Perchance to Dream

It’s Friday night and Preston’s cancer is back. You don’t know this yet – we’re in that fun stage of things where we know, and the doctors know, but no one really wants to say it out loud because “there’s still a chance…”

Sure. But come on. You’re monitoring him every few months. And so when the exact thing you’ve been looking for shows up…

It’s back.

The most maddening thing about it right now is that I had let my guard down. I had begun to make plans. To daydream. To believe that we were’t “the cancer family” anymore. That we should probably ask the church to take us off the prayer list. That we could think about what vacation we would want to go on for our 10th anniversary.

Our 8th was Tuesday. We didn’t celebrate with much fanfare and it was lovely. Just barbeque chicken at home with Conor. And even though I knew he had scans coming up in a couple of days, I don’t think I gave any credibility to the very fleeting thought that it could be back.

Cancer families are’t allowed to daydream. It’s just not a luxury we get to have. I’ve gotten pretty good at living in the moment, and I think we could all stand to be a bit better at it. But, let’s face it, that’s just our reality.

And there is something so tragic about having that taken away. Humans, in general, are wonderful at planning. It’s said that people get more enjoyment about looking forward to the vacation than the actual vacation itself. We daydream when we’re bored or when we need a break from the day to day. We look forward to the next holiday or the next time we see each other. We grasp on to the fleeting moments of childhood while still wishing for this phase they’re going through to hurry on up…

The first time, it was not letting myself look ahead that became both my most important armor and darkest place. Watching the person you love most in the world suffer terribly for extended periods of time is devastating. So is sleeping in the guest bedroom (it’s always cold in there) putting on a brave face when it becomes your job to hold their discomfort. (side note: If I can hold it together, you can, too. And please don’t hug me because you’re upset. But I still love you, it’s cool.)

But being forced to live in the moment, feels rather different than making that choice.

Happy holidays indeed.

Friends! Preston has been NED (NO Evidence of Disease) for 6 months. SIX WHOLE MONTHS. He had scans last week and an appointment with Dr. Moore this morning. The nurse actually leaked the report in the online portal to us on Friday – we just didn’t want to jinx anything by saying it out loud.

They will do scans every 6 months from here on out with blood work every 3 months. His numbers look perfect – Dr. Moore feels very good about his progress. He’ll get a colonoscopy every so often, but because there were no genetic indicators of anything in particular, he’ll only need them every few years.

I cannot possibly express the relief it is to get this information heading into the holidays. As I’ve said many times before, I can never fully relax knowing that recurrence is always a possibility. But, to know that we don’t need to have “scanxiety” for at 6 months is the best Christmas gift I could have asked for.

November has been a busy and fun month for us. Preston and I escaped to Nashville to spend a few days together. We haven’t taken such a trip since before Conor was born. We went to museums, listened to music, saw the Opry at the Ryman, went to a craft fair, hung out with our friend Mike and ate and ate and ate. 🙂 We had a fantastic time!

For Thanksgiving, we will stay in Raleigh. Last year, we had to out of necessity, but this year, it’s nice to just be home and have family visit. (Though, that reminds me that I need to clean up the house a bit.)

Thanks to all of you and a very Happy Thanksgiving to you all.

On Re-entry.

Fall seems strange. And no, I don’t just mean the weather. (Though I did buy a wool, tartan cape *with a toggle!* to try to will fall into being. It didn’t work.)

It has been not quite a year since Preston’s official diagnosis. Which was, technically, November 1st. But October last year was such a roller coaster.

So many things are conjuring up some scary memories.

  • I remember remarking to my mother-in-law at the state fair – “I just wish we knew. That way, they can help him feel better.” At that point, cancer was but a remote and unlikely scenario.
  • My beloved grandmother passed away the same week we found out that cancer was actually fairly likely. We had 16 people over to our house for dinner the night she died and it was about 15 minutes after we got that phone call. My mom knew, but somehow, I held it together. I think about the anniversary of her death and realize I never really had the head space to mourn.
  • Hurricane Matthew happened then, too – my car was smushed by a branch and didn’t ever get fully repaired – we used some of the money to help pay medical bills. My dad did a pretty sweet super glue repair on the spoiler.
  • My birthday SUCKED. We “found out” on a Friday afternoon. P had called me earlier and told me to take the afternoon off so we could go antiquing to celebrate my birthday. Between that call and when I got home, the doctor had called with the news.

