I was on the phone to KNPR Thursday ready to make a comment on the healthcare debate; I was told I was next in line. Suddenly, host Dave Burns said something about staying tuned for a discussion on the housing crisis and the phone went dead. Damn.

So here are my comments: I am a former Benefit Services Director for a mid-size manufacturing company in Chicago. I got the job because I had written the benefits booklets and, due to several departures from the Human Resources Department, I became the on-site expert and eventually was given the Benefit Services job.

What did I learn?

Everyone deserves to have uncomplicated access to healthcare. Pain is pain, rich or poor.

If the decision were mine, one universal plan would be offered everyone. One plan speaks to “all men being created equal” and is easier to communicate than several. Being a realist, however, any progress would be appreciated.

Our company had a subsidiary in Canada and I visited there once. I remember talking to a bus driver who so proudly showed us his healthcare card. I can’t weigh in on all the talk-show comments being made today about Canada’s plan, but I know the bus driver was very proud to be a Canadian with a healthcare card.

I also learned that healthcare is a complicated subject. We spent weeks working with Blue Cross Blue Shield of Illinois on booklet revisions. Can a 1300-page Federal document be passed quickly and be the best result? Probably not. On the other hand, to debate the subject to death would be a shame.

As my husband and I have gotten older and accessed the current “public” healthcare system (Medicare), we do see that money can be saved. In a perfect world, half the money Medicare has spent on us need not have been spent. We have also come in contact with a couple of wasteful Medicare policies as well. Examples:

My husband had “simple” arthroscopic knee surgery here and got a serious infection. The infection shouldn’t have happened, of course, but I believe Medicare is on that subject, threatening in the future to hold physicians and hospitals (not Medicare and patients) responsible for hospital-contracted infections. Nonetheless, the infection resulted in a second surgery, a hospitalization and a large “donut hole” expense for us to pay for six weeks of at-home antibiotics and at-home nursing and therapy visits.

We asked how “poor people” would afford such antibiotic therapy and were told that when a person can’t afford antibiotics and at-home care, they are sent to a rehabilitation center for six weeks and Medicare pays 100 percent of the cost. (At home, we paid a large part of the expense; in the rehab hospital Medicare paid everything? Something’s wrong with this picture.)

A diagnosis of Type 2 diabetes brings with it the ability to see a Medicare-paid podiatrist who monitors circulation in the feet, properly cuts toenails and provides once-a-year new athletic shoes with inserts. The people I know with Type 2 diabetes could afford their own athletic shoes, were it not for Medicare’s generosity. Dear Mr. President: Give the athletic shoes only to the folks whose feet are bad AND who can’t afford shoes. Not all old people are poor. If they can show up to a casino and lose $100, they can buy their own athletic shoes!

My own story involves a failed D&C and the recommendation to have a hysterectomy “to see what’s going on in there.” Stubborn that I am, I visited two more Las Vegas gynecologists who had no other answers. I then contacted UCLA Medical Center and made a two-day visit to California. A physician there said, “I’ve never had a failed D&C.” When surgery was scheduled, he had me insert a night-before cervix-softening pill. He easily performed the D&C, removed a simple polyp and took pictures to boot! (The polyp was benign.) In the meantime, Medicare and our supplement plan paid everybody with no questions asked. Bad results, multiple doctors visits and good results were rewarded equally. That, too, should change, Mr. President.

Yesterday, I heard a physician on TV say that private health care plans “interfere with my practice all the time, but Medicare never interferes.” That physician, therefore, favored one national healthcare plan. My experience tells me any future plan offered by the government must “interfere” to be cost effective. Yet, the President promises “Medicare is not changing. The government will not get between you and your doctor.” How can we have cost savings without changes in our current practices?

Is there any hope that we can be smart about all this?

Rate this post:
(26 votes, average: 4.88 out of 5)

 Loading ...

I am not a hugging person. My parents were German and English, so formal greetings were the family norm. But today, I hugged a senator. He was speaking at Natural Marketplace 2009, the nation’s ”longest running natural products tradeshow” held at the Sands Expo and The Venetian Las Vegas.

The senator is Tom Harkin, the senior senator from Iowa. I knew Tom way-back-when at Iowa State University in Ames, Iowa. Tom then was not like most of the other college students. He pledged a fraternity, but never lived in the house or attended fraternity events; he was too busy. In addition to being a student on an NROTC scholarship, he was one of the campaign managers for a professor named E.B. Smith who at that time was running for the U.S. Senate. Tom had a pilot’s license, so even as a student, he flew Smith to some of his campaign appearances. I was a journalism student and met Tom when I interviewed him.

Yes, I was able to finagle a few dates with this guy, but he graduated before I did and life went on, though I would occasionally get letters as he served his military obligations. I graduated and moved to Chicago. He married a smart blonde attorney, worked for a Congressman, eventually went to Congress himself and later was elected to the Senate. For a short time in the early 90s, Tom ran for President, but that effort finished very quickly.

