A Professional Economist's Opinion of Health Care

I highly recommend that you listen to Dr. Jeff Bauer's 9-minute
commentary
on the Obama Health Care Reform. It's presented with the compliments
of Audio-Digest.

WEB ADDRESS: http://www.audio-digest.org/obamahealth

Another Socialized Medicine Opinion

This was sent to me from a friend living in Europe:

"Just happened across your blog & as I don't want to sign up for yet another account -- just too many passwords & stuff to remember! I'll comment here. I totally agree with you. Especially after living in Europe where it is socialized medicine. There are a few countries that I hear do have great socialized med. like Denmark & the Nordic countries but their taxes are like 75-80%! Don't think American's would appreciate that either. Socialized med is not great. Either you don't have qualified/well-educated MD's & nurses or you have to wait FOREVER to get in to see the doctor. I hear horror stories of my friends who have lived in UK. One friend went to the MD to find out her 7 week old fetus did not have a heartbeat. They could not schedule her in for the D&C until 10 weeks (& they wanted to make sure she didn't have her dates wrong as to how old the fetus was - however why couldn't they have done that the following week?) So she had to go around for 3 weeks knowing her baby wasn't dead. Another friend had such severe pain from a herniated disk in her neck. At one point she could not even move her left arm. She has a 2 year old boy & couldn't help take care of him. She had to wait over 6 weeks with this pain before she was able to HARASS her way in to see a specialist (the normal wait to see the specialist is 6 months).  She called every day until they finally got her in. Then they told her they wouldn't do surgery - she needed to do therapy & take STRONG pain medicine for a year & then they'd re-examine her. It has now been a year. On strong pain meds she's doing a bit better, but by no means healed & waiting again to see the MD. "TIME" means nothing really here. Doctors/nurses take their time - as they are in no hurry. You have LONG waits at the doctor's office. Anyway I don't think socializing medicine is the right step. I do think health insurance is too high. I don't know what the best option would be, Ok my thoughts."

A Rainy Day

I have GOT to vent! Friends of a friend on FB are in a discussion - well, that would loosely define it as individuals espousing differing opinions, which they aren't - so they are picketing, really, for the socialization of medicine in the United States.

Have they LOOKED at other countries with socialized medicine? Have they not seen that the English people die before they can be treated for curable cancers because of bureaucracy from their socialized system (except, of course, the very rich, who can afford private care)? Have they not heard of the seventy percent tax in Canada? Did the USSR not collapse? Are we actually behind the times, moving from capitalism to socialism? What government do they suppose will pay for this? From what part of our gazillion dollar national debt will we appropriate enough money to keep an entire nation of irresponsible gluttons healthy under a governmentally funded health care system? The government run Fanny Mae and Freddy Mac collapsed, will we put our very lives into the hands of the same incompetent politicians? 

Where is the logic? Where is the enterprise that made America great? In a country full of spoiled children, where are the adults?

I'm beginning to wonder if the institution of insurance isn't to blame. Before insurance, one was expected to be wise enough to save for that rainy day when one might slip in a puddle and break a leg and need a doctor's tender care. Now we are so accustom to depending on another to pay our bills, we feel entitled to "free" care.

Perhaps, instead of dying of cancer because of an obscene amount of bureaucracy, we should abolish insurance. While we're at it, we might as well get rid of all the other governmentally funded socialist programs. Sure, the rich would live longer and I'd die early along with the rest of the masses. But think, each of us would hold the reins to our own destiny. And, here's the clincher, the government could actually significantly lower taxes. I could use that money buy a LOT more toys and jump start the economy. Or, maybe I could put it aside for a rainy day... 

Waving Goodbye

I'm almost late. My appointment in thirty minutes is half an hour away. Jack trails me to the door.

"Hug and Kiss at the door, Mommy," he says. I'm not surprised. Jack always wants a hug and kiss at the door. It can't be a tight squeeze in the playroom or a quick kiss between zooming cars through the living room or a little smooch in the kitchen. It must be a hug and kiss at the door. The fingers of one hand tangle purposely into my ponytail. The other hand squeezes uncomfortably about my neck as he pulls me in for a kiss and hug. I squat to kiss and hug my boy.

"Okay," I rush breathlessly to stand, "I've got to go, Jack, I'm late."

"One more kiss and hug," he strangles me back to his level, pecks at me with his little wet lips and swipes his cheek to mine in a hug. I feel snot on my cheek where his runny nose left its mark.

"Okay," I repeat, untangling his fingers and pushing myself from him to squeeze through a slit in the door, "I've really got to go."

"Lots of hugs and kisses," he demands, pulling me back, "and then wave at the window." I nod. I really don't need such specific instructions after the hundredth time. I'm not so dense. With machine gun rapidity, he taps me on my mouth with his. Then, "a hug for each kiss," the cheek gets smacked against mine ten or twelve times.

I irritably wonder why his father hasn't gotten up off his chair to come rescue me from this affectionate assault so I can make it to my appointment on time. Probably sensing my exasperation, Daddy speaks. His voice floats absently down the hall, "Jack, Mommy has to go." Great, thanks, I think.

I submit myself to one more set of "lots of hugs and kisses" and then shove myself through the door. As I slip away, Jack bounces anxiously up and down and reminds me, "Now wave at the window. Not too fast and not too slow, Mommy."

Striding to the car, I wonder what he means. It's a new final phrase. I think he means, don't leave before he gets to the window, but also, don't leave him waiting there too long. Probably added after trash day, when Daddy delayed his departure to take the trash to the street.

It's dusk. I back out of the garage, move down the driveway, and turn left. My window is already down, my arm sticking out, slicing through the chilly air, moving obediently back and forth. My foot impatiently waits to press harder on the gas pedal. I stare dutifully toward the office window where I know my five year old is standing. Yes, there he is.

