Health Care Reform: The Time is (Still) Now

What can I say about health care reform that hasn’t been said by millions of other people millions of times over the past hundred years? Plenty.

The thing I am definitely not hearing, not from the politicians, not from the pundits, is that this issue is not about the doctors, not about the economy, not about the accountants and their number crunching, not about the federal debt, although I know that all of these considerations will help to shape the ultimate bill should it be passed in Congress. No, this issue is about health care, and especially about the people who need it.

Why don’t I hear a great hue and cry coming out of the electorate? We should be outraged that once more, the people we voted in to office, our senators and congressmen, are following in that time-honored tradition of their forebears who diddled around while millions upon millions of people were denied access to even the most rudimentary health care coverage.

If the argument were made that public schools were just too expensive and that ultimately, they would bring our financial system to its knees, would we stand still for allowing our children to grow up ignorant and unprepared for the work world? I think not! We all acknowledge that some basic skills and literacy must be afforded to all of our citizens so that they can lead a decent life, and, as the Declaration of Independence states, so that they can exercise their right to “the pursuit of happiness”. Imagine our country without universal education. Try. It’s unthinkable. The implications would be enormous.

But at least, if there weren’t public education, it would not be an immediate threat to that other inalienable right – the right to life. But that’s what we’re talking about when we talk about healthcare. I don’t know whether anyone has bothered to take a census of all of the needless deaths that occur every year in this country because forty-six million people were denied access to health care. It would be hard to quantify since there are so many variables that come into play when you’re talking about illness.

The cost of even the most basic medical care has soared in the past fifty years. Unless your name happens to be Oprah Winfrey or Bill Gates, trust me: you can’t afford it. You may, like so many hard-working Americans, be forced into bankruptcy. You may lose your home. You may simply die an untimely death because you can’t even buy life-saving medicine. You might even experience all of these possible outcomes.

And don’t get me started on the so-called “underwriting practices” which are standard operating procedure for the health insurers. I myself am a two-time cancer survivor. Thank God I had coverage. (We were blessed to have a wise and compassionate insurance broker. She helped us to navigate the treacherous waters of the insurance providers). Many, many people are not so lucky. Should you be denied health coverage because you are or have ever been sick?

It seems to me that many of our elected officials are a bit too cozy with big business, and big business includes big insurance companies. It also strikes me that many politicians are more concerned about future elections than they are about the welfare of their own constituents. And then there is another class of politicians: The politicians who are hell-bent on destroying our current president – at any cost. They belong to the “let-them-eat-cake” school of government, and should be treated accordingly. (Figuratively speaking, of course!)

We the People are being sold down the river at the very time when we need the support of our government the most. We who are or have been sick are a silent and large minority whose civil rights are being trampled every time we are denied access to decent medical attention. We who have lost our jobs and therefore lost our insurance are being doubly victimized for our misfortune.

Pray for enlightenment on the part of the Senate and the House. It’s an emergency and the doctor is out playing golf.

This I Believe, I Believe

Today marks the end of a series on NPR called, “I Believe”. I only heard it for the first time maybe two years ago, and I must confess, every time they announced a new segment I half expected to hear a bar or two of a song that was popular when I was a little girl, “I Believe”. They probably thought of it and decided against it as being too schmaltzy. Wise.

I really loved this series. It is fascinating to hear people from all walks of life and in all sorts of circumstances make a public statement about their most privately held and most central core belief. Most of the time I would listen and think to myself, “Gee! That’s a good one! I believe that, too!”. But I had never consciously thought about most of these ideas. They just informed my life, always working at a subliminal level, the mirapoix that flavors the soup, but whose taste nobody can identify.

Then, inevitably, I would say to myself, “Gee, I really ought to write a “This I Believe” essay and send it in. Then I would think: “Who knows? They might choose mine to put on the air”. (Notice the immediate departure from ‘Art for Art’s Sake’?).

So I have to ask myself the musical question: Do I really believe in what I say I believe in, or do I believe others would validate me if I said I believed in it? How do you really get deep beneath the bubbling surface of the potato leek soup of your mind to the most basic of its elements? And how do you know when you’ve gotten there?

This is an especially thorny issue for a songwriter. I write songs all the time that set out to express some aspect of what it is I truly believe. Some of the songs do this overtly in a kind of spiritual testimony. Some of them do it obliquely in a kind of story tradition that is so prevalent in country songs. (Some songs I write for pure fun, so they don’t count here). I have one song that states that I, like Norman Rockwell, try to describe the world as the best of all possible worlds, not because it really is that way, but because that is the world I would like it to be. The hope is that, “we get the life we make”. This is a corollary of the affirmation theory; the belief that you can change your life by changing your perceptions. As much as anything I have ever believed in, I believe in this.

Or do I?

I never have sent in my own essay for the show. Every time I came up with a hypothetical title, I questioned it. The questioning would inevitably plant just enough doubt in my mind to make me think, “Who am I to make this statement? What proof do I have? Is it truly an original thought? And while we’re on the subject: Who cares?”

