Yesterday, Another Pivotal Day

Yesterday was another day in my move toward recovery. I told my internal medicine specialist earlier this week that I was thankful that he was at the center of my treatment. He chuckled and said that he just gets the leftovers.  Since we started this insane medical journey, I seem to have accumulated quite a group of doctors. Want to know the list? It looks like this:  internal medicine, urological oncologist, hematologist, infectious disease specialist, cardiologist, and gastrointerologist, and then there is my urologist who started the whole thing.  It is dizzying to try to keep track of appointments and data, but thanks to the electronics of the EHR system and Charla, it works fairly well.

Yesterday was another pivotal day for a couple of reasons.  One, the cardiologist declared that my heart is healthy and free of disease, and that he'd send the report to the infectious disease specialist. That was a relief. Also, I had a nurse yesterday by the name of Jordan as I woke up from a heavy, sleep induced, over killed of lidocaine and propofol. For the first time ever, anesthesia was being shipped into my muscle and not the vein. That was miserable, but the nurse anesthetist quickly removed it and put it into the back of my hand.

Then, last night, several things came together. Following a good report and competent medical care, I was on the phone with a person from the DC area who reminded me of the notion of "Death by Zip Code." I had never heard of it, though I had heard of it.

It got me thinking once more. Charla and I live in a zip code. Our mail comes to us because of that number. People around us have the same zip code. It is a rather large area. I wonder who is likely to die inside my zip code. What about other zip codes? What about zip codes where the poor live, the under served, the least of these? Though we do not live in the wealthiest of zip codes around here, nevertheless, we are comfortable. I will learn more about death by zip code.

Being in the confines of a hospital continually reminds me of my privilege. In Dallas at UT Southwestern, most of the phlebotomists and techs are people of color. The nurses are a mixture of white and brown. The doctors likewise are a mixture of white and brown. All of them are the best of the best. Likewise at TMC, the doctors are competent.  My MD yesterday was from Pakistan or somewhere, most nurses were white, and one nurse was African American. Curious the differences, or so it seems between smaller town USA and medicine and big city USA and medicine.

At a time when Charla and I comfortable and are taken care of medically by the insurances that we have, congress and the president* are allegedly about to cut back on SNAP insuring that fewer children will have food to eat.  And, there are rumors that cuts to medicaid and medicare are coming. That is happening all against a tax bill that favored the rich and the powerful of our country while marginalizing children and the poor.

Those are going on while the president* is being impeached. We are in a mess. Yes, we are in a mess.

Some zip codes from what I have heard look like war zones.  Other zip codes are low SES and people struggle with all manner of things. They may have three jobs, but none have them covered with insurance. So, they ration their medications because they have to pay out of pocket.  Some do not get the medication they need so they will die.

Think I'm kidding?  Go to the podcast 1619 and listen to the fourth podcast, "How the Bad Blood Started," and listen to the story of Uncle Eddie.  Listen to her describe the events in the life and health of her favorite uncle.  Listen and weep.

We can do better America.  Yes, we can do better, but we cannot do so under the current level of thinking nor under the current administration.  This administration was built and paid for by the rich and the famous.  The Uncle Eddies of our lives will die.

May you, my reader, are an Uncle Eddie.  I hope not.  I pray not.