What is "healthy"? From my perspective, I haven't seen much of it in Las Vegas this week. Guess it may be simply that - a matter of perspective.
I see leathery faces, drawn and dry from the sun, too much smoke, not enough hydration or humidity, too much make-up, maybe too much cosmetic surgery. I don't know.
Ironically, I'm one of the healthiest "looking" persons I see here (yeah, matter of perspective). I see others looking at my mostly bald head. Does she cut it that short? Is she sick? She doesn't look sick. I suspect that in this town, those whose appearance matters so much, shudder at the sight of someone who seems out of place on the streets of Sin City.
Even at my overweight state, I'm not overly dried out, haven't lost weight, the old eyes are pretty clear, the skin still pinkish, the spring in my step still mostly there. Oh, there's that tumor in my heart...yeah, right. I almost forgot.
Perspectives, perceptions. And money, money, money here in Vegas. Money, money, money also goes towards my health.
My insurance company (very lucky me) pays something on the order of $15,000 to $20,000 a month to help me stay alive. Chemo treatments, blood draws, Lovenox for blood thinner injections ($4000 a month alone), occasional platelet transfusions, doctors appointments. No big surgeries or radiation...yet.
It's a kind of a Vegas crap game, this healthcare business. Who is at the table is fully dependent on who brings cash to the table. I'm lucky, yes, lucky. I got this diagnosis while employed, with full benefits. Three years ago, it was a different story entirely. Contract employee then, the lowest insurance, highest co-pays. No way would I have been alive this long.
And now, finally, after about six months of laying bets with a surgeon in Houston, scans and medical reports placed as the ante on the crap table, my bid has been accepted as a candidate for heart surgery. From the estimates I can find on the internet, through other patients' stories on cancer forums and newsgroups, this surgery that may take place on August 6 will cost the insurance company something in the near neighborhood of a quarter of a million. If successful, it will give me years maybe, instead of months. Not a cure. The stuff I have always grows back, often in the same place over the repaired area.
I consider that bet on the table an extension, a tendering of credit. I have a low health FICO score. Risky subprime candidate, that's me. Like a borrowed roof over my head, a healthier heart for awhile appeals to me. Crack it open, pull it out, leave it pulsing while the blood flow is redirected to a heart/lung device, find the damn tumor and hopefully clear margins around the growth, resect and sew me back up. Here's a link to what they will do (don't open if you are...faint of heart at the site of blood and surgery): Cardiac angiosarcoma resection
Blood and gore? Maybe. Pain? Yeah. I dismiss it now, but I know I won't in a couple of weeks. Two weeks from today, I have no idea what the sun will bring. How white the walls of ICU, the sound of the IV machines as I remember them from the last time in surgery. The memory now seems like so many slot machine chimes and bells and whistles. Will I recall this eerie thought in two weeks? Will I be around to recall a thought?
How many credits do I push into the game? What factors play out that will allow me to win this game, at this time?
I'm already ahead of so many players in this country, what with my healthcare benefits and my supportive family, and the strength of the community around me. I have a place at the table, for now.
No one is luckier than I. I'm in Vegas, baby, and the game is on. Wish me luck? All of us can use more of it.
There should be a place at the table for all of us.