on health care.
Rant below.
I have a personal stake in how this healthcare bill turns out. A huge one. With four kids and no insurance I'm watching the debates with a knot in my gut. The disruptions actually upset me. I want civil conversation, I want people to behave like adults--not screaming mobs (both sides). What's worse, I'm listening to people I respect and like say insulting things about those of us who are hoping it will pass--calling us socialists, calling us lazy, calling us dead beats who don't want to work for what we get in life. Until now, I've stood silently by because I don't quite know how to respond without creating a scene.
It's not personal, I tell myself. They simply don't understand what it is to live without it. They don't know that they're standing next to someone who worries daily that one of her boys is going to get hurt or her husband is going to pass another kidney stone, and how on earth she'll pay for it if either happens. They don't realize that I'm one of the statistics, that my husband works regular over time just to provide for us, putting us into the middle class, beyond the reach of MC-Plus but still making just enough to get by. We're penny pinchers; we don't want handouts and that we don't mind paying regular premiums, but we want to know that the insurance is actually going to be there for us when we need it.
I'm done with wondering what people would think or say if they knew and I'm done with being silent. The next time this subject comes up, I'm going to tell them what it's like to be me.
I'd be thrill if health care providers would play nice, charging affordable fees for services, and promise the same care to everyone regardless of whether they're insured or not. I'd be even more thrilled if insurance companies would charge affordable premiums and give me a workable deductible that applies in small degrees along the way (the way our last insurance worked before the employer decided it was too expensive) instead of what we have access to now (a $1000 per person up-front deductible that we must meet in full before the insurance pays for anything--which means that my normally healthy family would never actually access it, just that they'd get to keep my 400 dollars every month and I'd get a nifty card for my wallet). But they don't and they won't, not without the government laying down laws that restrict what they can do, but that puts the government in control of businesses--and I guess we hate that--or providing a public alternative that will force them to compete and play fair--but apparently we hate that even more.
I'm frustrated with with the "let them eat cake" attitudes of those who don't get it, who are comfortable with their own healthcare plan and assume everyone else would have access to the same if they'd just work hard enough. Or they're simply uninformed, allowing email forwards to shape their opinions. Or they simply don't care at all and want the uninsured masses to shut up and go away.
Fears abound. They're afraid of "rationed health care" and what they don't understand is that we're already rationing it--those with insurance get better care than those who don't (ask me how I know this). They're afraid that our government is going to foul it up. What? Worse than the insurance companies have? They're afraid of more taxes. And I suppose they're getting their money's worth as it is? Wouldn't it be nice to pay taxes into a system and actually get something back out of it other than knowing our government officials are flying around in nicer jets?
Yes, I'm a little pissed about this. With good reason. In truth, I'm afraid too. I'm afraid that nothing is going to change, that the status quo is going to continue, that the insurance companies are going to keep all the cards.
So there it is. Me being more direct than I usually am and certainly less tactful. I get why you're upset about this and I get why you think it's a bad idea. But can you give me a better solution? If you can't, then maybe you need to be the one standing silently by.
Showing posts with label family history. Show all posts
Showing posts with label family history. Show all posts
Monday, August 10, 2009
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Sometimes I amaze myself
After I finished a query letter this morning I sat back and looked at it with some pride and said to myself, "That is a great letter. Wow. Sometimes I amaze myself." I smiled at the thought and at my terrific letter. This isn't something I say to myself very often and I wondered briefly why it seemed so familiar. Then I remembered where I last heard it.
My oldest son, yesterday, after repairing several household computer issues. He actually says it pretty regularly. So often, in fact, that I bought him a t-shirt saying the very same thing for his 18th birthday last year. He is a naturally positive kid. Gary and I both appreciate this buoyancy as neither of us have ever possessed this level of confidence. And we(quietly) take some credit for it.
Our parents were from a different era. His mother is German raised in a post WWII depressed Eastern Germany, his father a soldier who'd grown up on a farm in Kansas, himself the product of a harsh environment. My Dad was raised by a poor family in east Texas. The oldest of five, he was often left in charge of his brothers while his parents worked numerous jobs. His mother was an alcoholic and his (step)father often indifferent to his oldest adopted son's need to be acknowledged for his strengths. Both Gary's mother and my father have a deep-seated fear of ever being poor again and it was reflected in their attitudes about their lives as we were growing up.
Neither of us ever questioned whether our parents loved us. But we often wondered if they liked us. We certainly didn't feel accepted. They were harsh, demanding that we be perfect (look perfect, make perfect grades, have perfect manners, etc) and expressing a great deal of anger when we weren't. That anger took the form of verbal and sometimes physical abuse. Quite frankly, while the beatings were bad, the things they said were worse and still resonate occasionally in those late night, soft-underbelly bearing discussions couples sometimes have.
