Val is 58. She told me, “My husband and I have worked all our lives, had insurance all our lives and we were both laid off in November. We’re looking for jobs and have had this is the first time we've had no health insurance." She looked at me with unbelieving eyes. "We're hard-working people, too young for Medicare. We just don’t know what we’ll do.”
A few years back he lost his job at the yoghurt factory in town. This provided health insurance but now as an owner of a three taxi cab small business, he doesn’t have health insurance. He has significant heart disease and has had six heart attacks, the first one at age 32. For this he’s gotten seven stents (a device placed in the coronary arteries that keeps them open). The first two were covered by insurance but since then he’s racked up $56,000 in bills which he has paid down to $12,000.
[Interpretative note: I know a bit about stents and I was surprised to hear he had so many. But he did tell me that they continually get blocked up and he takes Plavix—a form of ‘blood thinner’—to prevent further blockage. I didn’t ask him but perhaps he has the less-expensive, bare-metal stents as compared to the much more expensive drug-eluting stents which are designed to reduce the possibility of blockage, or restenosis. While only speculative, I would not be surprised if bare metal stents were to be preferentially used for patients without insurance. Unfortunately that might mean less cost per operation but it typically results in more operations, ending up in even greater cost.]
Jay is the manager of the Days Inn in Plymouth. He told me the story of his uncle (a U.S. citizen by the way) who had a heart attack and required a triple bypass operation. “He didn’t have insurance, though and the operation would cost about $118,000.” There was no way that he could pay that money—the money that would save (or at least extend) his life. And so he ended up having the operation in India which, with airfare, cost about $35,000. Jay shook his head. “It doesn’t make sense how America can’t take care of Americans”
Ginny lost work and took early retirement at 62 but, she told me, “The bad thing about that is that there’s no health insurance.” I nodded. “I make too much for the Indiana health care program, but not enough to pay for medial insurance. It costs at least $300 a month. I’ve got diabetes and high blood pressure and five grandchildren that live with me. My daughter is legally blind so if something happens to me, I don’t know what will happen, who will care for, the children.” Perhaps that explains why I look pretty grim in the picture. I'm inspired, and humbled, by the bravery of regular, hardworking Americans..
Mike’s the fiancé of the front desk attendant. He doesn’t have insurance having recently lost his job. “I still owe a bunch of doctor’s bills,” he told me. “I broke my hand and right now its better but I owe $12,000.”
I woke up to raging, searing blisters. I could barely walk to the breakfast area, two doors down. While this is a walk, at an average of 24 miles per day it is more like a lengthy 'sprint!' As this walk, the stories I’ve been getting and its overall mission, was too important to jeopardize, this morning would have t
o be a rest day (subtracting 15 miles from the total walk distance.) Besides, I don’t have health insurance and a major foot infection could not only knock me out of the walk (letting down many people) but also drive me into bankruptcy or worse. My “Living Will / Advance Directive” states that if I am incapacitated, I do not wish lifesaving measures to be taken. That’s the reality.
So, I took a break in the morning (walking, though, every day) updating dispatches, sending emails, and doing other logistical matters. Besides a small rally was planned and I wanted to be ready for the long afternoon walk to follow. I had a chance to talk with some people at the Days Inn in Plymouth. Here are some of their stories.
Jay: Jay is the manager of the hotel and he told me the story of his uncle who had a heart attack and required a triple bypass operation. Unfortunately he was uninsured and the operation would cost about $118,000. There was no way that he could pay that money—the money that would save (or at least extend) his life. And so he ended up having the operation in 
Mike: Mike’s the fiancé of the front desk attendant. He doesn’t have insurance having recently lost his job. “I still owe a bunch of doctor’s bills,” he told me. “I broke my hand and right now its better but I owe $12,000.”
And so that afternoon a bunch of us gathered—Cassie, Mike, and Keith and we headed the two miles downtown and back. We talked about life in
We saw some interesting sites in Plymouth. Apparently, one can buy artillery shells there! After returning to the hotel, and feeling better (though distressed, of course, at all the hardship I’ve learned of), I walked another five miles to bulk up my miles. During that walk I went to dinner (Burger King) and stopped at a Walgreen’s to buy seven tubes of Neosporin and other supplies, preparing for a night of ‘minor surgery.” At the store, I met two women who shared with me their stories.
Val: Val is 58. She told me, “She and her husband have worked all their life, had insurance all their life and were both laid off in November. We’re both looking for jobs and have had no health insurance for the first time. We’re too young for Medicare. We don’t know what we’ll do.”
Ginny: Ginny lost work and took early retirement at 62 but, she told me, “The bad thing about that is that there’s no health insurance.” I nodded. “I make too much for the
With pain from head to toe (in my mind from hearing these stories and down below in my feet from blisters), it’s difficult to keep walking. But I did and, thankfully, I am here to bear witness to what is becoming increasingly apparent to me as a national catastrophe of epic proportions. This must change.
© 2009,