I’ve seen Tom four times since school, once when he visited Chicago, once at Iowa State for some sort of alumni function; once at an airport as we passed each other and once in Washington when five of us from our company attended an ESOP seminar, and Tom responded to my letter by inviting our whole group for lunch in the Senate dining room. He was a charming host.

Tom was a convention keynote speaker here because he’s some kind of hero to the prevention and wellness community in terms of personal interest and sponsored legislation. He is Chairman of the Senate Committee on Agriculture, Nutrition and Forestry. He sent me a note several weeks ago saying he was coming to Las Vegas in July, hoping we could meet for some catching up. I answered, but he never followed up. I found out from a convention press release that the reason he was coming to Las Vegas was that he was a featured speaker at the Natural Marketplace 2009 gathering. I decided to attend.

Tom‘s audience filled the Veronese Ballroom. Having listened to Barak Obama every day for months, my friend’s speaking ability didn’t quite measure up and he did look a bit more “senior” than Obama. Nonetheless, the crowd was attentive. I am not a vitamin and supplements person so Tom’s endorsement of that whole community and admission of his own vitamin regimen bordered on the scary to me, but the rest of the audience loved it. After the talk, lots of folks went up to the podium to say hello and take pictures. I waited patiently, then stepped forward and gave my name. That’s when a big hello and a hug took place. Tom mumbled something about having sent a note. I pointedly added, “And no follow-up.” Two men came to rescue Tom from the crowd saying his airport ride was ready, but he looked my way and signaled. “’Walk with me,” he said.

On our short walk, he remembered the town I was from and asked about my husband. (I guess he actually reads our holiday cards.) He said he enjoyed being in Las Vegas and couldn’t take seriously Barak Obama’s remarks about avoiding Las Vegas, though his wife had no interest in coming with him. He asked with some concern, “Do you like living here?” “Love it,” I said. “We particularly enjoy the entertainment.” I told Tom I had been writing for a couple on-line publications. He seemed pleased. He told me he had always been interested in wellness and prevention issues. I mumbled something about me being in good health, but never having worked at it. He laughed.

So that was it. Very short. Another hug and Tom was on his way.

I won $20 at a Venetian slot machine while waiting for my husband who had generously offered to be my chauffeur. The day’s tally? Two hugs from a senator and $20. Not great, but not bad either.

Rate this post:
(12 votes, average: 5.00 out of 5)

 Loading ...

For most of my life I have been a corporate communicator, a writer. When I retired, one of my friends suggested I write a novel. Certainly not. My life has not been exciting enough to do that. But I can tell true stories. This is one of them. It’s called “Advice”.

The two best pieces of advice my mother gave me regarding a future spouse were (1) always know a man through all the seasons. (The physique that looks so good at the beach might NOT be able to hold a conversation on a long winter night.) And (2), marry a Jewish man; their mothers raise great husbands.

It took me a while, but I did marry a Jewish man. I did know him through all the seasons. And I have to agree, my husband’s mother, Ethel, was some kind of teacher.

Ethel was a good cook. My husband is a wonderful cook. Ethel had a lovely sense of humor; my husband is great fun. Ethel taught her sons to take orders. I “occasionally” give orders myself. Ethel was thrifty; she didn’t miss a sale or a coupon. My husband is very thrifty.

That’s good because I’m not so thrifty. My husband does most of the grocery shopping for us. (He LIKES it.) On the occasion when I do shop, he actually asks me how much I paid for particular items. I don’t know. “Let me see the receipt,” he asks. “Oh that. I think I used it to clean off the windshield,” I say. Right then, I know my husband is sending a secret message to his mother in heaven. “You were right, mom; I should never have married a Presbyterian.”

One time, my husband’s mother actually had an impact….. from the grave. Like I said, Ethel could give orders. As she became increasingly frail, she told her two sons that if she passed away, she definitely wanted to be buried in the particular pretty pink dress that her late husband always admired.

Following orders, after Ethel went into a nursing home, one of her two sons always had the pink dress ready and waiting. If my husband were out of town, his brother had the dress; if his brother were on vacation, my husband had the dress. Ultimately, sadly, Ethel passed away long after most of her friends and family. She had, therefore, pre-paid for graveside services only. My husband dutifully delivered the pink dress to the funeral home.

A private closed-casket burial was held on a beautiful afternoon in Chicago. At the end of the ceremony, a man from the funeral home quietly gave my husband a bag, He explained it contained the candle to burn for the next seven days, a prayer book and some of Ethel’s personal effects. My husband didn’t look in the bag until after we got home that night.

I was in another room when I heard a commotion in the kitchen. My husband was loudly shouting something I couldn’t understand. Was he hurt? What happened? I ran into the kitchen and saw the contents of the bag on the kitchen counter. In addition to the candle, THERE was the pink dress…..the one Ethel should have worn in posterity.