Fall is normally my favorite time of year. But last year it just got lost in the shuffle. Sometimes it still doesn’t quite feel like it was my life I was living.

Routine feels strange, but also wonderful. Things like cooking dinner and seeing friends, and not missing large chunks of work, and Preston working again… it is all awesome. And yet, we still feel not quite whole. I think I’ll always be waiting for the other shoe to drop – I got so used to being in crisis, my brain won’t quite let me relax. People say, “You must feel so relieved!” and I do – I really do – but I also toggle between that and “OHGODITCOULDSTARTAGAINTOMORROW” and I just can’t get past it.

We’ve made some good changes. We’re trying very hard to limit processed foods and eat more fruits and veggies. I have subscribed to The Produce Box and I love love love it.  (They do not pay me to say that. I just genuinely love it.) They deliver it once a week and I get 90% of my groceries that way.

We’ve started making some of our own things, too – Preston has been making bread once a week. I’ve learned to make cheese (it is actually really easy.) Conor and I got a batch of “ugly” apples from produce box, and we made some amazing apple sauce. I even make my own spice blends and sauces much more frequently than I used to. I like being able to control things like sugar, added sodium, preservatives, etc. It makes me feel like *something* is in my control.

And, though we have no immediate plans to go off grid, the healthcare kerfluffle really stresses me out, and having to go ex-pat or move to a more progressive state is actually something we’ve had to think about. It makes me so anxious – I’m not going to get into it because I don’t need to have high blood pressure on top of everything else.

But do know this – what Trump is doing with his executive orders is ACTIVELY SABOTAGING healthcare. It’s not “fixing” anything. You think it’s bad now? You just wait, friends. He is taking out things that were holding the marketplace somewhat stable. You take those subsidies and mandates out and the whole thing topples like a house of cards. Because insurances are businesses, they will raise rates because capitalism and they can. Do you think they keep people with pre-existing conditions on their roles out of the goodness of their heart?

I said I wasn’t going to talk about it. But UGH.

Anyways.

Preston’s new job is going well. He loves working for Hudson Mann – they are supportive and lovely and I’m not just saying that because it’s family. I don’t roll with the “everything happens for a reason” concept, and really don’t subscribe to the whole “God’s plan” thing, but good gracious I’m glad he didn’t have to go straight from cancer treatment to the AICPA…. (It’s possible that I still make obscene gestures toward the building when I pass it on I-40… sorry other cars that don’t understand that context.)

P’s job, my continued supportive environment at work, and C being 4 1/2 (and thereby a fairly reasonable creature) we’ve been able to have some really good family time through the summer and early fall. Beach trips, time with family and friends, time to just play and be and breathe.

People keep asking me, “how are you celebrating?” The answer is pretty boring:

  • I cook dinner most nights (y’all I jumped on the Instant Pot train and I AM A FAN.)
  • We don’t watch TV in the mornings so much anymore so C gets to spend more time playing and talking with us
  • We save more money
  • We bought a really nice mattress (actually, we got some money back from the hospital and it was this bizarre and unexpected windfall that helped pay off credit cards and finance the mattress. Ok, maybe things do happen for a reason…)
  • I kept a garden alive through the last part of the summer and have replanted for fall. HUZZAH.
  • I’ve been taking a hip hop class and, though I look ridiculous, it gives me LIFE. #tapforever but this is a fun new outlet!

I also find that I’m spending a lot of time talking with people about our privilege and how much of an influence that has had on P’s treatment and how our family fared overall in this ordeal. I’ve talked about it before here, and I’m sure I will again. We were certainly lucky, but we were also incredibly fortunate.  I’d like to spend some more time articulating the difference between the two (you know, between the batches of cheese and applesauce.)

The world seems a little scary right now. Fires, hurricanes, earthquakes, politics, divisiveness, anger, racism, shootings, hate. I wish my brain had the capacity to fully comprehend what was going on and how we got to be this way. I crave that understanding. I want to engage and help people learn and understand what privilege is and how it has impacted my family. I want everyone to be more kind. I want internet trolls to disappear. I don’t believe they represent most people! I actually think that “most people” aren’t represented in popular culture, the media, or government.

