But I don’t want to pay for the obese smoking couch potato

I wrote this in 2010 and I am posting it again. It’s TIME, Congress, time for single payer, medicare for all! Lots of Senators are all talk about repealing Obamacare. One part of that law is that your health insurance company can ONLY keep 20% of each dollar for profit. The other 80% must be spent on health care. Before that, health insurance companies kept 30% of every health dollar. So tell me, US citizens, WHY do you want to repeal that? So health insurance corporation owners can go back to keeping 30% of every premium? Call you Senator and say NO.

And by the way, Senators who want to repeal Obamacare. You could have been writing a new bill with transparency and honesty for the last seven years, but all you’ve done is say “We will repeal Obamacare.” Saying “We can do better,” is boasting: you haven’t done the work. Stop hiding behind closed doors. I am submitting this to the Daily Prompt: hidden.

From 2010:

I went on the Mad as Hell Doctor’s tour for a week. I went from Seattle to Denver with stops for town halls one to three times a day. We are talking about single payer, HR676.

One question or objection to a single payer system was: Why should my money go to pay for some obese person who drinks and smokes, doesn’t exercise and doesn’t eat right?

Three answers to start with:

1. You already pay for them.

2. Put out the fire.

3. People want to change.

First: You already pay for them. As a society, we have agreed that people who show up in an emergency room get care. Suppose we have a 53 year old man, laid off, lost his insurance, not exercising, not eating right, smokes, drinks some and he starts having chest pain. Suppose that he lives in my small town.

He calls an ambulance. They take him to our rural emergency room. Oh, yes, he is having a heart attack, so they call a helicopter to life flight him from small town hospital to a big one in Seattle. This alone costs somewhere between $7000 and $12000. Now, do you know how many clinic visits he could have had for $7000? To see me, a lowly rural specialist in Family Practice where I would have looked at his blood pressure and nagged, that is, encouraged him to stop smoking. We would have talked about alcohol and depression. And who is paying for the helicopter meanwhile? All of us. The hospital has to pass on the costs of the uninsured to the rest of the community, the government is paying us extra, with a rural hospital designation. 60% of health care dollars already flow through the government. One estimate of the money freed from administrative costs by changing to a single payer system is $500 million.

Taking care of people only when they have their big heart attack is ridiculously expensive. It is a bit like driving a car and never ever doing maintenance until suddenly it dies on the highway. No oil, tires flat, transmission shot and ran into a tree in the rain because the windshield wiper fluid had been gone for a while. I get to take care of Uncle Alfred. He is 80 and has not seen a doctor for 30 years and is now in the hospital. “But he’s been fine,” says the family. Nope. He has had high blood pressure for years, that has led to heart failure, he has moderate kidney failure, his lungs are shot from smoking, turns out he developed diabetes sometime in the last 30 years and he’s going blind. Can’t hear much either. We have a minor celebration in the ICU because he doesn’t drink, so his liver actually works. He goes home on 8 new medicines.

Secondly: Put out the fire. When someone’s house is burning down, as a society we do not say, well, she didn’t store her paint thinner right or trim her topiary enough and she has too many newspapers stacked up. We go put out the fire. Putting out the fire helps us as a society: it keeps the fire from spreading to other houses. It saves lives and is compassionate. We think firemen and women are heros and heroines. And they are.

In the past, a homeowner would have to pay for fire service and would have a sign on their home. If the house was on fire and a different company was going by, that company wouldn’t put out the fire. We have the equivalent with health insurance right now. It would be much more efficient and less costly to have a single payer. Medicare has a 3-4% overhead: it is a public fund paying private doctors and hospitals. For private insurers the administrative costs are 30% or greater. That is, 1/3 of every dollar of your premium goes to administration, not health care. The VA is a socialized system, with the hospitals owned by the government and the medical personnel paid by them.

When someone asks why they should help someone else, I also know that they haven’t been hit yet. They have not gotten rheumatoid arthritis at age 32 or had another driver run in to them and broken bones or had another unexpected surprise illness or injury that happened in spite of the fact that they don’t smoke, don’t drink, eat right and exercise. Everyone has a health challenge at sometime in their life.

Third: people want to get better. Really. In clinic I do not see anyone who doesn’t hope a little that their life could change, that they could lose weight, stop smoking. True, there are some drinkers who are in denial, but I will never forget taking the time to tell a patient why he would die of liver failure if he didn’t stop drinking. He came back 6 weeks later sober. I said, “You are sober!” (We don’t see that response very frequently.) He looked at me in surprise: “You said I’d die if I didn’t stop.” He never drank again. It made it really hard to be totally cynical about alcohol and I can’t do it. People change and there is hope for change. I feel completely blessed to support change in clinic and watch people do it. They are amazing. But they need support and they need someone to listen and they need a place to take their fears and their confusion. Primary care is, in a sense, a job of nagging. But it is also a job of celebration because people do get better.

