I got the call on Wednesday. My precious baby brother, age 43, had been rushed from his local medical center to the large regional teaching hospital. He would have bypass surgery on Thursday, probably triple-bypass (it turned into quintuple bypass). That is, of course, if they could get his blood sugar stabilized.
It's Friday, surgery is over and my brother is still alive. He's not out of the woods yet, but we can see the forest edge from here. He's still in intensive care right now, so visiting times are limited and I've had plenty of time for reflection on family and the health care process. I'll share both below the fold.
My brother's an avid amateur photographer. Bear with me if I share a few of his photos along the way. It's been one of my ways of coping.
.
My brother's been having some pain and discomfort for a while, but he's stubborn and it's been hard getting him to the doctor. My dad was like that, too. Wednesday's call brought up traumatic memories of that other call - the one I got on October 22, 1982 - telling me that my adored father, age 53, was gone from a sudden heart attack. I miss him still. My Daddy:
.
.
The bad news has come in waves: the attack, the cardiac cath, the need for bypass surgery, then the news that my brother's blood sugar was out of control and that he probably had undiagnosed diabetes, which would affect his body's ability to cope with the surgery and heal. Then the three blockages multiplied and he ended up with quintuple bypass surgery. I was so afraid for him.
But today, while he's still struggling, he's well enough to be ticked off about being shaved: his chest and both legs in preparation for the bypass, more sensitive regions earlier for the cardiac catheterization, which goes through the groin. Let me tell you, he's in pain, but his dignity is seriously affronted. The fact that he made us laugh about it brought me nearly to tears. My baby brother is back. And I can think about other things...like how this process went, and how it could have been so different for millions of Americans.
More below, but first, a couple more of his photos:
.
.
.
So here I sit in the intensive care waiting area, giving thanks for the fact that I still have my brother, and pondering how it could have been different.
Here's the thing: at no time in this process has anyone asked us or discussed with us how this expensive care will be paid for. No decision we've made on my brother's care has been informed by finances. It hasn't crossed our mind, because it hasn't had to. My brother, a state university employee, has excellent insurance. This entire episode will probably cost him less than $1000.
How would this have played out for millions of uninsured Americans? What would they have done? How would they have made the already difficult decisions we are making for my brother, knowing that in addition to his health issues they were condemning him to bankruptcy or a crushing burden of debt?
And what about follow-up care. How would my brother make decisions about the many follow-up appointments and medications he will need, had he no insurance. Would he be forced to sacrifice his health for financial considerations? And how can we, as a people, in good conscience allow these considerations to determine matters of life and death?
I have my brother. And he probably has a future ahead of him. I am thankful that bankruptcy doesn't seem a likely part of it. I am saddened and honestly angry that in this great nation, I even need to think that thought.
A few more pictures. I won't be around much if there are commenters. My apologies, but life beckons...blessings to you.
.