How do we reclaim that space? Do we have harder conversations at family gatherings? Do we give more grace or fight back? Can we get outside of our bubble long enough to make a change? How can I ensure that my child grows up understanding that “difference” is possibly the most fundamental and interesting thing about being on the planet?

There I go again, offering lots of meandering thoughts with little in the way of action or substance.

So, here’s what I’m going to do.

  1. I’m going to make sure Conor has exposure to cultures and people whose backgrounds are different than his.
  2. I’m going to go to one event between now and the new year that is not in my bubble. (that is not a high bar) I will learn something new.
  3. I’ll continue to learn how to articulate white privilege and talk about it more openly with friends and family. (be forewarned)*  **
  4. I’m going to learn how to can things because we’re feeling pretty well positioned for the apocalypse but I feel that skill could come in handy.

 

Anyways. That’s the latest with us.

 

*pats self on back thinking those goals are excellent and then realizes there is so much more to be done.

**decides to give herself some grace because you’ve got to start somewhere!

 

 

 

 

NED.

Friends. We are so happy. Preston’s scans came back today and he is officially NED – “No Evidence of Disease.”

I don’t think either of us were really prepared for the good news – I think we’ve done a miraculous job coping and building walls to prepare ourselves for challenging times that we were braced for the worst.

It is, in fact, not the worst, but rather the best possible outcome from all of this.

Just think – not even a year ago we were here with a devastating diagnosis – you all organized meals for us, and helped pay our bills, and hugged us when we needed it, and prayed all of the time.

And it worked.

We are here, scarred but healed, and breathing a heavy sigh of relief.

Dr. Moore is taking the conservative approach – he will have scans every three months for the time being. But for now we can rest and reflect and find our rhythm again.

I’d also like to share that this has been a wonderful month on the employment front for Preston. He accepted a position at Hudson Mann working to help bring a big project they have started across the finish line. He’s delighted to be working with my cousin Allen and is energized and glad to use his brain for something other than “getting better.”

The last 11 months sucked – but we are so incredibly blessed to be where we are today. Thanks to all of you. As I’ve said before, we’ll be paying it forward for a long time.

This has been a rough week for our country – some days it feels like everyone out there is angry and hateful.

But, friends, that’s just not the case. There is so much love. People are good. Most people are so very lovely.

But something I am going to try to do is love just a little bit more. We all should. Donate more. Hug more. Smile more. Love more.

One of my favorite songs is by Darrell Scott (my favorite songwriter of all time) and Tim O’Brien (a close second.) I leave you with these lyrics as they have brought me some measure of comfort as we watch the world churn around us. I know it’s about a couple, but I think it’s much bigger than that.

I’m so close to you baby but I’m so far away
There’s a silence between us
And there’s so much to say

You’re my strength, you’re my weakness
You’re my faith, you’re my doubt
We gotta meet in the middle
To work this thing out

More love, I can hear our hearts cryin’
More love, I know that’s all we need
More love to flow in between us
To take us and hold us and lift us above
If there’s ever an answer it’s more love

We’re afraid to be idle so we fill up the days
We run on a treadmill
Keep slavin’ away

Until there’s no time for talkin’
About troubles in mind
And the doors are all closed
Between your heart and mine

More love, I can hear our hearts cryin’
More love, I know that’s all we need
More love to flow in between us
To take us and hold us and lift us above
If there’s ever an answer it’s more love

Just look out around you, people fightin’ their wars
They think they’ll be happy
When they settle their scores

Let’s lay down the weapons
That hold us apart
Be still for just a minute
Try to open our hearts

More love, I can hear our hearts cryin’
More love, I know that’s all we need
More love to flow in between us
To take us and hold us and lift us above
If there’s ever an answer it’s more love

So. Friends. Thank you. You have loved us beyond measure. We are grateful.

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Dear Senators Burr and Tillis,

My husband is 31 years old. Last fall, he was diagnosed with stage 4 colon cancer. He has no genetic predisposition to the disease. Nearly every doctor we have encountered has said, “Wow! You are perfectly healthy!”

