We are preparing to head out on this year's Spring Break outing, and for the first time in forever, I will be heading north instead of south. I know, I know, it's completely out of character for me to spend vacation time or dollars to be anywhere other than a beach or a lake.
But it's time for us to expose our progeny to some History and Culture, and so we are heading to D.C. and Williamsburg. I did some pre-planning a few weeks ago, booking hotels and estimating reasonable miles per day travel. I'm doing all I can to prepare in advance, because I'm reserving that last day prior to departure for a pre-emptive family conference and meltdown.
You see...we will be DRIVING.
Please understand - we are a loving foursome that generally enjoys one another's company. But somehow, when we are forced into extended togetherness, we end up bickering and sniping about important things like "stop looking at me!" and "get off my side of the seat!!"
And the kids are even worse. Stay tuned...
28 March 2012
22 March 2012
Mildred
A few posts back, I talked about my maternal grandmother's obsession with health and vitamins, and I promised to write more about her soon.
It's soon.
I'm not entirely sure where to start, and my preface to this post is that what you are about to read is true to the best of my knowledge and belief. Mildred's story is my own blended concoction of fact and muddy memory.
Other than the fact that she was born in the Appalachian foothills in 1916, I don't really know much about her childhood. I do know that she had sisters and brothers with whom she was reasonably close throughout her lifetime and that they grew up mostly poor. I do know that her daddy was a mean S.O.B. but he died before I was born. I did have the inestimable good fortune to know my great-grandmother Ruby, who died when I was about ten. Ruby was addicted to Garrett's snuff and would frequently spit in various receptacles ("spitcans") around the house as well as right into the sink. Ew.
Mildred left the hills and went to business school in her late teens and in short order became secretary to a local attorney. That attorney went on to become a prominent state senator and community advocate, and Mildred remained his loyal assistant until he died in office in 1965.
She briefly married a laborer from Georgia who fathered my mother in 1940 and then they apparently went their separate ways. I don't know squat about any of that. I'm sure it's more interesting than I know (short marriages usually have some kind of juicy story), but anyway, I don't know what it was. I do know that he worked in Roosevelt's Civilian Conservation Corps at some point before they got married. That is the sum of what I know about my maternal grandfather.
So anyway, after the state senator died, Mildred went to work as a secretary for another attorney who eventually became our U.S. congressman and held that office from 1965 until his death in 1988. (While I'm generally an advocate for term limits, he was an excellent leader and plus he was good to my family.) Mildred worked for him continuously and then, when his son was elected to fill his vacant seat, Mildred went to work for the son as well. My sweet nutty grandmother worked until she was gently encouraged to retire in 1998 - at age 82.
Why on earth am I telling you so much about her career? BECAUSE IT WAS AWESOME! My grandmother loved her work more than most people love breathing. She taught me the importance of loving what I do to earn a living and how it means all the difference between contentment and frustration. She taught me that it is a good thing to care about the people you work with and develop friendships with them that surpass nine-to-five.
Mildred wasn't your average secretary, mind you. Yes, she was an "executive assistant" who typed and copied and took shorthand and scheduled appointments for her boss, but she was so much more than that.
You might be surprised to know that East Tennessee is a prime destination for immigrants from around the world, particularly for refugees and those in need of political asylum. A big part of Mildred's job was to assist these folks with immigrant visas and citizenship applications. True to her nature, she took these folks under her wing and established long and deep friendships with many. They brought her gifts from around the world and helped tend to her in her retirement years and they just plain old loved her.
(Remind me to tell you about Thanksgiving at Mildred's some time. That will have to be a post unto itself.)
Before you get the idea that it was all sunshine and roses with Mildred and me, let's set the record straight. She drove me completely crazy. Not just with the vitamins (see the earlier post), but with her badgering about adolescent hygiene and annoying penchant for calling me "Lee-Laura". She gave my little sister an even more irritating nickname, which I can't repeat under fear of death. Most frustrating of all was her insistent refusal to acknowledge that my mother was severely mentally ill - not just moody and irresponsible.