As I write this, I believe that we can change our reality by changing our perceptions. Will I believe that tomorrow? If I had been one of those people who survived Katrina in New Orleans or the bombing of the World Trade Center — not from the comfort of my living room, but at ground zero — would I still believe this is true? I might take the other tack. I might start to believe that it doesn’t matter about my perceptions. I am simply collateral damage in the battle with nature or the battle with fundamentalist extremists.

But I did have my own kind of personal catastrophe. I survived cancer. Twice. I came out of it believing that one of the things that saw me through was my ability to envision myself whole and healthy. Simultaneously, I was able to surrender to and accept the reality of the situation and my own limitations in altering it. This allowed me to reach out for as much help as I could possibly get. So, yes. In other words, “Sit back, take a deep breath, and accept your reality”. This I believe, too.

So for me, I have two seemingly diametrically opposed ideas which I hold on to for dear life. Will a new life-altering event create a new belief system? And how will I know that unless I hear another essay on NPR?

Searching For a Miracle

A few days ago, our neighbor generously shared a magazine with us which I have never seen before. I don’t remember the name, but you know — it’s one of those magazines about spirituality, unity and healing with lots of ads for Whole Foods and organic cotton yoga wear — well, you get the picture.

So here I am, the ideal target demographic: mid-fifties, college-educated, devoutly liberal or progressive – I forget which term is in right now — vegetarian, “airie-fairie” kind of a gal. I remember the 60s with a little bit of nostalgia and a little bit of a shudder. You could guess how I have voted since 1968, and you would be right (I would be left!).

So. I’m leafing through this magazine rather mindlessly, and I stumble across the gleaming countenance of a beautiful woman looking to be, perhaps, Indian, and perhaps of a certain age. She is radiant, dressed in a sari. Below her picture is her “bio”, which describes her as a “Divine Spiritual Luminary”and a “Great Mystic”. I have the same feeling I have whenever I see a picture of the Pope, Queen Elizabeth, or for that matter, Mick Jagger. I mean, I know these people are extraordinary. I know they each possess a unique insight informed by a unique vantage point on the world. And each of them holds a mystique, an aura of power that transcends the mundane. They are icons, and as such, they command a certain respect.

But at some point, I’m sorry to say, a little voice in my head says, “Is it real, or is it just pretend?”. And if it *is* pretend, is that such a bad thing? Or, is it as real as I allow it to be? Or should I be offended by pretense that basically, sells us snake oil? Or. What if it’s not snake oil? Is the believing itself the real magic?

You see, I am very, very confused. Part of me wants so badly to believe it all. I want to just swallow the Divine Light whole and let it illuminate my very being, curing me of everything from cancer to cataracts, from indigestion to indiscretion, from ignorance to inertia. (Okay, I’ll stop now). I think there is a secret, and that once I *divine* this secret, all will be well.

But then I say to myself: There is no secret. There is only the truth that is staring me in the face. There is only this moment where I am sitting in front of my computer, confessing my self-doubt before an imaginary audience (which, by the way, seems to be my calling in life, whether I am writing a song, composing a letter, or sobbing in front of a therapist. All one and the same. Me, confessing). There is only here an now. And isn’t that miracle enough?

Namaste.

Lies, Sex and Politics!

Let’s talk politics.

Yes, I know. Mom always said there were two topics of conversation to avoid: 1) religion; 2) politics. But I am a rebellious child, and so I am flagrantly violating Mom’ s rule. Some of you won’ t like what I have to say. That’ s fine. So far, this is still a democracy, and I still have the right to say annoying things. Sometimes I feel – especially in the middle of a presidential campaign – that all politics is just a matter of smoke and mirrors. I find that I have a lot of company in that belief. Lots of people decline to vote at all, saying, basically, “What’ s the difference? They’ re all the same!”. To them I say, “Yes, you’ re probably right, but to paraphrase George Orwell, “Some politicians are more (the same) than others”. Let’s review.

Do all politicians lie? Well, as the joke has it, like lawyers, only when their lips are moving. But seriously, folks. Is there a difference between lying and exaggerating? Is there a difference between lying and being mistaken? Is there a difference between manipulating the voters and honestly trying to answer their needs? The question of lying is at the heart of this discussion. It would be easy to tar all politicians with the same brush, but is that fair? And more importantly, is it accurate? And even more importantly, does that mean that all of us should just sit on our hands on November 4th?