You know, except for that whole “cancer” thing.

The healthcare bill that your senate colleagues are working on behind closed doors is terrifying to me. My husband has been able to survive his cancer thus far due to the superb care he has received from Rex Hospital in Raleigh and at UNC. His insurance has covered nearly a million dollars in treatments that have saved his life. Our friends and family have bent over backward to help and provided thousands of dollars in financial assistance.

Because, after his FMLA ran out, my husband was fired from his position as a program manager/CPA at the American Institute of CPAs (AICPA.) They were well within their legal rights, though one could make a strong case that the decision was of questionable morality.  

The firing left him without a job, but more importantly, it left him in insurance limbo. Our family is able to help to cover the $700/month COBRA payments. There is a distinct element of privilege that has allowed us to come this far.

But think, for a moment, what it would be like if we were unable to afford the COBRA payments or to have access to insurance in a private market? Preston and I are both contributing and tax-paying members of the state you represent. I can assure you – despite our considerable privilege, my steady income, and supportive friends and family – without insurance coverage, we would be bankrupt in about 3 months.

That’s all it would take. We would lose our house. Cars. Struggle to pay for food for our 4-year-old. We couldn’t pay for the treatments that would keep my husband alive.

He would die. Do you understand? Without treatment, my kind, thoughtful, strong, brilliant husband would die.

And this is the reality for many of the people in your home state. Your neighbors. Friends. And while your station as white, middle-class men would likely afford your circles of influence some grace in this area, no one would be immune from an unexpected diagnosis, heartless employer, or life-changing accident.

If you, in good conscience, can look me in the eyes and tell me that my husband will not have to go bankrupt or die because of your healthcare bill, then I will gladly trudge forward with hope and faith.

That said, I don’t think you can do that. Because it is likely that you will sign a bill that has not had time to be fully understood. You will put your name on to something the implications of which are unknown at best, devastating at worst.

I understand that you hate the Affordable Care Act. And I agree that it needs to be fixed.

But please, fix it. Be the thoughtful leaders driven by your love of people and your care for your friends and neighbors. Take the time to help your colleagues understand that no one is to benefit from a knee jerk reaction. That one sixth of our economy should not depend on a single-sided argument without fully understanding – and communicating – the results of your actions.

You may feel as though you don’t represent me. Admittedly, I didn’t vote for you. But please remember, you don’t represent only the people who voted you in to office or who contributed to your campaign. You represent my family to one of the strongest bodies of governance in the entire world.

When you head to church on Sunday, or find yourself in a moment of reflection, or as you are enjoying a meal with good friends or family, please take a moment to think critically about health care. I would offer the following as a meditative guide:

Do you believe healthcare to be a right?

Alternatively, do you believe that one must have a certain level of privilege or money to be able to stay alive?

Is it simply the way of the world that those without money should die in larger numbers than wealthy individuals?

Does “health” include more than just treating illness, or is there a certain amount of prevention involved?

Who are the main influencers in your decision-making process regarding health care – your faith? Family? Insurance corporations? Aids? Research?

My sincere thanks if you made it all the way through this letter. I will leave you with this – a compelling and thoughtful piece of scripture that makes a call to the “haves” of the world.  I believe this adage to apply not only to individuals as the Lord commands, but also to those who have the means to improve the lives of many through the federal, state, or local government. I have made my career in nonprofits and philanthropy and would argue that though there are many that choose not to shut out the poor, many more are focused on individualism.

“If among you, one of your brothers should become poor, in any of your towns within your land that the Lord your God is giving you, you shall not harden your heart or shut your hand against your poor brother, but you shall open your hand to him and lend him sufficient for his need, whatever it may be. Take care lest there be an unworthy thought in your heart and you say, ‘The seventh year, the year of release is near,’ and your eye look grudgingly on your poor brother, and you give him nothing, and he cry to the Lord against you, and you be guilty of sin. You shall give to him freely, and your heart shall not be grudging when you give to him, because for this the Lord your God will bless you in all your work and in all that you undertake. For there will never cease to be poor in the land. Therefore I command you, ‘You shall open wide your hand to your brother, to the needy and to the poor, in your land.’”

