Last August I wrote a post called “Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Health Insurance Reform“. When the post hit my Facebook page it ignited quite a discussion…one that ultimately led me to de-friending an old friend on Facebook, and in real life as well.

During this process, the friend in question offered to give me $50 to pay for Health Insurance. While I don’t believe he intended the offer in malice, to me it showed a genuine lack of respect for me as an individual, and a fundamental chasm between the way he and like-minded others looked at their fellow humans.

It wasn’t until I saw this video of a recent Tea Party protest where one angry protester throws dollars at a man with Parkinson’s that I realized the reason why I reacted so negatively to his offer. My friend, regardless of intent, made me feel like the guy with Parkinson’s, sitting silently on the ground while insults and dollars are thrown at him, essentially telling him, “We’re healthy and rich, you’re sick and poor, now go fuck off!” If you haven’t seen the video, here it is:

We live in a world of our own making. How we treat our neighbors, family, friends…even when we disagree is the greatest measure of our humanity.

Before the de-friending occurred, somewhere amidst a $50 Paypal transfer and my outright shock of the depth of his self-entitled rant, he forwarded me a Glenn Beck video and asked me to watch it. Having never actually watched Glenn Beck’s show, I acquiesced. This turned out to be a bad descision.

Thinking that somehow Glenn Beck would convince me that Health Care Reform in this country would lead to Nazism in America was possibly THE WORST argument he could have presented. Here’s the ACTUAL VIDEO he sent me asking me my “honest opinion.”

I honestly didn’t know what to say. Trying to follow Glenn Beck’s line of reasoning or finding accuracy in his logic is like trying build a house of cards with a retarded kid who just keeps screaming “UNO! UNO! UNO!”

So yesterday, after my epiphany about the Tea Party Parkinson’s video, when I saw this brilliant rant about Glenn Beck by Jon Stewart, it all tied together for me:

This is how I lost a friend in the Health Care Reform debate: Compassion.

You see, you can’t quantify compassion. You can’t solve compassion with an equation or by throwing dollars at people any more than you can draw conclusions by drawing circles on a blackboard. When someone is sick, you shouldn’t have to ask if they can afford to live.

It shouldn’t even be a factor.

It’s not my job or my mission to convince my ex-friend otherwise. It just made me sad that he doesn’t see just how wrong he is. Or how he made me feel. Or how he chooses to treat his fellow man. He lacks the fundamental human capacity for compassion. And I choose to not to live in his compassionless world.

If we live in a world of our own design…of our own making…I want mine to be a compassionate world. A happy world. A world where someone with Parkinson’s or Asthma or Cancer doesn’t have to be mocked or condescended to because they are sick, or worry about whether or not their insurance provider will cover this particular trip to the emergency room. That’s MY American dream.

Unfortunately there are some friendships that have been sacrificed along the way. I’ll gladly trade those for logic and reason and compassion any day.

Now I’m going to go outside and enjoy the rest of this beautiful spring day. You should too!

Yesterday I dropped off a prescription at my neighborhood Walgreens drive-through. I had never ordered this particular prescription so I had to ask the pharmacy tech to clarify a few things for me, which he did.

At the end of our conversation the pharmacy guy said, “you got it, Boss!”

As we drove away, my friend Stacey (who was in the car with me) and I proceeded to have a whole conversation about people throwing out undeserved nicknames like “boss” and how there’s usually something undeniably condescending about their use, regardless of intent.

When I went back the next day to pick up my order, the same kid was there and he called me “boss” again, so I aimed at him with my finger pistol and said, “Right back atcha, Chief.”

(That’ll show him!)

Except then he responded with, “Oh, thanks…I’m 1/4 Cherokee.”

What could I do?

So I killed him dead.

Now I’m on the lam. But it was sooo worth it.

Don’t call me Boss.

Today I shopped for doctors.   I knew this day was coming, but I can’t wait any longer.

I smoked cigarettes from about age 23 until around 28.  Then I quit for about 7 years, only to restart them after my divorce.  When I started again I chose the “ultra light” variety…you know, because they are “ultra light”.   I smoked for another 3 years until December 12th, 2008.  That’s when I smoked my last cigarette.

That’s also when I started having some serious breathing problems.

Cooincidence or not, I was almost immediately stricken with a bout of bronchitis.  3 months later, a second one hit and this one came with one of the biggest scares I’ve ever had…waking up and not being able to breathe.

If you’ve ever had a nightmare where you’re suffocating or drowning, imagine having one of those terrible nightmares, and then when you wake up, YOU STILL CAN’T BREATE.  Not a very pleasant feeling.  It was like my lungs were waterboarding me for smoking.

