Emergency room visits plant one face to face with this rat race called life. Monstrous, miserable scuttling through that messy maze proceeds with a vengeance. Patients fork over an immediate $1,000, purchasing the most minimal care and concern coupled with instructions to languish at home while, for instance, nursing two broken limbs for three full days, contacting an orthopedic surgeon all on your own if and when such a creature is available.
Severe injuries or illness must wait, although taxicab meters commence manic clicking as the monumental, inexcusably exorbitant medical bills arrive nearly prior to your return from surgery, interspersed with obligatory greeting cards tossed indifferently into your mailbox.
Genuine caring, nosiness, crass jokes, misinformation, judgment calls, gossip, sympathy and empathy or the lack of both, studied silence, shrugging of shoulders, sincere or weak offers of assistance parade through your existence during one of the most depressing, harrowing, mind-boggling times we all encounter, sooner or later.
We’ve traveled this twisting route previously, bearing scars to this day. Preparation for such desolate loneliness, lack of deep human understanding and financial insecurities, while facing physically incapacitating pain, remains an unwelcome challenge. Emphasis on the importance of the health care industry and assurance of adequate insurance for all in this backward country of ours would have been far preferable during this presidential campaign.
However, medical-reform advocate Hillary Clinton sits at home licking her wounds also. Maybe my husband and I should give her a call or invite her over to enjoy the rotting grapes and bananas and pumpkin caramel popcorn from our 2-week-old be-ribboned fruit basket. How about a few tears shared among old friends?
Compassion, communication and clarification ease worried frustration and allow focus on true healing.