My husband went into action. He phoned his brother and the two of them decided, right then, to call the funeral home and wake up someone in charge; THIS ERROR MUST BE CORRECTED. Early the next week, Ethel was brought up from the ground, re-dressed, and another ceremony was held. This time, the sons did lift the lid of the casket to make sure their mother was in her pink dress …she was. They might have also seen just a hint of a smile on Ethel’s face. Her sons came through for her as ordered… AND Ethel received two pre-paid burials for the price of one.

Actually, I miss Ethel and all that went with her, as I miss my own mother, as well. Where do we, as adults, now go for advice?

Well, of course, we go to Oprah. She tells us how to decorate, when to pay off credit-card debt, what to do if our husbands leave us for another woman….or another man…. and how to otherwise de-clutter our lives. I’m not sure my husband is as fond of Oprah as I am. I think he just asks, “What would Ethel do?” when he needs advice. And I know he NEVER goes to Oprah’s website where still MORE advice is available for the taking.

I’m too far along in life myself, to make many changes now, but here is one piece of wisdom that I have taken to heart. It’s something my mother and my husband’s mother might have overlooked. This advice actually comes from Oprah’s website: “Big purses can make your butt look smaller.”

Rate this post:
(6 votes, average: 4.67 out of 5)

 Loading ...

Growing up, I always assumed I’d have children. My mother had them, so did Uncle Ralph and Aunt Martha and Uncle Ollie and Aunt Grace. The family exception was Uncle Buzzy and Aunt Dorothy who were the subject of family whispers. “They have dogs because they can’t have children.”

In truth, we kids thought Uncle Buzzy and Aunt Dorothy were wonderful. We loved saying the word “Buzzy”; their dogs were kind, funny-looking basset hounds who won trophies, and beautiful glamorous Aunt Dorothy (a divorcee) gave great hugs.

Fast forward lots of years, I mean lots of years. My biological clock had just about stopped and I had given up evenings on the near-north side of Chicago with the singles. I even purchased a La-Z-Boy lounge chair. That’s one of the benchmarks of life, I think, the time you become your parents and purchase a La-Z-Boy. I was happy enough, I thought. I had an interesting job, was generally busy at work, had purchased a small condo and had friends I admired.

Then, through one of my work-related volunteer assignments, I met a man I liked, one who liked me and who had also long passed the “young father” age group. This man had a dog, a well-behaved pretty black dog, a mixture of some sort. I remember one night watching TV with this man, me in my La-Z-Boy, he in my one other comfortable chair and the dog on the floor snoozing between us. This was nice – better than being single – comfortable – a sort of family. Yes, this was very nice.

My gentleman friend and I ultimately became a permanent couple (he bought a matching La-Z-Boy) and when his dog needed to be taken to the vet because old age had finally done its worst, my boyfriend/partner/significant other (I didn’t know what to call him then) took a long time making the decision. I know he had tears in his eyes when he returned after saying goodbye to his dog.

A couple years passed. I suggested that if we got another dog, I would be inspired to walk it regularly and perhaps lose weight. No objections there. We went to a shelter and adopted a beautiful shepherd/husky mix, Angie. Yes, I walked the dog, but ever-so-gradually the dog also became my boyfriend’s dog. He didn’t mind walking the dog, especially when we were having a disagreement (the dog was all love and didn’t talk back); he made sure the dog always had water (and food) and when we three strolled the Chicago north-side lakefront and the unleashed dog suddenly took off, running far ahead of us, it was my boyfriend who sprinted after the dog until she had decided the game of tag had gone on long enough.

Our next move was a house with a fenced yard. We hoped the dog would like the yard; after all, we spent $180,000 so SHE would have a place to roam. For us, the house also meant that, whew, when winter came, instead of bundling up to take the dog on a walk, we could just open a door.

After being in the home awhile, the boyfriend and I decided we probably should get married. We were pretty sure we’d be spending the rest of our lives together and by that time, our family had expanded. We had fallen in love with a beagle puppy at the Chicago International Dog Show. That puppy grew and fathered a litter and we took home one of those puppies as well. We were a three-dog family and clearly right thing to do …was to marry.

That was about the time we asked a fancy decorator to come to the house to give us some design ideas. Two dogs were jumping near the decorator’s legs obviously excited to see a stranger. The decorator was not a dog person. “Well,” she said,

Sandy the beagle

Yes, we have made compromises in how we live. We stopped taking spur-of-the-moment overnight trips (got to get home to the dogs, we’d say). We stopped buying expensive shoes (too tasty for puppies) and we stopped storing anything important in our lower kitchen cabinets (guess who learned to open the cabinets). At the same time, hugging a dog and getting dog hair all over us is a trade willingly made.

I often wonder what our children would have been like had my husband and I met earlier and had children, not dogs.

Surely, like our dogs, our children would have gone to my husband for treats, would occasionally have run away (but always returned), would have played “chase me” tag day after day, would have misbehaved when they were home alone, and would have looked like God’s little angels when asleep. They would have always wanted to be where we were….and they would have slept with us every night.

Uncle Buzzy, you really were onto something.

Rate this post:
(11 votes, average: 4.45 out of 5)

 Loading ...