My face flushes with shame even now when I think of the times that I shouted at Mildred and told her to get out of my room, leave me alone, go f... yourself. Maybe I didn't actually say that last one, but I sure thought it sometimes. Not only did she bug me to pieces, I was also frequently embarrassed by her - her goofy orangey-red hair and her latest Camaro. She flirted with every male in a 20 foot radius, and she had this ridiculous way of hooting when she laughed (especially while flirting) that would make me want to smack her and say, stop with the hooting already! Rather than money or some other fun present, she would celebrate my birthdays by giving me butt-ugly slips and extra-tan pantyhose.
So here I am, thinking and writing about her nine years after she died. Her work ethic and her nutty love for pretty much everybody she met are things that I aspire to emulate, along with her faith and constant craving to study God's word. She is the person who taught me it is OK to underline and actually write notes all over your Bible - apparently it's not a sin, despite what some might say.
And I'm actually missing the hooting and the vitamins. A little bit.
http://www.seymourherald.com/obituaries/2003/May/26/5337/
It's soon.
I'm not entirely sure where to start, and my preface to this post is that what you are about to read is true to the best of my knowledge and belief. Mildred's story is my own blended concoction of fact and muddy memory.
Other than the fact that she was born in the Appalachian foothills in 1916, I don't really know much about her childhood. I do know that she had sisters and brothers with whom she was reasonably close throughout her lifetime and that they grew up mostly poor. I do know that her daddy was a mean S.O.B. but he died before I was born. I did have the inestimable good fortune to know my great-grandmother Ruby, who died when I was about ten. Ruby was addicted to Garrett's snuff and would frequently spit in various receptacles ("spitcans") around the house as well as right into the sink. Ew.
Mildred left the hills and went to business school in her late teens and in short order became secretary to a local attorney. That attorney went on to become a prominent state senator and community advocate, and Mildred remained his loyal assistant until he died in office in 1965.
She briefly married a laborer from Georgia who fathered my mother in 1940 and then they apparently went their separate ways. I don't know squat about any of that. I'm sure it's more interesting than I know (short marriages usually have some kind of juicy story), but anyway, I don't know what it was. I do know that he worked in Roosevelt's Civilian Conservation Corps at some point before they got married. That is the sum of what I know about my maternal grandfather.
So anyway, after the state senator died, Mildred went to work as a secretary for another attorney who eventually became our U.S. congressman and held that office from 1965 until his death in 1988. (While I'm generally an advocate for term limits, he was an excellent leader and plus he was good to my family.) Mildred worked for him continuously and then, when his son was elected to fill his vacant seat, Mildred went to work for the son as well. My sweet nutty grandmother worked until she was gently encouraged to retire in 1998 - at age 82.
Why on earth am I telling you so much about her career? BECAUSE IT WAS AWESOME! My grandmother loved her work more than most people love breathing. She taught me the importance of loving what I do to earn a living and how it means all the difference between contentment and frustration. She taught me that it is a good thing to care about the people you work with and develop friendships with them that surpass nine-to-five.
Mildred wasn't your average secretary, mind you. Yes, she was an "executive assistant" who typed and copied and took shorthand and scheduled appointments for her boss, but she was so much more than that.
You might be surprised to know that East Tennessee is a prime destination for immigrants from around the world, particularly for refugees and those in need of political asylum. A big part of Mildred's job was to assist these folks with immigrant visas and citizenship applications. True to her nature, she took these folks under her wing and established long and deep friendships with many. They brought her gifts from around the world and helped tend to her in her retirement years and they just plain old loved her.
(Remind me to tell you about Thanksgiving at Mildred's some time. That will have to be a post unto itself.)
Before you get the idea that it was all sunshine and roses with Mildred and me, let's set the record straight. She drove me completely crazy. Not just with the vitamins (see the earlier post), but with her badgering about adolescent hygiene and annoying penchant for calling me "Lee-Laura". She gave my little sister an even more irritating nickname, which I can't repeat under fear of death. Most frustrating of all was her insistent refusal to acknowledge that my mother was severely mentally ill - not just moody and irresponsible.
My face flushes with shame even now when I think of the times that I shouted at Mildred and told her to get out of my room, leave me alone, go f... yourself. Maybe I didn't actually say that last one, but I sure thought it sometimes. Not only did she bug me to pieces, I was also frequently embarrassed by her - her goofy orangey-red hair and her latest Camaro. She flirted with every male in a 20 foot radius, and she had this ridiculous way of hooting when she laughed (especially while flirting) that would make me want to smack her and say, stop with the hooting already! Rather than money or some other fun present, she would celebrate my birthdays by giving me butt-ugly slips and extra-tan pantyhose.