And, while I believe strongly that people are basically good – they donate, they share, they help – the need is simply far greater than those generous souls can satiate.

You have the means, and an incredible opportunity, to save lives. Please think carefully as you make this decision, and keep those less fortunate than yourselves firmly in your hearts.

With respect,

Sarah Mann Willcox

It’s possible my husband is joining the X-Men.

Y’all. The last couple of weeks have been SO BORING.*

Which is, well, AWESOME.

This has been our first 3 week stretch without a procedure or chemo since September. P had a quick check up with Dr. Parsons and a pre-surgical appointment at UNC, but other than that, we’ve just been going about our routines. Family dinner. Trips to Marbles Kids Museum. Street festival downtown. Low key hangs with friends. We even went to dinner and a show at DPAC last night.

Preston went on a 6-mile hike the week after his last lung surgery. It has become clear to me that he is a mutant.

Wolverine-Angry

Or perhaps a smartass, cancer-surviving super hero. (though more like Ryan Reynolds before all that creepy scarring. Also, his hair has gotten so much thicker!)

Deadpool

Now, of course, after this weekend, it’s 3-5 days at UNC for a liver surgery, but these last few days have been lovely. Preston has felt good enough to help around the house and we’re nearly to “Laundry Zero.” I even had time to work outside in the yard some on Saturday while the boys napped.

I’m apprehensive about re-entry into the world. I fear that the waiting between tests and blood work will be stressful, but I keep reminding myself that it is SO MUCH BETTER than doctors appointments, surgeries and especially chemo.

I have renewed a focus on my own health after being so focused on P’s for the last 9 months. As a bit of an emotional eater** I have been making excuses for lots of yummy let totally unsatisfying treats. I’m hoping to find some more balance, and P is 100% supportive. He even helped me prep my lunches for the week which was a huge help.

An added bonus, eating a healthy diet is a critical success factor in avoiding recurrence of colon cancer.

I try not to get wrapped up in my weight, but I do want to be able to run and play and hike and tap and that is all harder if you’re not at least a little bit conscious of your weight. Accepting your body and weight and all that is fantastic – I’m a fan of radical self-acceptance! – but that really doesn’t work if you can’t physically do the things you want to do.

As always, thanks for your support during the hectic times and we look forward to being able to spend more time with everyone as soon as we’re through this last surgery!

 

 

 

*I did get strep throat in there somewhere, and Conor tested positive but had no symptoms, but even that felt mundane.

** A bit? #understatement #let’sbereal,girl.

Lungs are clear!

And with that, Preston no longer has visible cancer in his lungs – hooray!

Dr. Parsons, pearl-loving badass, removed a fairly small (like, maybe a centimeter) cancerous lesion from the left lung yesterday. She only needed to make two very small incisions and got clear margins. Because such a small piece of lung was removed, the chest tube didn’t have to be so high, and Preston has mutant-like healing ability, he is doing very well.

It’s something else to see him joking with the staff and being his usual happy self while still in the hospital. Y’all, he is so strong.

Resized_20170510_115335.jpeg He should be leaving the hospital tomorrow and will have a nice long break before tackling the liver lesion on May 30th. I wouldn’t be shocked if they actually move that one up – we’re all eager to get past the surgical stage.

As of now, he shouldn’t have to do “mop up” chemo – which is good, because P said he would rather have surgery than have chemo. Which should tell you a lot about chemo.

Thanks for your dinners, well wishes, visits, cards, texts, messages – all of it. Oh, and thanks for  rocking your pearls yesterday! Dr. Parsons thought the whole thing was HILARIOUS but was also really really touched by the gesture. She said today that “will go down in Parsons Surgical History.” 🙂

 

IMG_20170509_073222_308.jpg

Phew.

Oh, friends – what an exhausting week it has been. I’m sorry that I haven’t been quite so good at keeping the blog up to date. Some days it is hard just to get the laptop out of the bag!

I hope you’ve been following along on Facebook or Instagram (feel free to send an invite to me if you haven’t already!) and know by now that Preston’s surgery went very well. Much better, in fact, than expected. They only had to do a “wedge resection” – that means they didn’t have to remove the lower two lobes of his lungs. They got “clear margins” meaning the lesions are completely out of there.

