Monday, August 28, 2017

Is there a doctor in the house?

I'm fine.

There's no need to get worried.

Or, for those of you who find me insufferable and eagerly await my demise, there's no need to get excited.

This picture is from a few years ago, when the family and I went to Great Britain and France for a little vacation. Now, I've told this story before, but today I'm going to put it through a different filter. One that is germane to our national politic -- healthcare.

I'm not going to get all wonky on this issue, because quite frankly, I'm just not that well informed. And unlike some of the folks who are fond of waving flags and shouting USA, USA, I'm honest enough to make that admission before running off at the mouth in a fit of verbal diarrhea.

And make no mistake that's what it is.

The big knock I hear on government provided healthcare is that the whole notion is somehow un-American. That it stands in contrast to our hyped-up sense of rugged individualism. That it de-incentivizes hard work. And picking one up by their own bootstraps. That healthcare will just become another entitlement abused by lazy masses of moochers.

This simply defies all manner of logic.

"Hey I don't want to look for a job today. Oh I know, let's take the kids to the doctor and hope they have some kind hepatitis so we can score some antibiotics and gauze pads and nasal draining tubes."

That's just not how it works.

I'll tell you how government provided healthcare (in the UK) worked from me.

After a grueling 12 hour flight and intermittent fits of bronchitis, I arrived in London in sad shape. The next morning my wife insisted we visit the hospital across the street from the hotel. We walked in, signed some papers, and showed my passport. In minutes, not hours or days as Sean Hannity or Mitchy McConnell might have you believe, I was attended to by a doctor.

Not just one doctor, a team.

They quickly determined that because of the long flight, my blood oxygen levels had sunk to a very dangerous level. They hooked me up to several machines, complements of the Great British people, and monitored my progress until I was fully oxygenated.

I left the hospital with an armful of medicines and an open invitation to return to the hospital for admittance if need be, should any complications arise. Again, this was all on the dime, or the shilling, of Tommy Teacups and Betty Bag of Crumpets.

For the life of me I don't know why the British or the French or the Swedes or the Germans or the Russians or the Croats or the Italians or the Swiss or the Spanish or the Irish or the Serbs or the Greeks or the Israelis or the Chinese, should have free healthcare, but we should not.

Maybe Precedent Shitgibbon could spend less time on the links and more time putting that very big brain of his and those legendary deal making skills to better use.

Or, for that matter, to any use.

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