So here I am, thinking and writing about her nine years after she died. Her work ethic and her nutty love for pretty much everybody she met are things that I aspire to emulate, along with her faith and constant craving to study God's word. She is the person who taught me it is OK to underline and actually write notes all over your Bible - apparently it's not a sin, despite what some might say.
And I'm actually missing the hooting and the vitamins. A little bit.
http://www.seymourherald.com/obituaries/2003/May/26/5337/
21 March 2012
Monstrous Mother
So I'm watching the news this week and a story comes on about a 14-year-old girl who died - DIED - from drinking two Monster energy drinks.
Immediately I flash on multiple instances of me caving in to the Boy's pleas for a Monster, a RockStar, or one of the other iterations of apparently canned crack. "Sure, buddy", I've said time and again, "but just one, OK? I don't think they're good for you."
Not good for you? Well, in my own defense, I wasn't aware that they can be fatal, but in my heart I know that I often sacrifice parental good judgment in the name of being his pal.
And who wouldn't want to be his pal? He's funny, smart and good-looking, plus he loves Jesus and his Mom and Dad. He's an avid reader and gamer and skater and tae-kwon-do-er, and I just plain old think he's cool.
But he doesn't need a pal - he needs a mom. A mom who won't buy him death in a can anymore, because she loves him more than her own life.
Immediately I flash on multiple instances of me caving in to the Boy's pleas for a Monster, a RockStar, or one of the other iterations of apparently canned crack. "Sure, buddy", I've said time and again, "but just one, OK? I don't think they're good for you."
Not good for you? Well, in my own defense, I wasn't aware that they can be fatal, but in my heart I know that I often sacrifice parental good judgment in the name of being his pal.
And who wouldn't want to be his pal? He's funny, smart and good-looking, plus he loves Jesus and his Mom and Dad. He's an avid reader and gamer and skater and tae-kwon-do-er, and I just plain old think he's cool.
But he doesn't need a pal - he needs a mom. A mom who won't buy him death in a can anymore, because she loves him more than her own life.
16 March 2012
Mental Gymnastics
I would like to propose creation of a new professional sport. While it doesn't require much athletic ability, the level of endurance required is significant. One must be ready to participate for hours, even days, at a time - with no breaks for rest or nature's call.
What is this fearsome activity? you ask. Why, it's none other than MENTAL gymnastics! It's the latest mind game that you can play whenever you want, and especially when you don't. Once you get sucked in, it's nearly impossible to disengage, and real pros like me can even do it in our sleep.
Perhaps you've tried it yourself on an amateur level. One popular version includes replaying arguments and disagreements over and over and over in your mind, with each iteration featuring a snappy new retort from you that renders your opponent defenseless.
Another frequent example is the exhausting attempt to envision all possible negative outcomes to any given situation. If you worry about the right one hard enough, you can prevent it from happening.
I suppose the best word for all this mind goop is "worry". Dang it. I don't want to be a worrier. Worriers are so annoying. Why can't they just relax and take things as they come? Now I'm worried about how I became such a worrier.
Truth is, worry is just another word for "fear", and as I've been taught time and time again, fear is the absence of faith. Fear and faith cannot occupy the same thought.
Sooooooo, on that note, I think I've got some faithing to do. Beats heck out of worrying.
What is this fearsome activity? you ask. Why, it's none other than MENTAL gymnastics! It's the latest mind game that you can play whenever you want, and especially when you don't. Once you get sucked in, it's nearly impossible to disengage, and real pros like me can even do it in our sleep.
Perhaps you've tried it yourself on an amateur level. One popular version includes replaying arguments and disagreements over and over and over in your mind, with each iteration featuring a snappy new retort from you that renders your opponent defenseless.
Another frequent example is the exhausting attempt to envision all possible negative outcomes to any given situation. If you worry about the right one hard enough, you can prevent it from happening.
