Vicarious Rocky

So with the debate on national health care raging, I wanted to weigh in anecdotal-ly with a completely un-thought-out rambling about my Mammogram this morning. The place I got this done was a spa. No joke. Water fountain in the lobby, wood-lined changing rooms, new age music, robes, two beautiful waiting rooms (one for the robed and the other for the clothed). It was nothing short of extravagant. I am sure 70% of us were there in the name of preventative medicine.

The doctor endorsed said visit promising to save money for all in the long run because a young boob "baseline" promises 5 year visits from here until death with less invasive intervention because of being able to accurately track variations. So, perhaps my spa visit is saving everyone money? Hard to track, eh?

Then again, there is undoubtedly something wrong with a system that lets me, a wealthy white girl with no history of breast cancer, no breast issues currently, and 35 years young, waltz into this place and get a $15 mammogram because I have $350/month insurance paid by my (ehhemm) employer. Unjust in this town for sure where I daily watch people that can barely walk, hobble back to their apartments from Wallgreens where they get their groceries. Sadly they buy groceies for twice as much because they have to buy them in one bag increments . . . because they don't have cars and can't lug cheaper groceries bought in larger quantities from the bus stop . . . because they can't walk. You get the idea.

Clearly, if I cared about anyone besides myself I'd start a charity that offers people rides to Aldis. But I barely care about anything beyond my next dessert, and so I am just taking 5 minutes to point out that even I can see something is a bit skewed here. Now, somebody fix it.