The National Health Service

Among the many things that England does well, key are: roast potatoes in the fat of a chicken that cooks efficiently beside it; well-mannered and great (in the sense that Pride and Prejudice and ancient, Grecian statues are great) sideburns that reach out like the many-splendid tentacles of many glorious gray squid from the side of rosy old men's faces; and the National Health Service.

After World War II, with a bankrupt country still rationing food until 1952, somehow England recognizes that health care is a basic human right and starts the National Health Service in 1948. Strange that American didn't do something like this at that juncture, with $26 billion worth of new factories switching from tanks to Frigidaires, $140 billion in savings and unspent war bonds, no bomb damage, and practically no competition (thanks to Bill Bryson's latest book, The Life and Times of the Thunderbolt Kid for this information). It made sense, though: with the workforce pyramid-shaped, with a large group of blue collars at the bottom with a small percentage of white collars on the top, whereas now, in the age of American insurance companies' notorious loopholes and denial based on pre-existing conditions, the pyramid is curiously balanced on a small critical mass of blue collars, the larger portion of us doing something more white collar.

This is all well and good, but a key difference is that England seized the opportunity to provide access to health care for its citizens while everyone was down and everyone knew what down looked like. There were less fears of socialism not just because it's a European country, but because almost everyone was hurting, and the NHS provided access to a basic human right, though one could pay more to get faster, privatized care.

Now I grew up with good health care, but I won't have it when I get back. Even when I do get it, like my last policy with Blue Cross, Blue Shield, they will probably refuse to cover if anything happens to my jaw, which was operated on during the winter of 2007/2008. Meanwhile, Ryan can't much afford it and has had to pay his last few injuries out of pocket, we have a friend dealing with cancer who lived faithfully and ate healthfully all his life, we know a single mother with kids who will be in dire straights if she gets hurt (for she can't afford care for herself after paying for her kids), and this issue takes on particular prominence as we sit with Val and Trevor, our hosts for this week, as their American son-in-law in North Carolina struggles to pay the rest of his $500,000 bill after the girl who hit him on his bike's insurance will only cover $30,000 dollars max, and he had been in the market for new insurance.

All that to say, the news we get from the States regarding health care is discouraging. The English certainly don't understand our debate (they, after all, have the NHS, and it is matter of fact: "Of course one should have access to decent health care"), and I figure churches would provide this service--as they do soup kitchens and other services for the dispossessed--if they only had the capital to do so. It's ironic to both of us that the U.S., with the best health care in the world, is still strapping to meet the health care needs of millions of its citizens due to fearmongering and nervousness about giving up part of our income that we may use to send our kids to college or, more likely, buy another TV, pay for cable, or in general purchase meaningless shit; and as I say that I point a strong accusatory finger back at myself, the pack rat who buys books and trinkets he doesn't read and holds onto them with the sentiment of Imelda Marcos. How many cars, TV sets, and trinkets do we need? Do we have to live in the suburbs where we drive everywhere?

Of course, as with any institutions, there are problems with the NHS, and, honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if another country did health care better. But it's sort of a sacrament here: knowing that, whatever happens, one is covered. One may have to wait a spell, but such is the case with our emergency rooms anyway, and we're always looking for ways to cut that wait down. Moreover, I won't miss a tenth of my income (in England, it's 11%) if I know it keeps me from paying exorbitant medical bills.

As it is now, I feel like we Americans are pioneers, in the sense that we live away from civilization. We are goodhearted and, as Val and Trevor are seeing with their son-in-law, people are looking out for him, strangers are donating money, and encouraging them; but when the injury strikes, or the disease invades, we uninsured are stuck on our own on a great plain, able to get emergency care, but saddled with the debts of that hospital visit for the rest of our lives. Now, I am a moderate, and do not believe in straight-ticket voting--actually, I believe such voting is, honestly, an insult to our intelligence, because both parties (and the other, smaller ones) all have something valid to say. Yet the vast opposition to this reform by most of the Republican party brings to my mind echoes of rebuilding New Orleans during Bush's presidency, wherein the rich, more white neighborhoods were repaired and are thriving, and yet the 9th Ward still lays in ruins to this day (at least it did when I was there in March of last year) because they don't have the money or political power that the more white parts of the city do. While there are some incredible Republican lawmakers, I feel this opposition is like sitting in a tower, insured and out-of-touch, while us commoners toil below, our children's futures on the line every time we cross the street.