Category Archives: Essay

My ObamaCare Horror Story

ObamaCare Horror Story

Recently, I saw this post on Facebook and I knew I had to respond, to help others see the horror of ObamaCare. This is my story…

My life has changed completely. I cannot eat whatever I want anymore. There’s no toast with my morning coffee. My morning coffee isn’t even recognizable as MY morning coffee anymore. It used to be with cream and two sugars. Now, there’s no sugar. Lunch was always a simple sandwich with some fruit, but now lunch can never be a sandwich again. Dinner was like an Italian family affair with pasta dishes, laughter, and talking. Now the pasta is missing and so is the rice. Meals just aren’t the same and they never will be again.

I used to stay at home and do my household chores. When I was finished with them, I could spend my time being creative by spinning yarn, weaving, drawing, or writing. Sometimes, I would just get lost for hours on Pinterest. That has all changed. Now, every time I eat something, I am forced to be active afterwards. I have to take long walks regardless of the weather. I’m trudging around our neighborhood in 90 degree temperatures!

My schedule used to be so spontaneous. Sometimes I would stay up most of the night reading a book that was so interesting I couldn’t put it down. I would turn in at 5 or 6 in the morning and sleep until early afternoon. I was carefree and didn’t need to worry about schedules. Now I have a schedule for everything.
I never had to worry about co-pays and prescriptions, doctor visits and tests. Now, I have to pay for co-pays. I have to go to a doctor regularly…every three months! And everything three months, I have tests done. I’m being poked and prodded and this is entirely the fault of ObamaCare.

You see, before ObamaCare, I couldn’t afford to go to the doctor and so I didn’t. For years I had no idea that my body was slowly dying. I had a disease that was so well hidden. Millions have it and don’t know…and I was one of them. After ObamaCare passed, I went in for a simple blood test after I experienced some strange feelings on my feet. The doctor’s nurse called me three days later to let me know the harsh reality: I am a diabetic. They called in two prescriptions and left it at that for the time being.

I was shocked! How could I be diabetic? I started doing research and, armed with new knowledge, I scheduled another appointment that I would never have been able to schedule before ObamaCare. It turns out that diabetes, at least Type 2, has a lot to do with genetics. It’s a progressive disease too, so as time goes on I may have to add meds or even insulin. My doctor agreed to a meter so I could test my blood glucose and a dietician so I could get some ideas on healthy eating habits to control my blood glucose levels. We agreed that I could have some time to control my diabetes with diet and exercise. For now, I would skip taking the drugs.

And so began my new life. I read and researched. I tested and tweaked. I cut out sugar and reduced my carb intake dramatically. I go for a walk after every meal and I go to the gym at least 4 times a week. I’ve lowered my HbA1c from a 9% to a 6.5% and I’m still going.

ObamaCare changed my life. I can’t eat the same things. I exercise now. I have a schedule. I get to keep my eyesight. I get to not further damage my kidneys or liver. I get to keep my legs. I get to finish raising my children and watch them grow up and into lives of their own with children of their own. Without ObamaCare, I wouldn’t have known I was diabetic until I had a high so high that I crashed my car while driving or passed out in a grocery store. Now I know, I’m informed, and I’m in control of my healthcare because of it.

Diabetes, Type 1 and Type 2, is a pre-existing condition. No one chooses to get it any more than someone would choose to get cancer. It’s real and it kills. Under Trump’s healthcare plan, it WILL kill. If this new plan passes, my horror story will just be beginning.


The Coffee House


Winter is approaching; I feel the chill in the air. I hurry across the parking lot and stoop under a canopy of colorful flowers that will soon need to be taken in out of the cold weather. I open the door, and I’m welcomed by a warm blanket of air that envelopes me in the rich aromas of fresh coffee and baked goods. Stepping into the coffee house and closing the door behind me, I lock the chill of the cold fall day outside.

Live plants are positioned around the room, their leaves casting shadows in the muted lighting. The dark blue ceiling appears low enough to touch. Pine wood panels cover the bottom half of the walls. The tan color on the top half of the walls is a shade darker than the pine, tying the pine wood panels to the darker color of the ceiling. Various works of art hang on the wall. I feel as though I’ve stepped into the den of a country home. Overstuffed chairs in shades of green, blue and maroon are arranged into mini-living rooms with matching pine end tables and coffee tables. Sets of dining tables are set comfortably apart from one another with padded forest green chairs. The blue carpet has maroon running through it, tying the whole color scheme together into a nice country setting. The ceiling fans are on, moving just enough to keep the aroma of coffee and baked goods circulating throughout the room. The front of the counter is open, revealing an array of delicious-looking baked goods arranged in wicker baskets.

A man is seated in a corner of the room, his coffee cup in one hand and a newspaper in the other. A group of older women are chatting happily as they crochet, hooks flying skillfully through the yarn as they talk. They smile as I walk toward the counter, nodding their hellos. I place my order with the man behind the counter, and he expertly creates my perfect blend of coffee, milk and caramel. My fresh hot coffee warming my cold hands, I walk to one of the arranged seating areas closer to the wall and rest in one of the padded chairs. The whirring of the coffee grinder, the gurgling of the coffee brewing, the bubbling of the steamer warming the milk, and the humming of the refrigerator create a relaxing symphony of sounds. I take a sip of my hot coffee, relishing the warmth. My eyes get heavy, and I settle to the sounds and smells of the coffee shop. I can hear the man moving behind the counter, and it carries me back to memories of my mother moving through the kitchen making Sunday morning breakfast. The rustling of the newspaper as a page is turned reminds me of my father at the dining table reading his paper. I feel as though I have come home.

The serenity of the coffee shop is only interrupted by the occasional rush of traffic sounds as the door is opened by the next cold customer eagerly awaiting his or her taste of home.