, requiring more daily medications–and more money from the patient. After a while, insurances often cap out on medications, leaving the asthmatic to pay hundreds of dollars every month just to keep breathing and functioning, on top of any other medical expenses s/he might have. Additionally, it often means more trips to one’s pulmonologist later to make sure asthma is still under control, which means still more money from the asthmatic. While you, the smoker, may think you’re just relaxing and taking a smoke, you are significantly affecting the quality of life of the people around you, especially if that person is an asthmatic.