National Nurses United

22 N A T I O N A L N U R S E W W W . N A T I O N A L N U R S E S U N I T E D . O R G J U LY | A U G U S T 2 0 1 5 When I'm 65 Medicare turns 50 this year, and Donna Smith can't wait to qualify. by Donna Smith y I am 60 years old. Unlike many women my age, I actually look forward to my birthday every year. In fact, I wish they would come faster. Why? Because it would mean that I would be that much closer to 65, when I would qualify for healthcare through Medicare. The healthcare system has not been good to me in my 60 years so far. In fact, it has been and continues to be downright brutal. After I was diagnosed with and went through treatment for uterine cancer in my mid-40s and my husband Larry had his third heart surgery soon after that, the medical bills became so overwhelming that we had to declare bankruptcy despite being insured—a trauma documented in Michael Moore's healthcare film, SiCKO. We have spent the years since slowly rebuilding our health and our finances. I have been fortunate to be able to advocate for providing healthcare for all by expanding Medicare to cover all Americans; I worked at National Nurses United for a few years and now am director of Health Care for All Colorado, a nonprofit that champions single-payer healthcare in our state. While I wished President Obama had pursued Medicare-for-all healthcare reform and believe that the Affordable Care Act falls far short of what we need, I was relieved to be paying a little less under the ACA for my "gold" Kaiser Permanente insurance plan, to enjoy a little broader coverage, and also not be outright rejected for my pre- existing conditions. Of course, I got another rude healthcare awak- ening this spring that just reaffirmed how we must finish the job and expand Medicare to cover everyone, not just those over age 65. On St. Patrick's Day, I was cooking in our kitchen when I sudden- ly started hemorrhaging from my GI tract and felt like I was going to pass out. I was rushed to our hospital emergency room, where, as they were hanging blood to replace the great amount I had lost, a woman from the hospital's business office rolled into my room with a computer on a cart and inquired how I "would like" to pay my $250 copayment? If I hadn't lost so much blood, I would have let her have it. But we managed to simply shoo her away. Six days in the hospital later, they never did figure out the source of my bleeding. But after being discharged for only 36 hours, I had to go back: I had contracted Methicillin-resistant Staphylococcus Aureus (MRSA) while at the hospital and the infection was raging through my body, sending my temperature soaring to 104 degrees and filling my lungs with septic embolisms. I stayed in the hospital for another nine days for intravenous antibiotics and had to endure an operation to remove an infected major vein in my arm that ran from my wrist to my shoulder. That was followed by a lengthy recu- peration at home with more antibiotics and nursing care. When my grown children asked me what I was most worried about, it wasn't being killed by the virulent MRSA bacteria and its related complications. No, not the dying part. I told them I was most worried about the bills and the lost work time; I was terrified about the money. That is the reality for so many working-class Americans. When I entered the hospital, my income stopped instantly. My bills did not. That's brutality. Indeed, even after insurance, I now face a bill of $6,250 for just the first hospital stay, and I haven't yet learned what the damage might be for the second. People on Medicare do not face this kind of financial terror. Within my own family, the issue of healthcare equality plays out on a daily basis. Family members on Medicare like my husband Larry, who is 71, or my mother, who is 87, never worry about being able to

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