I went to an emergency walk in clinic.  You know, one of those 24-hour urgent care clinics?  My mom calls them a “Doc-in-a-Box”.   I had made the mistake of going to an actual emergency room once before.   I don’t have health insurance so I am  forced to be aware of the actual costs of medical care.   The dollars I trade are dollars I earned, and my “insurance” is whatever I can pay within my a credit card limit.

This particular clinic cost me $270 to see a doctor (wait time: 3 hours).    Plus $80 for a test to check the level of oxygen in my blood (a clothespin type device placed on my index finger).  Once the doctor finally saw me, I watched as he read me a series of questions from his computer screen, and clicked on choices based on my answers.  This lead him to a diagnosis of chronic bronchitis.

He prescribed me a Z-Pack, some oral steroids (Prednizone)  and a one month supply of an inhaled steroid powder Asmanex and a referral to a pulmonary specialist because…and I quote, “you might have asthma.”

Between the visit and the cost of filling the prescriptions, I was out about $750 (not to mention the 2 weeks I couldn’t play piano, and the non-prescription meds I bought).    But I felt better.   I was breathing better.  After a while, I was able to start sleeping normally again (you’d be amazed at how hard it is to fall asleep after you’ve experienced the horror of waking up while gasping for air).

But about a month after the Asmanex prescription ran out, I started having the same exact symptoms, minus the flu-like sypmtoms:   Shortness of breath, wheezing and coughing (but nothing coming up).   The sleepless nights returned as quickly as my anxiety.

I made a few calls to pulmonary specialists.  Um.  yeah.  That’s not happening without health insurance or some sort of grant.   IF you can get an appointment, it’s $400 to see someone and the tests start at $1000…and go up from there.   But the Asmanex seemed to be doing the trick…maybe?  At $160 a month, I sure hoped it was doing something?

So I returned to the walk in clinic, slapped down my $270 for another visit.  This time I learned a trick to skirt the 3-hour wait.   When they asked why I was there, I said “shortness of breath”.   It’s just the speed pass they have at Universal Studios…straight to the front of the line!

They gave me an an Albuterol breathing treatment on the spot ($90).   I was glad to have it…immediate relief.

This time I saw a different doctor…an English bloke.   I gave him the whole history and told him about the prohibitive cost of the pulmonary specialist.   He listened to my lungs a bit with his stethoscope and said, “I’ll save you the money, you’ve got asthma!”

Yay!   Wait…what am I cheering about?  I have asthma but I’m feeling like I just saved a bunch of money on my car insurance!  I was so confused at this point, I actually felt relieved.   He wrote me another script Prednezone ($30) and one for 3 months of Asmanex.

I started taking the Asmanex again, and again the symptoms eased.  If I stopped it for a few days, they would return.  So it seems like the Asmanex is doing the trick.  At least, this is a solution I can wrap my mind around (and the costs), although I’m still curious as to what this jewel-encrusted pulmonary specialist for the rich-and-famous would tell me.

So now my 3-month’s supply of Asmanex is nearing a close.   For $50 I bought a Walgreens Prescription Discount Card, which saves me about $50 each time I buy a 30-day supply of Asmanex.    So that makes the Asmanex $110 a month.   Not cheap, but I can cope.   But when you add in the $270 clinic visits to get the prescription, this is getting a but cumbersome.

Today I spent a couple hours researching websites and calling various doctor’s offices around Orlando and asked some pointed questions…the kind of questions you ask when you’re shopping for, say, new car tires.  You don’t necessarily want to buy the CHEAPEST tires…you want some good, fairly priced tires.

I finally found a doctor nearby who specializes in allergies and asthma treatment to see me for $150.  I’m hoping that at the least, he can give me 6-month (or more) prescription for Asmanex.   I don’t know what their rules are for this kind of thing.  Also, do I really have asthma?  Maybe he will be able to confirm.  They also have tests to check for allergies that range from $200-$400.   If allergens are triggering the asthma, maybe there’s a cheaper treatment plan than the Asmanex?

This is the reality of living uninsured in our health care system in the United States.  You have to shop around.  You never know what you’re getting overcharged for.  Do you need a test?  Can you afford that test?  Is the test even necessary?  You have to do your own research…looking up the drugs you’re prescribed, reading websites.

I’m relatively well-equipped to handle this.  Well educated, I have a car, a computer, and I’m still relatively healthy.  I’d hate to see what would happen to someone who didn’t have these advantages.

Fortunately I can afford it…for now.    I just wish everyone else could too.  If only it could be that simple.