We are already paying, in an expensive, inefficient and dysfunctional way. It saves money to put out the fire. People want to get better. Winston Churchill said, “Americans always do the right thing after they have exhausted all other possibilities.” It is time to do the right thing. Single payer. The current bill is HR676. We can and we will.

fawn call

This starts with my ornithology teaching assistant in college, at the University of Wisconsin, Madison.

I LOVE ornithology. A generalist class: bird wings, ecology, biology, zoology, physics of flight and they SING! Also we walk around in the woods with the teaching assistants trying to see and hear birds. We memorize their songs and markings.

We go out at night. Our teaching assistant hears a barn owl. He replies. He is an expert at that call. The barn owl answers. After a few back and forths, the barn owl swoops over us, coming to check out the caller! The barn owl is unnerving and gorgeous, passing just over our heads.

We all talk to the birds. We make pshhh, pshhh, pshhh noises and lbbs (little brown birds) will sometimes hop out on a branch, curious about us. Hooray! It’s a warbler!

We practice our bird songs.

Fast forward to the present. I walk with my friend and he is messing with his enormous zoom lens. We see crows harrying something in the top of a tree. A hawk, who calls. I start answering. The hawk is young and calling its parents. It’s the time when the parents say, you have to go hunt. My friend gets an amazing picture of the hawk looking right at us, mouth open, crying. I dig around on my cell phone, and think it’s a Swainson’s hawk. I play the Swainson’s song and then the young hawk REALLY cries: I feel terrible, as if I have teased the young one. Yes, it’s a Swainson.

We run in to two young bucks. I sing to deer. The deer are always alert and ready to run when I appear, but when I sing they just stand and look at me. My friend takes a photograph of the buck, just watching and listening to me.

My friend finds a fawn in his yard. The mother leaves the fawn for 8-24 hours. My friend has a low fence around most but not all of the yard.

The doe returns for the fawn one day. My friend is outside. The mother hops the fence. The fawn tries to, but it can’t hop high enough. It hits the fence and cries. It tries over and over. My friend goes up slowly and opens the gate. The fawn goes out the gate after he backs off. Both fawn and doe look at my friend.

I stop by his house to pick up a package for him. I park and hop out of my car. A fawn behind the fence startles and goes around the side of the house! It’s late afternoon and two fawns and a doe were lying in the shade in the front yard. The second fawn gets up and mom stands. I hold still and sing to them a little. Then I go in through the gate, get the package and slowly get back in my car.

Word gets around. The other day my friend has six fawns in his yard. He’s charmed and a bit shocked. He is outside. A doe comes and calls her fawn. It’s a bit of a meh or ma sound. My friend tries to make the same sound. Three of the fawns eating grass stop. They turn their ears towards him, alert. One fawn walks up to him….

….so now he’s a fawn caller.

 

For the Daily Prompt: gate.

I miss your skin

I miss your skin

the planes of shoulder blades
layers of muscle overlying them
the trapezius sweeping up to the base of the skull
and down to the tenth vertebrae
like a wing pointed inwards
on your back
and attached to bones

more and more in clinic
I pull out Netter’s beautiful drawings
and show people the bones
and that the bones are not just floating
in a sea of muscle and organs
every bone is attached to muscles
to tendons to ligaments
together in an elaborate
beautiful
working system
and if one muscle is torn too loose
or tightens to protect itself
and heals scarred calcified
too short
it pulls on the other muscles
and tendons and bones

I miss your skin
your muscle
your tendons
your ligaments
your bones

and all the rest

 

I took the photograph in the boatyard in 2016. Sometimes I dream I have feathers….

 

 

prayers for children

This is my daughter, five years ago, at Lake Matinenda in Ontario. I cried when I read about the baby thrown from the London fire.

Prayers for the children in the London fire and their parents and grandparents. Prayers for the refugee’s children, that they are not lost and drowned. Prayers for the Congresspeople shot yesterday and their families and friends.