I suppose the best word for all this mind goop is "worry". Dang it. I don't want to be a worrier. Worriers are so annoying. Why can't they just relax and take things as they come? Now I'm worried about how I became such a worrier.
Truth is, worry is just another word for "fear", and as I've been taught time and time again, fear is the absence of faith. Fear and faith cannot occupy the same thought.
Sooooooo, on that note, I think I've got some faithing to do. Beats heck out of worrying.
10 March 2012
Springing Forward
Well, it appears that another "winter" has passed in Georgia - I use the term loosely.
The only significant snowfall in Georgia over the last decade was February 2011...during the EXACT same week that I'd taken the kids to see Ms. Julie and her family in SE Wisconsin - and also so they could see some snow.
Meanwhile, it snowed six inches back at the house in north Georgia, which is very nearly avalanche-worthy and certainly generated an enormous amount of excitement for meteorologists and schoolchildren alike. We watched it on the Milwaukee nightly news. Feh.
Seasons. I can't say there is a season I truly dislike, as they all have their high points.
Winter - I do love winter, but not so much when it is just chilly and rainy for four months. This should not be allowed to classify itself as "winter". This is henceforth to be known as "blecker". It is bleak and depressing and "blecker" is a good word for it. You should be required to have at least one reasonably crippling snow event in order to earn the badge of "winter".
(This one of the many things I miss about East Tennessee - you could always count on Momma Nature for one good snowstorm each January.)
Summer..ah, summer! Summer is utter joy for picnics with friends and boating on the lake and vacation with the family. Summer is going to the pool with the kids and making my grandmother's signature ginger mint iced tea.
Regrettably, I dislike everything else about summer. I am a round short woman, and I loathe being hot. Unless you're nekkid in front of a fan, or plopped in the water somewhere, there is nothing pleasant about being hot. The very best thing about being hot is cooling back off.
Fall...if I had to choose a favorite, I would have to say that fall is my favorite season. I lived in Tennessee for most of my life, and then Georgia for the last seven, so I am admittedly spoiled by the strumpet October colors of the Southeastern U.S. I am confident that Newfound Gap or Amicalola Falls on a crisp sunny day before the leaves drop is probably as close to heaven as we can see from this side.
And then there's SEC football...very nearly its own religion, if not for the fact that most of us have to be up early on Sunday for church.
But spring...SPRING! How can I be unhappy with spring?! Forget the itchy eyes and the runny nose. It is worth it - times infinity - to have my first Saturday afternoon on the porch today, watching the kids on the trampoline and smelling fresh-cut grass. It is extra-gratifying to have a beautiful spring being birthed on the heels of a crummy disappointing blecker.
So I will set my clock tonight to "spring" forward tomorrow and I am plain old ecstatic to be waking up to a gorgeous early spring Sunday where I get to go hang out with people who love me and love our Savior.
Maybe it gets better, but I can't imagine how that is possible.
The only significant snowfall in Georgia over the last decade was February 2011...during the EXACT same week that I'd taken the kids to see Ms. Julie and her family in SE Wisconsin - and also so they could see some snow.
Meanwhile, it snowed six inches back at the house in north Georgia, which is very nearly avalanche-worthy and certainly generated an enormous amount of excitement for meteorologists and schoolchildren alike. We watched it on the Milwaukee nightly news. Feh.
Seasons. I can't say there is a season I truly dislike, as they all have their high points.
Winter - I do love winter, but not so much when it is just chilly and rainy for four months. This should not be allowed to classify itself as "winter". This is henceforth to be known as "blecker". It is bleak and depressing and "blecker" is a good word for it. You should be required to have at least one reasonably crippling snow event in order to earn the badge of "winter".
(This one of the many things I miss about East Tennessee - you could always count on Momma Nature for one good snowstorm each January.)
Summer..ah, summer! Summer is utter joy for picnics with friends and boating on the lake and vacation with the family. Summer is going to the pool with the kids and making my grandmother's signature ginger mint iced tea.
Regrettably, I dislike everything else about summer. I am a round short woman, and I loathe being hot. Unless you're nekkid in front of a fan, or plopped in the water somewhere, there is nothing pleasant about being hot. The very best thing about being hot is cooling back off.