We now know we were basically along for the ride, part of the package deal whether we wanted to be or not, as these adults sorted out their own lives. This sorting included divorces, remarriages, job changes, and moving around. Ultimately, they dragged themselves into middle(in my father's case, upper) class living and were determined to stay there. In their minds, having nice homes, nice cars, lots of money, perfect spouses, and perfect kids were the key elements of success. There was no tolerance for anything that didn't fit into that list of expectations.
Fast-forwarding through the years, we have both arrived in our forties in basically one piece. We've come to grips with our parents' struggles and (finally) understand that they faced issues that were far larger than just raising their children. As imperfect beings ourselves, we've forgiven them, in part because we love them, but also because we've made our own mistakes and had to forgive ourselves for plenty.
But we came into this parenting thing with very clear concerns and very focused on not repeating the patterns. It was/is important to us that our kids know how valuable they are to us and how much we genuinely like them. We've tried really hard to strike a balance between discipline and character building and celebrating who they are. Sometimes I think we've made it, other times I'm not as sure.
This occasionally brings frowns (and criticisms) from our conformity loving parents (by the way--my hippie Mom is not a part of this discussion--that's another story for another entry). It's not easy to blow past their comments (do we ever get past wanting to please our parents?), but since we really like our kids (in case you missed it), and we've gained a certain amount of perspective on both our paths and that of our parents, we do just that.
Do we pray that we're getting this right? Every day, sometimes multiple times. It is often my first thought when I get up in the morning and my last as I drop off to sleep at night. But when we see our oldest son about to graduate from high school with honors and strike out into the world with his "sometimes I amaze myself" attitude, we suspect that we're at least close. And when I see Daniel or Sam or Joe beaming after they've accomplished some goal they've set for themselves, I'm pretty sure of it.
My oldest son, yesterday, after repairing several household computer issues. He actually says it pretty regularly. So often, in fact, that I bought him a t-shirt saying the very same thing for his 18th birthday last year. He is a naturally positive kid. Gary and I both appreciate this buoyancy as neither of us have ever possessed this level of confidence. And we(quietly) take some credit for it.
Our parents were from a different era. His mother is German raised in a post WWII depressed Eastern Germany, his father a soldier who'd grown up on a farm in Kansas, himself the product of a harsh environment. My Dad was raised by a poor family in east Texas. The oldest of five, he was often left in charge of his brothers while his parents worked numerous jobs. His mother was an alcoholic and his (step)father often indifferent to his oldest adopted son's need to be acknowledged for his strengths. Both Gary's mother and my father have a deep-seated fear of ever being poor again and it was reflected in their attitudes about their lives as we were growing up.
Neither of us ever questioned whether our parents loved us. But we often wondered if they liked us. We certainly didn't feel accepted. They were harsh, demanding that we be perfect (look perfect, make perfect grades, have perfect manners, etc) and expressing a great deal of anger when we weren't. That anger took the form of verbal and sometimes physical abuse. Quite frankly, while the beatings were bad, the things they said were worse and still resonate occasionally in those late night, soft-underbelly bearing discussions couples sometimes have.
We now know we were basically along for the ride, part of the package deal whether we wanted to be or not, as these adults sorted out their own lives. This sorting included divorces, remarriages, job changes, and moving around. Ultimately, they dragged themselves into middle(in my father's case, upper) class living and were determined to stay there. In their minds, having nice homes, nice cars, lots of money, perfect spouses, and perfect kids were the key elements of success. There was no tolerance for anything that didn't fit into that list of expectations.
Fast-forwarding through the years, we have both arrived in our forties in basically one piece. We've come to grips with our parents' struggles and (finally) understand that they faced issues that were far larger than just raising their children. As imperfect beings ourselves, we've forgiven them, in part because we love them, but also because we've made our own mistakes and had to forgive ourselves for plenty.
But we came into this parenting thing with very clear concerns and very focused on not repeating the patterns. It was/is important to us that our kids know how valuable they are to us and how much we genuinely like them. We've tried really hard to strike a balance between discipline and character building and celebrating who they are. Sometimes I think we've made it, other times I'm not as sure.
This occasionally brings frowns (and criticisms) from our conformity loving parents (by the way--my hippie Mom is not a part of this discussion--that's another story for another entry). It's not easy to blow past their comments (do we ever get past wanting to please our parents?), but since we really like our kids (in case you missed it), and we've gained a certain amount of perspective on both our paths and that of our parents, we do just that.
Do we pray that we're getting this right? Every day, sometimes multiple times. It is often my first thought when I get up in the morning and my last as I drop off to sleep at night. But when we see our oldest son about to graduate from high school with honors and strike out into the world with his "sometimes I amaze myself" attitude, we suspect that we're at least close. And when I see Daniel or Sam or Joe beaming after they've accomplished some goal they've set for themselves, I'm pretty sure of it.
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