One evening about two weeks ago, I experienced firsthand the meaning of living without healthcare. My ailing husband was hospitalized in one of our local hospitals. Because he has renal failure, thank God, he is covered by Medicare.
But for my 12-year-old son and me, we live with the fear of not getting medical care. In our hometown, we have no family, but we have some good friends. With my husband cooped up in the hospital fighting for his life, one of those wonderful friends had prepared dinner for my son and me that night.
I had been running like a chicken with its head cut off. Throughout the week, I had been going from the hospital to pick up my son from football practice, taking him back to the hospital for a brief moment to see his dad, and back home to help him with homework, if he had any. And to top it off, I had my own school work. I am working on getting my master’s in social work at our local university.
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