My claim of a conspiracy to subjugate husbands was exemplified by my trip to Dr. Smith. Sheila insisted on telling him about a sharp and continuing pain I have developed in my ankle. Like any normal person, I have assumed it will go away, but Gary insisted on looking at it. He then required X-rays. He said there were numerous small bones in the area and I might have cracked or broken one in my nightly wanderings. Then he added, “You will, of course, have to wear a boot.” At that, he and Sheila smiled at each other. Both know that I have always taken a thoughtful and conservative approach to their rules, but that if I’m in a boot I won’t be able to interpret medical decrees to my own desires. How can I mow the grass or work in the garden with a boot on one foot? No wonder they were both so pleased at the thought. I’ll be lucky if they don’t weld on a lead boot.

I arrived at 9:30 for an appointment with Dr. Blazer, my heart doctor, and was ushered in to see him at 10:30 or so – like Dr. Smith he takes his time with patients. I had intended to ask him if I couldn’t do some activities in the Cardiac Club other than leg exercises, but decided that would not be wise after receiving a lecture from him, seconded by Sheila, on my personal behavior. It seems my chest is getting worse, my cholesterol is up, and I need to increase my medicine and be more diligent in taking it. At the time, I couldn’t think of any unusual activities on my part which might have caused the increase in the gap in my chest but when I got home I remembered carrying a full five gallon can of gasoline around, which I presume weighs more than five pounds and doing a lot of clipping of weeds earlier in the week. Stephen mentioned my concrete mixing, adding to the abuse. I suppose it is those activities which caused the problem so I should be able to continue with my gardening and lawn mowing – which seems reasonable.

Considering what a subservient and obedient patient I am and the lectures I get from Smith and Blazer, I wonder what they do to patients who don’t follow their instructions.  Actually, I’m a bit tired of being bossed around by two middle-aged male medics. I think I’m going to start looking for an attractive female medic, between twenty-five and thirty-five, who believes everything a patient tells her and assumes they are always right.

I learned this morning when a nice young girl becomes a woman. Every Sunday, following church, we drive to Murphy’s CB store for, according to Sheila, milk, bread and eggs. Usually, when Sheila and basket return to the front of the store to be checked out, the bill is a hundred dollars or more, incidentals she thought of while shopping.   Marty, the young man who packages groceries among other duties, Kiana, who runs the cash register, and I have taken to betting – no money, just fun – on how much the milk will cost me after Sheila has found other items she forgot to mention. Over the months Kiana has played fair and square, just like one of the guys: when she won she rejoiced, when she lost she laughed. Then it happened on my most recent trip to the grocery. Kiana had turned seventeen a few days earlier. Knowing it was almost the end of the month, I bet on five items instead of just milk, Kiana went for between six and ten. There were five items. I won! But then Kiana claimed that she had bet on $31.02, which was exactly on target, so she won – she denied that she bet on the number of items or looked at the cash register. Kiana is now seventeen. She has entered womanhood. No longer the open, honest, approach of men and boys of her girlhood, now twisting and turning to win. Womanhood. It begins at seventeen.

I confess, I burst out laughing when Stephen walked in a few minutes ago. Stephen planted varied melons, cucumbers and other things in the front yard – perhaps to have less grass to mow. A cucumber with a brown skin has been especially prolific, and Stephen announced he was going to take some down to Mrs. Rector, my closest neighbor to the east. Fifteen or twenty minutes later, one allows time for gossip, he returned carrying three large cantaloupes. Here in the hills, you simply can’t give without getting. No matter how little someone has, they always have something to give. As Miss Ruby used to say, “You can’t return a plate empty.” I confess. I shall enjoy the cantaloupe. 

Second, where will the national records on health care be stored and what will they include? In addition to my medical history, will they have such items as my social security number, credit card numbers, health plans I pay for, age and other personal items? How will they be secured?  No computer system yet devised, which includes top secret military information, has been found completely safe from hackers. Does this mean an ingenious individual or nation will have all information on all citizens?

How much will this bureaucracy cost?

Current estimates claim 45 million uninsured Americans, of whom 20 million earn more than 70 thousand dollars a year. My third question is how will these people be forced to purchase health insurance? Every state of which I am aware has a law requiring automotive accident insurance, but every state has uninsured drivers also. Twenty percent of the drivers in California are estimated to be uninsured. Will uninsured medical people be refused treatment at hospitals? Or jailed? If jailed, then they will receive free medical treatment. 

One escape reported in Massachusetts which has, I believe, such a law, is to fine any person requiring medical treatment between 5 and 6 hundred dollars. My income is much less than 70 thousand and I pay approximately 900 dollars a month for myself and family. It would be much less expensive, and people in Massachusetts have found it so, to forget the insurance and pay the fine.

