I’ve been part of a death panel conversation. I know about death panels.
have no idea what it’s like to be called into a sterile conference room
with a hospital administrator you’ve never met before and be told that
your mother’s insurance policy will only pay for 30 days in ICU. You
can’t imagine what it’s like to be advised that you need to “make some
decisions,” like whether your mother should be released “HTD” which is
hospital parlance for “home to die,” or if you want to pay out of
pocket to keep her in the ICU another week. And when you ask how much
that would cost you are given a number so impossibly large that you
realize there really are no decisions to make. The decision has been
made for you. “Living will” or no, it doesn’t matter. The bank account
and the insurance policy have trumped any legal document.
If this isn’t a “death panel” I don’t know what is.
don’t talk to me about “death panels” you heartless, cruel, greedy sons
of bitches, who are only too happy to keep the profits rolling in to
the big insurance companies while you spout your mealy-mouthed bumper
sticker slogans about the evils of socialism. You don’t even know what
socialism is. You don’t know what government healthcare is. You have no
fucking clue about anything except that you lost the last election and
you’re pissed off.
Read the whole thing. Righteous.