Recovery has been tricky, but y’all, my husband is such a trooper. I know he’s uncomfortable, but he powers through and doesn’t want to worry anyone. He’s nearly off his pain medication, and has been much more his cheery self. He said chemo was worse – which should tell you a lot about how hard that process was. Lung surgery is no piece of cake!

The care team at Rex is amazing. I swear, there are dozens of brilliant people working to make sure he gets better. Dr. Alden Parsons (and her affinity for pearls in the operating room), is my new favorite. She and the others are saving Preston’s life – I guess it makes sense that I would adore them a bit.

We have just a few more precious days to breathe before we literally do it all over again. The left lung is supposed to be much easier, and because it is less invasive, it should be an easier recovery. Ditto for the Liver, which has now been moved to May 30th. (see, nothing stays the same for long.)

I hope you know that we feel the love – your prayers, meals, support, texts – they make a difference. Thank you.

 

 

New and Improved Surgical Plan

Ok. If I have learned ANYTHING during this process, it is that you can never, ever trust the first plan the doctors tell you. Because, they will change their minds.

Which is totally fine – we trust them completely – but sheesh – it makes planning and preparing very difficult.

When last we updated, the plan was to finish chemo, take a leisurely month to recover, then start with the liver surgery. Two weeks later, lung #1. Two weeks after that, lung #2.

NOPE.

Chemo – April 17

Chemo pump removal – April 19

Scans probably April 20

Thoracic surgery consult – April 21

Surgery #1 (removing 2/3 of right lung) – April 25

Hepatic surgery consult – May 5

Surgery #2 (removing a piece of the other lung) – May 9

Wedding Anniversary – May 15 (7 years! My gift is NO CANCER IN MY HUSBAND which makes it better than jewelry.)

Surgery #3 (liver surgery) – May 16 (you know, the one that was supposed to be first.)

Then… well who knows. Presumably, he’ll be “NED” (no evidence of disease.) !!!!!

Again.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

They are doing surgery sooner and with less recovery time because they think he can handle it. It’s a good thing, because it means the cancer will not have had a chance to regrow after his last treatment.

I don’t know about maintenance chemo or any of that, but I do know that once it’s all out, the outlook looks much, much brighter.

We’ll be taking a minute to breathe this weekend, then it’s off to the races! If you’re on our “meal train” list from my sister, she’ll probably be sending out some more info next week. Definitely going to need to call in the troops for this next insaneo month.

Love and thanks to all of you!

wedding 2
PS – Here are a couple of wedding pictures. Because 7 years! No itching here.

Wedding

The importance of “i-dont-give-a-damn-what-you-call-it” care.

I’ve always been interested in political science. If I had watched the West Wing sooner than a few years ago, I’m certain that I would have landed in the political arena. Perhaps a chief of staff to some Warren-esque senator. Maybe an appointee or staffer on the governor’s staff. I think I would have liked to help to shape policy and to understand electorates. It fascinates me. Government is as complex as it is focused. Complicated as it is fickle. It is, all at once, efficient and irreparably broken.

There is much to study these days. I was recently at a political science lecture and the speaker talked about how few moderates truly exist in the world. While there are more “independents” than ever, people vote as predictably within that block as they do when they have taken a side. (Millennials, it turns out, hate labels. I agree with this seeing as I hate the term “Millennial”)

We’ve all taken sides. And in some cases (maybe a lot?) I don’t think we’ve made those decisions for ourselves. I think someone else has made those choices for us.

 

All that’s to say that lately, despite my political leanings and diverse interest areas, I’ve become a single-issue voter.

The thing that keeps me up at night is healthcare. (I know, duh, right?)

But. If the republicans take away the pre-existing conditions clause, making it virtually impossible for my husband to continue to fight his cancer, it will be very, very hard to look anyone who voted for them in the eye.

Let me be clear. We have been the recipients of a lot of financial support from our very generous family. We’re doing OK. Because he can keep COBRA for 18 months (oh, BTW, it’s $700/month for that. It would have been $1,400 if I hadn’t been able to put Conor on mine. For reference – that is unsustainable without the generous help of others) Preston is insured for the forseeable future. And I’m sure if he lost his insurance, our family would help then, too.

