Health Insurance or a Hawaiian Vacation? Spoiler: We Can’t Afford Either
Recently, Bill and I took a deep dive into the American healthcare circus, getting him treatment for something that needed attention. And by “trying,” I mean battling a system that seems designed to make seeing a specialist a full-contact sport.
Short story: The specialist needs to get a nod from the PCP first. Then, good luck actually getting the specialist to respond—they only answer texts (yeah, texts!) within 24 hours. Except we’re four f*cking days in with radio silence. Tests get scheduled last minute, then rescheduled for the earliest available slot… in November.
You get the idea. Saying it’s frustrating doesn’t even begin to cover it.
I don’t have the time, the space, or the patience (without getting very angry) to go into what a horrific, flaming sh*tbag of a mess our current health care system is. Still, I would like to highlight one thing that is really upsetting me: Health insurance premiums. Specifically, the way that the health insurance premiums of 1.5 million self-employed Americans between the ages of 50 and 64 are set to double or possibly triple next year.
Bill and I are unfortunate members of that group. We are the ones who are too “young” for Medicare, too “rich” for Medicaid, and about to be too “poor” to afford health insurance. That’s assuming we are even able to get health insurance, since the protections for those with pre-existing conditions will not be eliminated outright, but will be weakened substantially.
Besides being terrifying, that is a giant, steaming pile of bullshit.
No American should have to choose between paying for their healthcare or paying their mortgage or rent. No American should ever have to choose between buying their medication or buying food, and No American should rack up a massive medical debt because they can’t afford health insurance and they have no choice but to gamble with their health and finances. However, that will be the reality for millions of Americans in the coming year (possibly us), many of whom are older and approaching retirement age.
I’m worried about how these changes will affect us both. I’m concerned for friends whose elderly parents depend on Medicaid for long-term care. And yes, I’m angry that those with the most resources will most likely come out ahead, while so many others will face impossible choices.
Some may view this as a political issue, but I see it as a human and compassionate issue.
Even if you’re fortunate enough to have affordable healthcare through your job, does that mean others—like the self-employed or those in less stable situations—don’t deserve the same? Is it truly unreasonable to contribute slightly more if it means your friend, neighbor, or even a stranger can access the care they need without drowning in medical debt?
Are we really better off with “less government” if that choice leads to more people suffering? And if you oppose affordable healthcare for all, is your stance driven more by political identity than by the actual merits of the policy?
It says something about us as a society when getting sick can bankrupt you faster than a bad mortgage. In the wealthiest country in the world, too many people are forced to choose between medicine and meals. The Bible reminds us—whether through the Good Samaritan or Jesus healing the sick without charge—that caring for one another isn’t optional; it’s sacred. Somewhere along the way, we turned compassion into a commodity.
At the heart of it, shouldn’t a society strive to take care of one another?
I’ll stop here because I can feel the anxiety rising, but I’ll leave you with this quote and closing, which I stole from a wise, empathetic friend:
Fred Rogers once said, “Anything that’s human is mentionable, and anything that is mentionable can be more manageable. When we can talk about our feelings, they become less overwhelming. The people we trust with that important talk can help us know that we are not alone.”
So today, I’m trusting you with this “important talk.” I’m sad, I’m mad, and I’m scared. Maybe you don’t care. Or perhaps you feel that way too. In that case, I’m happy we have each other.