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Don’t Complain about Health Insurance
By Al
Ruechel | 07-02-02
May I please repent
for at least the next five minutes? As a news anchor and reporter I
have been very critical of the health care industry, in particular
health insurance. It’s true that health care costs are rising and
the whole reimbursements process is as convoluted as a riverboat
card game where the dealer makes up the rules as the game goes on.
And, yes, there are some individuals that take advantage of the
system and are getting filthy rich at the expense of a lot of the
common folk.
Now, having said all that, I am here to testify that in the end the
system does work if you put a little effort into it and get involved
in your own health care. I’m writing this commentary in the
intensive care unit of All Children’s Hospital in St. Petersburg,
Florida. What’s happening outside these walls with the economy and
the war and the Supreme Court and Worldcom is meaningless.
A few feet away from me the pulse-ox monitor is beeping quietly. My
14-year-old daughter’s eyes are slightly swollen as she lies there
in the dimmed lights. My wife is leaning over her bed gently
touching her face. My precious is recovering from scoliosis surgery.
Her beautiful blond hair is neatly arranged in two French braids.
She is sleeping like an angel though her last several hours have
been anything but peaceful. She now has two metal rods and half
dozen connectors and wire wrapped around her spine, which used to
curve at more than 50 degrees. Faced with life threatening
consequences there was little choice in the matter.
There are two nurses attending several other machines attached to my
youngest child. Our surgeon, who I’m sure walks on water and feeds
5-thousand, is just returning from his 6th surgery in one day. He
tells us everything went perfect and says our daughter’s attitude is
the best he’s ever seen.
“Don’t worry. She’s doing just great.” Each time my wife and I look
at each other we mouth his words nodding in agreement.
Down the hall I can see a dozen other nurses and doctors examining
charts and walking into curtained rooms. They are all very pleasant
and caring and calm and completely in control. Thank God their
voices are reassuring. I’m a mess; on the verge of tears my stomach
is tied in double and triple knots. With every new beep from an
unknown machine I age a year. I must be 150 years old my now.
We are the lucky ones. My daughter’s surgery, though major is a
permanent fix to a problem, which could have shortened her life. She
will fully recover and go about the business of breaking young men’s
hearts and lighting up every room she graces.
Two rooms away the situation is much different. Bryan’s son has
coded twice from a heart stint that slipped from an artery in his
neck into the main artery of his heart. The poor little guy has
already had three major heart surgeries and is now in another battle
for his life. His dad is a baker who has taken on the added
responsibility of raising two other children besides the two of his
own. He has remarkable strength for the ordeal he is undertaking.
Up stairs on 4 South West there must be another 50 or 60 kids. It’s
summer so there are lots of broken arms and legs and collarbones.
These kids will be in for the night and home by noon the next day.
Not so for little Renya. She has been here for almost a month now.
Her mom stops by maybe once a week if that, according to the nursing
staff which has practically adopted the little tyke.
Then there’s the guy with three rows of stitches on his head
recovering from brain surgery. Another little girl was badly mangled
in a car accident. The little blond guy being pulled around in the
red wagon is burned from his fingertips to his armpits. Brenda’s a
cute 15-year-old with leukemia who runs around the hospital pulling
her little stand with multiple IV’s and chemo around like it was a
boom box. Mark fell off the back of his father’s pickup truck and
suffered a concussion. When you watch the way he tools around in his
wheel chair you know he’ll probably be back here again.
And here’s the amazing part. Not once did I see anyone running
around with a little cash register. No fee for service pay as you go
spoken here. No one came into any of the rooms and said, “Good
morning, Mr. Ruechel. We have a special today on IV’s. Buy one get
one free.” No one asked me if I’d prefer maybe paper sheets versus
cloth sheets because they might be cheaper. No one came in and
showed me three or four levels of meals from dirt-cheap to gourmet.
No doctor ever came in the door and asked me if I had an HMO or
private insurance or how much I made. They never asked me if I’d
like to save a few bucks by removing cable TV from my room. When
they ordered a new medication they never asked me if I could afford
the treatment.
Little Renya gets the same food as my daughter or Brenda or Mark,
even though her mom has no insurance coverage. The father of the boy
who coded in the Intensive Care Unit can’t possibly afford to pay
for his son’s many operations and yet they are covered. His surgeon
is one of the best in Tampa Bay and not once did he entertain the
notion of not providing care because it might not be covered.
Now please, I’m not totally blinded by the feelings of gratitude
that are sweeping over me now, tears blurring my vision as I write.
A lot of folks have to fight like crazy to get adequate health care.
I’ve documented dozens of cases where the insurance playing field
wasn’t as level as mine. Heck, one day before surgery there was a
screw up with my own carrier in approving a series of blood tests
that the surgeon required. I must have worked the phone for three
hours to get it right. But in the end, it all came together and
worked.
In the end, 90 to 95 percent of the time it works the same way in
hospital after hospital across America. We get the care we need,
and, the records show, insurance companies pick up most of the tab.
My daughter’s surgery will cost $26,000. To be sure, our insurance
premiums and the premiums our employers pay cover the majority of
those expenses. If they didn’t health insurance wouldn’t exist. And
though we may go through some hassle getting to that hospital or
doctor’s office door, once we walk in the playing field is truly
leveled. The care we receive is unbelievable. This isn’t medicine
ala cart. My checkbook and cash were left at home. This is the best
health care the world has to offer.
And this dad and mom and the other parents I watched and waited and
prayed with over the past six days are eternally grateful. Sure, we
may complain a bit when we have to cover some of those deductibles
and other surprise incidentals. The truth is, insurance or not we
all would have been willing to pay whatever it took to cure our
kids.
In the end though, it doesn’t compare to the insurmountable joy and
peace of mind we have knowing that this sometimes maddening, over
bureaucratic health care and health care insurance system real does
deliver on its promise: quality health care for all regardless of
your ability to pay!
Al Ruechel, copyright 2002, all
rights reserved
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