Prayers for all the children in the world.

damage

This is not about one patient. It is about many. I have permission from the person I gave a copy to: one of many.

what do you say
to the person
with the terrible childhood
with addiction and chaos
and suicide attempts and hospitals
and that was the parents
that they ran away from

and then numbed themselves
in addiction for years
multidrug and chaos
and now stable
working their 12 steps

and grieving
their lost years
and their behavior
unforgiven, it takes time
to build trust after
thirty years of damage

and grieving
the next generation
following the same
path and feeling helpless
to stop them
and guilt for their
contribution

it is not a matter
of a pill
of a diagnosis

the simplicity of stopping
of getting clean
joy and pride
yes

and then the hard work
of grieving
begins

 

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I took the photograph at the Renwick Gallery.

Work place

Mostly I post photographs from outdoors, but this is clinic Friday afternoon. Mordecai took off her feather boa, wig and headdress and came into the exam room to add to a visual discussion about the sacroiliac joints. Mordecai is a plastic skeleton and her sacroiliac joints are attached incorrectly but conveniently for the sellers. After all, her bones don’t have the weight of a real skeleton nor does she have tendons or muscles or skin to connect everything. She is sitting beside my Netter Atlas of Human Anatomy, which I use in clinic every day. To show the knee ligaments and menisci, to show the back muscles, to show the connections of the psoas muscle….

Many thanks to Dr. Netter’s brilliant paintings and also to Mordecai for their help!

 

Who is driving the car?

I am at my parent’s house.

My mother and I and the baby, a toddler, go out to the car which is a huge newish SUV. I open the back door and see a drawing lying on the seat, beside the car seat. It is a drawing of my son, from a photograph. My mother has written on it, her ideas about how she wants to do the painting. I took the photograph and know it: my son has an exuberant joyous toddler expression. I climb in to the SUV. My mother gets in the front and turns the car on. She pulls forward and I start screaming, “STOP! STOP DON’T DRIVE! THE BABY IS NOT IN THE CAR!” My mother is pulling forward and backing, in confusion. She stops.

I leap out and search. Under the car by the back wheel, but not under it, is a kitten. A black kitten, lying on its side. I reach and very gently pick it up, supporting its spine. I am crying. The kitten cries as I pick it up, with pain. I say, “She’s hurt! I am going to die!”

I wake up.

I think about the dream. Even though there is a picture of my son in the car, I am a teen in the dream. The toddler is not my son. The toddler is not my daughter. The toddler is my sister. My parents had old cars, never a new SUV. The house in the dream was my parent’s house in Alexandria, Virginia. We moved there when I started ninth grade and my sister started sixth. My parents sold the house and moved in 1996.

Who is driving the SUV? Is there a responsible adult? Are they taking care of the children? Or are they driving recklessly and leaving the children to try to care for each other? Some adults are not responsible and should not be driving.

 

My son took the photograph of my daughter in 2011 for a school project, recreating a movie poster: True Grit.

March for people

My daughter and I marched yesterday.

She decided to come home from college for the weekend, planning to leave Saturday night. I decided not to go to the Seattle Womxn’s march, but do the Port Townsend one and asked her to join me.

We went out to breakfast and then to our small downtown. I no longer have television and look at news sites daily though a bit erratically, so neither of us had a pink hat. I wore my Mad As Hell Doctors t-shirt, my lab coat from working at the National Institutes of Health with the National Cancer Institute Patch, my Rotary name badge and pins gathered from going across the country trying to get medicare for all, single payer health care, from 2009 until now.

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Four bus loads went from our county to the Seattle march. We heard that the Bainbridge ferry was FULL. That is, they couldn’t not take any more walk on people. Another thirty people or more flew to the Washington DC march. And in Port Townsend, my guess is that we still had 200-300 people, women, men and children, people in wheelchairs, babies, gay, lesbian, straight, bi, trans, that marched from a small park downtown to the Haller Fountain. Galetea, naked statue at the fountain, sported a pussy hat.

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Our local organizer spoke and our House Representative, Derek Kilmer.

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Older women spoke about demonstrating over and over in their lives. A friend of mine called me up to help her sing Holly Near’s Singing for Our Lives, making up new verses on the fly. They invited people to speak.

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I spoke: “I am one of your local doctors. I want to be able to treat anyone who comes to my clinic. We are one nation: health care for all. No discrimination: medicare for all.”

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Home then, and tired. My daughter has decided she wants to learn guitar, to play while people sing. I taught her basic chords and basic strumming. We sang Jamaica Farewell. She picks it up immediately, after all of those years of viola. And she will take one of my father’s guitars back to college.

And this is amazing: https://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2017/01/21/world/womens-march-pictures.html?smid=fb-share

Blessings all around.

Physicians for a National Health Care Program: http://www.pnhp.org/

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/successful/