But, for perspective.

He has already met what used to be considered a “lifetime maximum.”

One of his chemo drugs (ONE! He takes 6 every time!) costs $18,000 for each dose.

The CT scans he will have every six months for several years costs $7,500.

If he ever loses insurance coverage – if, as suggested by the republican legislature – they remove the requirement to cover “preexisting conditions,” – we would be bankrupt in about 3 months. Our immediate family would not be far behind us.

I get it. Insurance premiums are the pits. And they’re getting higher (albeit, not quite as fast as they were before the ACA was passed). It is kind of annoying to think that healthy people are getting the proverbial short end of the stick.

Men in seats of power have been saying things like, “Why should men cover maternity care?” (I don’t know, maybe because you had to get, like, born?)

I read an opinion piece on Fox News. I do that a lot – get lost in the thinking on the other side. It helps me to understand it. I know that all of these people aren’t just assholes – so what’s driving the decision making?

Well this guy, Andrew Napolitano, says this:

” … under the Constitution, health care is not a right; it is a good — like an education or a gym membership. You work hard, you decide what goods to purchase. If government gives you the good, that does not magically transform it into a right.”

I’m no constitutional scholar, so I’m inclined to agree with him here. I don’t think that they spell out in there that the Federal Government should mandate health insurance coverage.

Of course, health care looked a bit different. For example:

“When the idea of germs causing disease was first introduced in Europe in the second half of the nineteenth century, especially with the work of Pasteur and Koch, American doctors vigorously denied such a notion. Science did not apply to American medicine. Americans, they insisted, were an exceptional people.” – See more at: http://historynewsnetwork.org/article/149661#sthash.D1JTcANS.dpuf

So. That’s cute. Maybe the framers of the constitution had a slightly different idea about, you know, medicine.

Health insurance didn’t come around until the 1930s, and at first, was up to individuals. The federal government created tax policies to help avoid post-war inflation thus creating the tax deduction that led to employer-based healthcare.

By the time anybody figured out this was insane, the health insurance industry was already dug in. By the mid-1960s, this system was essentially universal.

It worked relatively well while costs remained low and employees stayed with the same company for their entire career.

But, what if, I don’t know, for example, you get fired from your job because you have cancer? How do you pay for insurance then? The system doesn’t think that way. When it came around, it wasn’t built for that eventuality.

Oh yeah, this too – life expectancy today is somewhere around 78 years. Between 1750 and 1800 it was half that. (Turns out when you start believing in science, you live longer.)

So here’s what I’m saying. Healthcare is a RIGHT. It is not, as Mr. Napolitano suggests, a GOOD. There are very, very few Americans that could withstand a catastrophic diagnosis like stage 4 colon cancer without insurance. Hell, even firmly in the middle class with insurance and a lot of help from our family and friends, it’s tough for us.

But look. I get it. Someone told you that “Obamacare” was to blame for all of the problems and higher bills so we need to repeal it!

Hold the individual responsible!

Ok, fine. So if Preston has a recurrence of cancer, we’d be able to pay for his treatment for about 3 months. (But we’re going to increase the Health Saving Account allowance!) Great. So we’ll get what amounts to a 30% discount on $1 million/year treatment. Thanks, Paul!

But I don’t like paying for someone else!

I don’t think that’s true. I believe that Americans – conservative or liberal – do care about helping others. We’re not arguing whether or not someone should receive life-saving medical care, but rather who should be responsible for it. Have I convinced you yet that the flaw in that concept is that almost no one would actually be able to do that?

I’ve rambled on enough. We’ve got some serious problems with healthcare in our country. Capitalism has fueled some of the great advances in the field. The drugs that are saving Preston’s life made someone millions and millions of dollars. But they made the drug, and they may not have done that if they weren’t going to make those millions.

All I’m saying is that before you applaud any changes in the healthcare law, before you give a big ‘ol high five to Mike Pence for trying to negotiate a deal, think for a minute about whether or not you believe in that deal because it will make all of our lives better, or because someone else told you it would.