Fall...if I had to choose a favorite, I would have to say that fall is my favorite season. I lived in Tennessee for most of my life, and then Georgia for the last seven, so I am admittedly spoiled by the strumpet October colors of the Southeastern U.S. I am confident that Newfound Gap or Amicalola Falls on a crisp sunny day before the leaves drop is probably as close to heaven as we can see from this side.
And then there's SEC football...very nearly its own religion, if not for the fact that most of us have to be up early on Sunday for church.
But spring...SPRING! How can I be unhappy with spring?! Forget the itchy eyes and the runny nose. It is worth it - times infinity - to have my first Saturday afternoon on the porch today, watching the kids on the trampoline and smelling fresh-cut grass. It is extra-gratifying to have a beautiful spring being birthed on the heels of a crummy disappointing blecker.
So I will set my clock tonight to "spring" forward tomorrow and I am plain old ecstatic to be waking up to a gorgeous early spring Sunday where I get to go hang out with people who love me and love our Savior.
Maybe it gets better, but I can't imagine how that is possible.
07 March 2012
Kitty Love
We'd been in our new Georgia home for several months when we came to the conclusion that it was time to change our pet-free status. We decided to get a kitten, and there was a pet adoption event at the local Dodge dealership.
They were all so cute - so hard to decide! We narrowed it down to two; a striped gray and white tabby with sparkly green eyes and a ginger puff ball with a persistent demand for affection. How to choose...how to choose...
In the end, it was the Mister who made the tough call, and we took them both. After minimal debate, the tabby was creatively named Abby, and the ginger kitty was named Sandy. Over time, their individual personalities began to surface. Abby is not, shall we say, the brightest bulb in the box. Nor does she appreciate any attempts to pick her up and snuggle her. Physical affection is only permitted on her terms and according to her timing. Heaven help you if you need some kitty love and she isn't in the mood.
Sandy, on the other hand, is affectionate to a fault. She also doesn't care for being picked up much, but she loves to make biscuits on fuzzy blankets and drools with joy if you pet her concurrent to the biscuits. Early on, she demonstrated an overt preference to be an "outside" kitty, so many is the night that I've stood out in the rain or snow, calling "heeeeeeeere kitty kitty kitty kitty" in a ridiculous falsetto.
She evolved into quite the huntress, regularly paying her room and board with headless birds and disemboweled field mice. You couldn't really be mad at her - she is a pro, fearless to a fault. In the summer, she skinnies down to a lean and lithe hunting machine, and in the winter, she chubs up with a thick layer of fat and fur.
We have lots of hawks in our area, and I've long worried that one of them would swoop down in a fit of karma and carry the skinny summer Sandy away.
But instead, at 5 p.m. this afternoon, Sandy lost her life under the wheels of a neighbor, who was very nearly as distraught as we are. Sandy was forever dashing across the road in hot pursuit of wildlife or in response to my cat-calling (and yes, this cat would actually come when she was called.) Today she was sparring with another kitty on our street and bolted out in front of Ms. Jane's car far too quickly for any other possible outcome.
We have the indescribably good fortune to have kind neighbors who immediately came to the front door and gently broke the news. A couple of dear people encircled her little broken body while Dave and I approached...we made the kids stay behind at the house. I couldn't go all the way to the scene. I saw her head and soft white arm from a distance and I knew I couldn't take another step.
And so I thank God for my husband, who held her while she died and is handling all the necessary steps to conclude this awful chapter.
It is at these times that I swear I will never take in another pet - it is just too hard to say goodbye. You don't have to say goodbye if you never say hello in the first place.
But instead I will hold Sarah the Dachshund and Abby the Tabby tonight and be grateful for their place in our hearts. And be glad that we had our awesome killer cat Sandy for the years that we did. Love you, kitty.
They were all so cute - so hard to decide! We narrowed it down to two; a striped gray and white tabby with sparkly green eyes and a ginger puff ball with a persistent demand for affection. How to choose...how to choose...
In the end, it was the Mister who made the tough call, and we took them both. After minimal debate, the tabby was creatively named Abby, and the ginger kitty was named Sandy. Over time, their individual personalities began to surface. Abby is not, shall we say, the brightest bulb in the box. Nor does she appreciate any attempts to pick her up and snuggle her. Physical affection is only permitted on her terms and according to her timing. Heaven help you if you need some kitty love and she isn't in the mood.
