Debate? Naw, posturing.

I’ve been surprised lately at the ferocity in which people are “debating” Obama’s Healthcare reform. NPR’s Michel Martin wrote a blog entry about how emotional the town hall meetings are and how little of the actual bill is discussed. Lee Hill followed it up with this blog entry on civil discourse.

WELL. If everyone’s posturing and no one’s debating, DO allow me to get in on the brawl. I have no idea what the bill states and have some pretty strong views for an ex-pat. Living in Norway has its pluses and minuses, but I find that the national healthcare system (among other nice socialistic perks, such as the one year paid maternity/ paternity leave) to be increasingly like golden handcuffs. Anders and I have often talked about moving to the US, though we’ve never really discussed the nitty-gritty. My head starts aching when I think about navigating American healthcare and bureaucratic systems again.


I remember distinctly when I read my friend’s blog after he wathced Michael Moore’s Sicko:
“I've forgotten the sensation of living in utter economic fear of ever getting sick or hit by a car, as I often did in the U.S. I say economic fear, because I wasn't worried so much for my health--I was fairly sure, correctly or not, that I'd make it through fine--but that I'd catch something or break something that would make me go into bankruptcy.”
(Mind you, I still haven’t seen Sicko, but I am merely posturing here.)

Then and now, I wholeheartedly agree with Ian. My European compadres like to tell of horror stories they hear on the news about Americans being turned away from a hospital because they either didn’t belong to the same HMO that runs that particular hospital or being turned away for not having any insurance at all --or worse yet-- being dropped by your HMO in middle of, say, chemotherapy. This is utterly and completely unimaginable to Europeans. Then again, Europeans see health care as right and not a luxury. After experiencing both, I have to say I agree with the Europeans.

That’s not to say the various national healthcare systems aren’t without their flaws. For one, they’re tailored to the culture/ nation they serve. I’ve heard some crazy stories about friends who’ve received healthcare in places like Japan, Romania, Germany and the UK. We shake our heads, laugh in disbelief at the “they did what?!” aspect of the story and continue the conversation. What never, ever enters the conversation is how we didn’t have access to healthcare in our time of need. And this is where I lose the plot in the US debate: Isn’t and shouldn’t the Healthcare Reform be about accessibility?

What also astonishes me is how Americans who actually have healthcare do not view their monthly deductions as a kind of tax. Different companies have different options, but almost everyone pays XXX amount to their employer every month. If I recall correctly, I paid close to $200 month for my healthcare (no dental, no eye coverage) at Temple U. That was on top of my federal, state and local taxes, which at the time totaled about 32% of my income. Right now, I pay about 32% of my income to the Norwegian government and get to keep the $200 per month that otherwise would’ve gone to an HMO because healthcare is already included. (Hmmm, what on Earth should I do with this yearly saving of ca. $2400? I know! I’ll use it to fund my 5 weeks of vacation!)

Lastly, what is this nonesense about the governement “Death Panels”? Seriously, people. Don't you know that the private, for profit HMOs already have their own? My aunt died from liver failure because the healthcare company flat-out refused the transplant that would have saved her life. Had she been 69, it would have been granted, but too bad for her, she was 71. Everyone in my family has good genes and longevity on their side, living well into their late 80’s to mid-90’s. But to the private health insurer’s Death Panel, an odd 20 or so additional years wasn’t enough of a reason to grant a transplant. Honestly, what’s the difference between Uncle Sam’s or the HMO’s Death Panel? It’s not like the average Joe has a chance in hell to appeal a decision from either one.

You May Call Me Snaggletooth

It all started with a bad haircut. I mean, a really bad one. All I wanted was trim and now my hair looks long-ish, but in reality it is barely long enough to pull back into a ponytail holder. All of the fly-away hairs I so patiently grew out are back, the length that took months to acquire is gone and I'm flat out pissed. Anyhoo, that was on the eve of my birthday.

On my birthday, I was immediately reminded of said crappy haircut when I woke up. My mood was foul. With my morning cuppa joe that my husband so lovingly put into my hands (props to the man who dared to get that close to me whilst so grumpy), I opened the birthday package my folks sent to me. It was full of magazines, clothes and items otherwise unattainable in Norway. Ok, my mood started to improve – a bit.

Then Anders offered to deliver & pick up Theo from daycare, giving me the liberty to take my racing bike to work. I'm still new to the skinny tire revolution and I'm giddy as a schoolgirl on that thing. (Seriously, this thing is, like, vrrrrrrooooooom!) Anyhoo, the ride lifted my spirits and by this point, I was feeling nearly human.

Later, Anders bought me lunch (he had to since I forgot my wallet). We went to my favorite bakery and sat in the sunshine. As if that wasn't enough, he also surprised me with a brand new iPod. Poof! the bad mood was banished.

At the risk of sounding like some soppy actor at the Emmys, I would like to thank my folks for their care-package and my hubby for not being scared by my snaggletooth alter ego and for all the birthday wishes I got on Facebook. A black mood as foul as I started out with is rare and mercifully, it doesn't last long with a day like today. Y'all ROCK.

In like a lion?

I can't believe the entire month of February blew by and we're already in the first week of March. There was a lot to do at work and we were busy during the weekends, too. Since the conditions were perfect for skiing, we took advantage of nice cross-country trails whenever we could.

While I survived the winter with a whole lot less seasonal depression than before, I find myself among the ranks of Norwegians who feel … so… tired. Daylight hours are expanding, but there’s still ca. 70 cm snow on the ground and mixed bag as far as the weather is concerned (warmish/frigid/rain/snow). Now that March is here, the wish for Spring that Works (i.e. mild sunny days that melt the snow away instead of the rainy kind) tops the list of “Things I Long For”. Whatever Spring holds in store for us, I am considering a helmet and hip waders: the helmet is for "takras" (lit. roof avalanche) and the hip waders for the muck.

Otherwise, there isn't much to report. Work is good, the kid is good, and ditto for hubby. Boring I know, but sometimes boring's OK.

Time to Get Away

What is it about going on vacation that makes me spin around the house like a madwoman? I’ve come to learn that packing means two things for me: 1) putting my clothes in the suitcase; 2) cleaning the house. Naturally, putting my things in the suitcase is the easy part. It’s cleaning the house that gets complicated.

If I were able to vacuum the carpets, put the laundry away, wash the dishes and go, then it’d be simple. Some how, I equate “going away” with “deadline”. Small projects I’ve put off MUST get done before I walk out the door. Things like delivering the recycling, lining the drawers, replacing light bulbs that burnt out months ago start bothering me with an OCD-like intensity. I rarely get to bed before 1am the night before I travel and this unbelievably stupid since I usually have to wake up at 5am.

I wonder if I do this out of some sub-conscious desire to have a spotless house in case, god forbid, anything happens. Honestly though, I doubt anyone would think negatively of me if I didn’t get the stain out of the carpet lest I never return. Or, I wonder if I do it to extend the concept of vacation. The lovely thing about vacation is getting away not only from work, but also from the household routines. It’s nice to come home and not see all of the things I should have done days or weeks ago, but to clean sheets and a clean slate where I can start my to-do list all over again.