Annie loves Charles Dickens. More than anything, she loves how Dickens tried to make people aware of the less fortunate. People who lived in London slums, begged for food, died of things like cholera and starvation. All this in one of the wealthiest cities on the planet.
My sister works for a large health care organization. A company that owns dozens of hospitals in several states. Over the past year, my sister has suffered a series of medical crises. A broken wrist that required major surgery. Back surgery that developed into an infected wound that developed into sepsis. Twice. Currently, my sister is in the hospital again, on her way into physical rehab. She can't even walk across a room without a wheelchair or walker.
Two days ago, that large health care organization--a company that sells itself as caring, compassionate, and community-minded--sent my sister a certified letter, terminating her employment. After more than 17 years of dedicated service, she is being fired because she got sick. Because of the treatment she received at its hospital.
I'm sitting here, wondering where is Charles Dickens when you need him. My sister is one of the smartest people I know, but she can't even get out of bed by herself right now. She's been incredibly depressed (understandably), and now she has to worry about money and health insurance and disability. If I'm sounding a little pissed off, it's because I am. I've been pissed off for three days.
The main problem is when health care becomes focused on money instead of healing. That's a symptom of a heartless society. One that leaves its unfortunate poor to struggle and sink.
Once upon a time, Duke Ed lived on a wealthy estate. Ed owned over three thousand serfs. These serfs plowed his fields, cooked his meals, tended his livestock, and did his laundry. One day, he was walking through his flower garden and came across the old gardener.
The gardener had worked on the estate his entire life. And the gardener's father had worked for Duke Ed's father. The gardener was old and feeble and almost blind. He couldn't tell the difference between chrysanthemum or tulip.
Duke Ed stopped and looked at the gardener. He said, "Sir, how long have you been working in my gardens."
The gardener smiled at him. "My whole life, Duke Ed."
Ed nodded. "You have been a good and faithful servant," he said.
The gardener nodded.
"Now, pack up your belongings and get off my land," Duke Ed said. "You're of no use to me now." Duke Ed turned and began walking away.
The gardener picked up his hoe and clobbered Ed with it. Ed dropped to the ground and fell face-first in the dirt. Dead.
Moral of the story: don't fuck with a man holding a hoe.
And Saint Marty lived happily ever after.
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| Where are you when we need you, Chuck? |
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