health

Fortunately, I’m extremely healthy, at age sixty-three. I don’t have (and don’t much care to have) “health insurance.” I could have had insurance at my last full-time job, but even with the company paying 71% of the premium, my monthly payment would have exceeded my yearly health care cost. What kind of financial sense does that make?

My opinion is that the combination of the medical, pharmaceutical, and insurance industries has fostered the impression that we are all accidents waiting to happen. Somehow, we’ll be “safe,” if we are constantly monitoring our vital signs or begging doctors for medicine. The implication is that we will live forever, if we just spend the cash needed.

I am not defined by my physical ailments, most of which I’ve brought on, myself. I don’t need an anti-depressant to handle what is a gradual lessening of energy, as I age. The few times I’ve gone to the doctor to have my ears flushed, I’m usually asked how the rest of my life is going. (I think they feel they should do some diagnosing and prescribing, doncha know.) Depending on my mood at the time, I’ve sometimes said I was feeling tired. I’ve never been asked if I take dietary supplements and/or eat well; I have always been asked if I want a prescription for anti-depressants.

In case it isn’t apparent, I’m all for “socialized” health care. In a year and a half or so, I’ll be eligible for the American version, Medicare. I probably won’t use it much, anyway.