A second option, again I believe in Romney’s Massachusetts plan, is to require insurance companies to accept all applicants regardless of prior health condition. Again, the report I read said that many younger people aren’t bothering with health insurance until they realize they have a serious illness. Then they sign up. Following treatment, they drop their insurance. Again, being personal, I have paid for health insurance for more than fifty years, during most of which I never saw a doctor. I didn’t need insurance during most of those years. Under the Massachusetts plan, I wouldn’t have had to pay those tens of thousands of dollars over the years. When I finally realized I had a problem – a heart attack that I ignored - I could have signed up immediately and then dropped it when cured, which took about three months. Thus three months worth of premiums would have paid my 200 thousand dollar bill. Incidentally, but relevant, the report I read said this practice is driving the cost of insurance up for those who pay monthly.

Back to the third question, how will the government force people to buy insurance?

My fourth question is why are the estimated 17 millions illegal aliens to be covered and how? One article said plans are to reduce Medicaid payments. Thus I, and tens of thousands of other elderlies, will be restricted in receiving medical treatment while illegals receive full treatment. One of the penalties of being a citizen I suppose. 

Now for others. I am willing to bet anyone a cup of coffee, even an expensive cup, that a review of college campuses would find at least ten million young adults in full attendance who are over-age to be on their family policies and unemployed – other than as students – so unable to buy insurance. 

Fifth, at least one or two million people change jobs every year, taking them off of company insurance policies for a brief period of time.

Now let us add the numbers. Twenty million making over 70 thousand a year, 17 million illegals, 10 million students, 1 million changing jobs. Whoops! That is 48 million uninsured and I’ve forgotten to include the insane incarcerated in mental hospitals and the mentally ill considered harmless to society who wander the streets. Obama is underestimating the number of uninsured.

Following heart surgery and the required two or three months of bed rest, we are weakened physically and need time to rebuild our strength. There are approved activities and activities we are not supposed to do until “fully” recovered, which of course, we never are. Dr. Blazer and HorizonHospital maintain a Cardiac Rehabilitation Unit which we enter when released from house arrest following hospitalization. We attend three days a week. During this time we are taught exercises we can do and are closely watched, beginning with safe activities at a low level of energy, that are supervised and slowly increased, as we improve.  While in the Unit we are wired up with a small radio and our heart’s activities are monitored and printed out by one of the nurses.

When we are considered “ready,” we transfer to two days a week, no longer requiring all of the wiring, unless the nurses note something they don’t like, which happened to me a few months ago. Now, following more surgery, I’ve been demoted to the three day a week workouts until they, through Dr. Blazer, deem me ready, again, for the twice a week visits. 

I don’t really think of this as cardiac rehabilitation, I call it the Cardiac Club, because of the friendships we develop and the concern we all have for each other. 

Mary Ann and Tammy, who run the Cardiac Club, in addition to being first class Registered Nurses, have a nice sense of humor, although I did throw them into a tizzy fit the other day. After we finish our exercises, we are supposed to walk out of the back door, around the hall in the front door and back through the room twice.   On my second trip, I decided it would be nice to have a cup of coffee and wandered down the hall to find a free cup in the doctor’s office. Coming back, coffee in hand, I faced two hostile nurses. They were acting much like mothers do, who panic having lost a child and then get angry at him when he shows up. It seems the little electric signals the equipment I wear during workouts are good only for a short distance. I had gone beyond that when getting my coffee and the television monitor of my heart went into one of these straight lines like you see on television when someone has died. Mary Ann and Tammy had been looking for my body when I came wandering in, coffee in hand. 

 I have been forgiven now, however, on my promise not to go hunting for coffee again while wired up. Today, while Tammy was checking out my vital signs, I was telling children stories and she came back with one of her own. It seems that one rainy day when her children were four and six years old she was working in one part of the house while they were “playing” in another. She said that every time she turned around she heard “Mommy, Mommy.” Finally, she went into their room and said, “I don’t want to hear ‘Mommy’ any more today.” She returned to her work and said she had about ten minutes of peace and then a cry came from the front room, “Tammy, he’s hitting me.” She said all she could do was laugh. 

But not is all love and kindness for me in Cardiac Care. Not long after I first started, now two years ago, I told Mary Ann that we needed some improvements in the place. I suggested a hot tub and a snack bar. Mary Ann said “wait a minute” and left the room. She returned from her office carrying a bull whip and said, “I decide what we do in here.”

On my last visit I had gained a pound and turned to Sheila and said, “It’s your fault for cooking all of that good food.” Mary Ann, standing near, said, “And I suppose she shoves it down your throat with a spoon?” Tammy working on books couldn’t resist and joined the attack on poor old Bill. I responded when given an opportunity and finally escaped to the treadmill. Thinking about it later, I remembered the time that Sheila had gone to the Junior High to see our friend Miss Melton, the school counselor, for some reason. While standing in the hallway saying goodbye, she saw Andrew, who was walking down the hallway, intercepted by Mrs. Farthing, the English teacher, who was having some uncomplimentary things to say about his efforts in her class when she was joined by Mrs. Littleton, the history teacher. Then Joyce Melton joined in. It seemed unfair for three experienced adults to jump all over one twelve-year old. But I knew all three of them and they are excellent professionals. I laughed when Sheila told me about it.  Andrew needed a little straightening up. 

The difference between Andrew’s and my situations, both of which involved three women attacking one poor male, was that Andrew was deserved it. I was innocent of all their real and imagined charges.