Sandy, on the other hand, is affectionate to a fault. She also doesn't care for being picked up much, but she loves to make biscuits on fuzzy blankets and drools with joy if you pet her concurrent to the biscuits. Early on, she demonstrated an overt preference to be an "outside" kitty, so many is the night that I've stood out in the rain or snow, calling "heeeeeeeere kitty kitty kitty kitty" in a ridiculous falsetto.
She evolved into quite the huntress, regularly paying her room and board with headless birds and disemboweled field mice. You couldn't really be mad at her - she is a pro, fearless to a fault. In the summer, she skinnies down to a lean and lithe hunting machine, and in the winter, she chubs up with a thick layer of fat and fur.
We have lots of hawks in our area, and I've long worried that one of them would swoop down in a fit of karma and carry the skinny summer Sandy away.
But instead, at 5 p.m. this afternoon, Sandy lost her life under the wheels of a neighbor, who was very nearly as distraught as we are. Sandy was forever dashing across the road in hot pursuit of wildlife or in response to my cat-calling (and yes, this cat would actually come when she was called.) Today she was sparring with another kitty on our street and bolted out in front of Ms. Jane's car far too quickly for any other possible outcome.
We have the indescribably good fortune to have kind neighbors who immediately came to the front door and gently broke the news. A couple of dear people encircled her little broken body while Dave and I approached...we made the kids stay behind at the house. I couldn't go all the way to the scene. I saw her head and soft white arm from a distance and I knew I couldn't take another step.
And so I thank God for my husband, who held her while she died and is handling all the necessary steps to conclude this awful chapter.
It is at these times that I swear I will never take in another pet - it is just too hard to say goodbye. You don't have to say goodbye if you never say hello in the first place.
But instead I will hold Sarah the Dachshund and Abby the Tabby tonight and be grateful for their place in our hearts. And be glad that we had our awesome killer cat Sandy for the years that we did. Love you, kitty.
06 March 2012
A Semi-Pro Opinion about Health Insurance
(Important note up front: I am employed in the health insurance sector - specifically in privatized Medicaid and Medicare. Feel free to take my comments with large grains of salt and tequila as needed.)
What is this giant fuss about contraceptive coverage? I am astonished that this issue has gotten the media and pundit play that it has, yet here I am offering my own two cents.
Let's begin with a fundamental economic principle - there are costs associate with any purchase. Basically there ain't no free lunch. Somebody, somewhere is paying for everything we have in this country - be it clothing or shelter or food or health care. Health care is often referred to as a basic human right, but at the risk of infuriating pretty much everyone I know, I beg to differ.
Before you send me hate mail, let me clarify. I do believe it is a societal obligation for us as compassionate citizens of the wealthiest country in the world to ensure that everyone in our nation has access to quality health care.
As such, our tax system and annual budgeting process allots a certain percentage of all tax revenue to subsidize federal and state healthcare programs such as Medicare, Medicaid and the State Children's Health Insurance Program. Our government stretches each tax dollar until it squeaks to maximize health care access for persons that qualify for these programs. Remember too that Medicare revenue primarily consists of beneficiary contributions; your years of payroll contributions make up the bulk of the Medicare trust fund.
Thanks to healthcare reform, the eligibility criteria for Medicaid and other low-income programs will be expanded to include an additional and sizeable population segment. I'm not going to debate this topic in this post, but it is germane to my point that a whole lot more people will be covered in 2014 as a result of PPACA, and again, somebody will have to pony up the extra money to pay for it. Just pointing out a simple economic fact.
Now that we've established the payer for government healthcare (that would be YOU), you can rest easy knowing that the healthcare benefits covered under these programs are extraordinarily rich, often extending far above some benefit packages offered through employer-sponsored healthcare. And, with the exception of Medicare, they all include contraception.
Let's now talk about employer-sponsored healthcare...those of us who are lucky enough to have it are generally being asked to contribute more to the premium cost each year. It is a very rare occurrence these days for an employer to offer 100% employer-sponsored health benefits. Not only are the premium costs going up, but the benefits are often shrinking. Employers are faced with the annual challenge of figuring out what the company can afford to purchase, and the commercial insurance company is responsible for providing a menu of benefit packages from which the employer must choose.
