Eugene Robinson: Now It’s Personal
The last thing the surgeon said to me before they rolled me into the operating room was,
“You know, if you and Obama had your way with health care, it wouldn’t be me doing this operation. It would just be some guy.”I tried to tell him—somewhat disingenuously, and through a haze of painkillers and anxiety—that I had an open mind on the issue.
All is well. The surgery was on my left hand, and when I woke up in the recovery room it was still attached to my left arm, with all five fingers. More than a week later, it hurts only when I type.
My up-close-and-personal investigation of the American health care system is something I can joke about now, since the ending is a happy one and the tale has such an air of “Seinfeld” about it. When people ask about my bandaged hand and hear the story, they often advise me to make up something more heroic, or at least mas macho. The most common suggestion: “Just say you were in a bar fight.”
On Sunday, Feb. 22, I was in my kitchen making a salad. I was scooping the pulp out of an avocado and must not have been paying attention to the task, because I poked myself with the fork I was using—two tiny puncture wounds on my palm, right at the base of my ring finger. The wound yielded only a couple of drops of blood. No harm, no foul; I washed my hand, slapped on a bandage and went about my business.
Five days later, I noticed that my hand was a little sore. The following day, a Saturday, my finger was so swollen that I had to take off my wedding ring for the first time in many years. By Sunday morning, my finger hurt like the dickens and I doubt I’d have been able to get the ring over the swollen knuckle. Monday morning, much worse—obviously, a pretty bad infection. I called my doctor and he prescribed an antibiotic.
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http://www.truthdig.com/report/item/20090316_now_its_personal