Ironically, as knuckleheads better suited to an avocation of talk-radio callers than legislators twiddle their thumbs and whittle at every viable possibility for public healthcare… my dearest friend is facing an expensive surgery with no insurance.
My son let his wisdom teeth go so long untended they led to other painful, expensive problems. And while I cross my fingers and my beloveds brainstorm, fret and procrastinate about how to solve their physical-financial dilemmas… it makes me think.
It makes me think of the friends I’ve lost, including those who had insurance which simply refused to pay… like the poet Martha Cortout.
She was too fat her insurance co. decided to qualify for the life-saving surgery.
Martha, my beloved wordsmith, my friend. The world is smaller without you.
G. L. Morrison 