The room glows golden, my son haloed by the light. His fragile hand is raised, he is pressed up against the window, his mouth seems to move. I can almost make it out, I can almost hear it, even though he's behind dual paned windows, "Bye, Mommy, I love you," my eyes blur, my heart aches, my foot rises. I soak it in.

I absorb the adoration shining through the window as he's waving goodbye.

Suggestions, Mr. President?

Obama's inaugural speech was magnificent. Perhaps he will not usher in an era of socialism resplendent with the trappings of additional debt, perpetual and purposeful unemployment, and burgeoning social services. He asked us, instead, to get up, take personal responsibility, and work. What a concept. Is this the path to fulfill his promise of hope? If America will rise up and follow, there is hope. If the American government models fiscal responsibility, there is hope. If Americans take personal responsibility, there is hope.

What is this hope? A desire to be debt free, economically stable, militarily secure, with liberty and justice for all... of course. What a relief our new president has crowned his presidential debut with the enforcement of the freedom of information act, thereby opening his actions to scrutiny. Responsibility is easier to avoid in a culture of secrecy. Looks like he plans to walk the talk. But how will he get the rest of us to go along?

My kids haven't signed on. During their "rest time" today (Annie refuses to close her eyes to sleep and Jack is too old to nap if we expect to go to bed before the cock crows in the early morning), a car flew from the bunk bed they share out the door and into the hallway, where it struck the wall, exposing the white beneath the yellowish brown paint. I stomped in. I suppose that's not the stance to take if I expect to hear the truth, but stomp I did, complete with a scowl, "Who threw that?"

"Annie threw it," my quick talking son cuts in.

I glared at Annie.

She defended herself with the traditional, "Jack did it."

"You better not be lying to me, Jack," I glared at him.

"No, no! I'm NOT LYING. Annie did it."

Both regarded me with angelic innocence. Not a crack of the facade to reveal the true perpetrator. "Well, don't do it again or I'll take away your toys... and spank you," The first threat was truth. I added the second for the fear factor. You know, like God said, "Don't eat the fruit or I'll toss you out of the garden... and you'll die." Only, they really did die.

I never did figure out whose hand threw that car, but it didn't happen again. Not sure which threat was the obedience motivating factor.

So, how do I teach personal responsibility to my two angels? The comment section is open, Mr. President. Feel free to let me know. I'm sure whatever method you use for the country will work for my kids.

It's All My Fault

Responsibility has fled the country. In this culture of self-absorption and blame, the typical American, across gender and racial lines, sings a song of "Gi'me, gi'me, gi'me. It's not my fault. I have a right to have it all for free." The black blames the white, the woman blames the man, the worker blames the boss, the manager blames the staff, "It's not my fault! Somebody take care of me. Somebody make it right." And now we've hired the right socialist democrat to get us there. Higher taxes promised for those who work to provide services for those who won't. "Down with capitilism," is the general cry. Give us food and medicine, but don't make us work. Bail out the bankrupt, recycle the irrisponsible managers, print more money to pay the debt.

Can you imagine a country in which every person took responsibility for his or her fast food bag rather than throwing it out the window while driving down the freeway? We'd probably save billions of tax dollars in cleanup. Or what if the man who didn't want to support a child prevented the undesirable by wearing a condom. Maybe if our country can't afford some necessary social services without destroying the value of the dollar by printing more money, the government should cut back on some aid going to other countries who have displayed their own lack of responsibility. Rather than promoting accountability, this country careens down the path of destruction, placing the mirage of fiscal bandages on gaping wounds to stop the hemorrhage.

Can we expect anything else? In order to be elected, politicians don the gown of blamelessness. Anything undesirable in their past is buried and if not, attributed to another. When have we seen a politician, without an arm painfully twisted, accepting responsibility for his or her mistakes? Without the strength and wisdom to be forthright about their own humanity, how can they govern the rest of us?

Perhaps it is a plague of human nature in which we all run madly after Adam and Eve droning the same mantra. You know, Sin. I hear it from my kids, starting almost as soon as they can speak, "he did it," "she did it." The other night my husband blamed Annie when he, himself, broke a light bulb. Even I, with my self-righteous ramblings, succumb to the blaming game.

The incredible thing is, responsibility is empowering. The more blunders I can accept accountability for, the more power I have to change not only my own behavior but also situations in which I place myself. Discovering mistakes in my past allows me to improve my future. Thus, programs such as affirmative action dis empower the individual because they encourage blame rather then responsibility.

So, here we are, skidding down the slope into the greatest depression the United States has ever had, by all accounts. In the spirit of the moment, let me take the opportunity to let you know, it's all my fault.

Time

Five weeks ago we delivered a healthy son. He is already much bigger, more alert, and displaying the foundational aspects of his personality. Jack is five. Five years have passed since the day he breathed his first breath. Annie will soon turn three. I watch the years thunder by like a high speed train - clickity clack, clickity clack, clickity clack - and my heart aches. Another year is all but gone, its bundle of life tossed over our shoulders into the vaguely remembered past.

Time is a prostitute, she lends herself to everyone, but gives herself to no one. Have I taken full advantage of her this year? Have I Breathed in her fullness? Have I surrendered myself to experiencing each curve of her body and strand of her hair? Each soft place and hard place? Perhaps the fear of missing something keeps me from fully entangling myself in each moment.

But since there are so few moments, there is no point but to treat myself with nothing but compassionate understanding, allowing myself to passionately flail, and sometimes fail, through life. And to face the world - my children, my family, friends, and strangers - with the same gracious gift, as everyone else struggles to experience what moments they have.

So live in compassion. That is, I suppose, where God lives, too.