Eight years ago when “Dubya” ascended to the throne, I was none too happy, but I so wanted to believe in our system of government that I tried to give him the benefit of a doubt. I tried hard to believe him when he said he was a “uniter and not a divider”. I tried hard to believe him when he said war was only the option of last resort. I tried hard to believe that, deep in his heart, he wanted only the best for all of the people he supposedly represented. But eight years is a long, long time. I have had to admit to myself, finally, that this country was duped. Lots and lots of intelligent people believed Bush’s campaign rhetoric. They thought they were getting a “compassionate conservative”. What could be better, after all? Instead, (IMHO), we got a dangerous, manipulative, war-mongering administration, stone deaf to the real issues of the majority of voters in this country. This “fiscally responsible” administration has left us deeper in debt as a nation than we have ever been before. We are engaged in two wars in the Middle East, with lots of saber-rattling and “tough talk” coming out of Washington. We no longer walk soflty and carry a big stick. It seems we just carry a big stick. The Supreme Court has been skewed far to the right politically, as you might expect from any administration whose core constituents are made up primarily of the the most zealous of evangelicals and “neo-cons”. There are other issues, I’m sure. This is just the list that immediately pops into my (admittedly left-leaning) mind.

And what of the preceding eight years with Bill Clinton at the helm? Well, we know for sure that there was a budget surplus at the end of those eight years. We know that apart from some very targeted air strikes in Bosnia, it was a peaceful eight years. We know that people in general were economically better off than they are now, the middle class in particular. And, yes. Bill Clinton cheated on his wife. His enemies in Washington did a little sleuthing and made him testify to Congress concerning the affair. And in an effort to maintain the dignity of the office and, I would assume, not to humiliate himself or his family, he lied about it clumsily. Stooping to an unbelievable low, the Republicans dug up a blue dress and caught Bill Clinton in a lie. For that lie, they gleefully impeached him. “High crimes and misdemeanors”? Really? Having a tawdry little affair with a willing young woman and then lying about it? How many presidents have been held accountable for such behavior, let alone impeached? Oh, that’ s right: None!

But here is the point. Whatever else you may believe about the last two administrations, and no matter what side you may take in terms of liberal versus conservative, they were certainly different.

So, now we have yet another chance to discern the difference between out-and-out lying and overstating the truth. We have a chance to guess who has our best interest at heart and who is in the back pocket of powerful lobbyists. In spite of all of the confusing claims and counter-claims, we must try to figure out who is the “good guy” and who is the “bad guy”, or at least, who is competent and who is simply ambitious. We must at least try to make a difference. Otherwise, what hope do we
have?

If you’ re still not registered to vote, NOW is the time. Maybe you don’ t agree with my views. Fine. Vote and prove me wrong! Just vote!

HAPPY BIRTH DAY, MOM

Today is my 58th birthday. Hard to believe I’ ve been on this earth all those years, and yet, through the magic of memory, I can instantly be back to my eight year-old self, sitting with my mother at the kitchen table in our house on Gettysburg Street. Mom was telling me about how I was born.

It was a cinematic story. I can picture it all in my mind’s eye, even if I don’ t actually remember the event itself.

I was born in the evening, I assume, since when my mother went into labor, it was afternoon. How do I know that? I know that because when I was ready to be born, my mother’ s ob-gyn, Dr. Cohen, was on the golf course. Mom had been taken to the Magee Hospital for Women, and apparently, it was going to be a very short labor. Literally, the nurse had to keep pushing me back to keep me from being born before the good doctor got there. “Wow, Mom!” I heard myself exclaim, “Why did they do that? Couldn’t someone else have delivered me?” Mom’ s reply shocked me: “No, honey. I had signed an agreement stating that only Dr. Cohen could deliver you, and he was off on the golf course somewhere and couldn’ t be found”. For years, I ruminated on this story, thinking I must have imagined it. I must have dreamt that Mom told me that. It’s too unbelievable.

So when I was already quite grown up, I asked my mother once again, “Mom? Did you really tell me that?” and she said, “I sure did!”. And still not believing it, thinking Mom must have been hallucinating, I asked my own ob-gyn, “Could this be true?” and he immediately said, “Sure. It happens all the time.” So, apart from thinking to myself, “How barbaric!” and “No wonder I’m such a neurotic woman”, I also thought, “Poor Mom!”. Imagine going through all the travails of labor, and then having the nurse keep literally pushing the baby back, over and over, until the doctor arrives! I think of the pain, the fear, the frustration – especially since my mother’s comment was, “Really, all anyone had to do was ‘catch’! You should have been a very easy birth! You were practically here when they admitted me to the hospital”.

So, this is the first birthday of my life when Mom is no longer with me, at least, physically. Every year on my birthday it has been my tradition to call her and to thank her from the bottom of my heart for giving birth to me, and then, for putting up with me – especially during my teenage years – and beyond. For raising me to be a decent human being, For her wisdom, For her humor. For her love. I woke up this morning wishing she were still here. But then I remembered her “visiting” me in a dream about a month after she passed away. She looked beautiful, strong, and whole. When I said, “Mom! You’re alive”, she threw her head back and laughed heartily, “Of course, I am, baby. I’m alive every time you think of me!”.

Well, I am certainly thinking of you today, Mom. And you’re as alive as I am! And thank you, for all of it.