Here's an analogy - if your company can only buy the cheeseburger and they ask you to pay for the fries, does it make any sense for you to be mad that you didn't get a ribeye? Have you been discriminated against? Moreover, does it make sense for the government to step in and FORCE your company to give you a ribeye without passing the additional cost along to you?
Obviously the issue is far more complex than that, but in the recent debate over contraception coverage, it is less about cost and more about principle. The government does not get to decide what employers choose to purchase for their employees. To paint the employers with a misogynistic brush is goofy and irresponsible; they generally don't buy condoms or Viagra either.
In no way do I think Limbaugh was right to trash that law student in a public forum, but I also think that the media and people with ulterior motives have made a mountain out of mouse poop. The three-thousand-dollar cost estimate is absurd, but just for fun, let's say there was some substance to it. Is it really appropriate to make employers pick up the $3000 tab?
If there's a compromise to be had, I say we put prior authorization requirements on contraception so it can be prescribed as a covered benefit for medical necessity indications - not recreational prophylactic protection. What a long and windy post!
What is this giant fuss about contraceptive coverage? I am astonished that this issue has gotten the media and pundit play that it has, yet here I am offering my own two cents.
Let's begin with a fundamental economic principle - there are costs associate with any purchase. Basically there ain't no free lunch. Somebody, somewhere is paying for everything we have in this country - be it clothing or shelter or food or health care. Health care is often referred to as a basic human right, but at the risk of infuriating pretty much everyone I know, I beg to differ.
Before you send me hate mail, let me clarify. I do believe it is a societal obligation for us as compassionate citizens of the wealthiest country in the world to ensure that everyone in our nation has access to quality health care.
As such, our tax system and annual budgeting process allots a certain percentage of all tax revenue to subsidize federal and state healthcare programs such as Medicare, Medicaid and the State Children's Health Insurance Program. Our government stretches each tax dollar until it squeaks to maximize health care access for persons that qualify for these programs. Remember too that Medicare revenue primarily consists of beneficiary contributions; your years of payroll contributions make up the bulk of the Medicare trust fund.
Thanks to healthcare reform, the eligibility criteria for Medicaid and other low-income programs will be expanded to include an additional and sizeable population segment. I'm not going to debate this topic in this post, but it is germane to my point that a whole lot more people will be covered in 2014 as a result of PPACA, and again, somebody will have to pony up the extra money to pay for it. Just pointing out a simple economic fact.
Now that we've established the payer for government healthcare (that would be YOU), you can rest easy knowing that the healthcare benefits covered under these programs are extraordinarily rich, often extending far above some benefit packages offered through employer-sponsored healthcare. And, with the exception of Medicare, they all include contraception.
Let's now talk about employer-sponsored healthcare...those of us who are lucky enough to have it are generally being asked to contribute more to the premium cost each year. It is a very rare occurrence these days for an employer to offer 100% employer-sponsored health benefits. Not only are the premium costs going up, but the benefits are often shrinking. Employers are faced with the annual challenge of figuring out what the company can afford to purchase, and the commercial insurance company is responsible for providing a menu of benefit packages from which the employer must choose.
Here's an analogy - if your company can only buy the cheeseburger and they ask you to pay for the fries, does it make any sense for you to be mad that you didn't get a ribeye? Have you been discriminated against? Moreover, does it make sense for the government to step in and FORCE your company to give you a ribeye without passing the additional cost along to you?
Obviously the issue is far more complex than that, but in the recent debate over contraception coverage, it is less about cost and more about principle. The government does not get to decide what employers choose to purchase for their employees. To paint the employers with a misogynistic brush is goofy and irresponsible; they generally don't buy condoms or Viagra either.
In no way do I think Limbaugh was right to trash that law student in a public forum, but I also think that the media and people with ulterior motives have made a mountain out of mouse poop. The three-thousand-dollar cost estimate is absurd, but just for fun, let's say there was some substance to it. Is it really appropriate to make employers pick up the $3000 tab?
If there's a compromise to be had, I say we put prior authorization requirements on contraception so it can be prescribed as a covered benefit for medical necessity indications - not recreational prophylactic protection. What a long and windy post!
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