A Personal Comparison of U.S. vs. Canadian Healthcare Coverage

My interest in the U.S. healthcare debate wanes by the day.  And because I no longer have skin [literally] in the game, I am not angry and desperate as are many of my friends who sign petition after petition, post links and videos of hope on social networking sites, and travel to see their senators and representatives in Congress.  I am just incredulous at the absurdity of the debate and the vilification of other systems that manage to cover ALL their citizens.

I would let this issue go without comment, except that I received the following message this morning from San Francisco via email: “You have received a bill from Anthem Blue Cross for $1014.00 – ouch!” And that number – US$ 1014 – triggered  momentary outrage.

Low Vitamin D

I have “Low Vitamin D” (that’s what physicians call it).  Who knew?  So low that I have to take a prescription pill (more on that later) for 12 weeks – one capsule a week – before getting re-tested and perhaps going on over-the-counter supplements.  My reading was “10″ (nanograms per milliliter) and I’m told that the level should be over 32.

Well, it turns out that I’m not the only one.  You too, could have Low Vitamin D.  One recent article reports that “low vitamin D levels among adults are fast becoming a growing epidemic and could spell trouble for the future health of the nation…“  If you think that statement a bit dramatic, try this title on for size:  “Low Vitamin D Levels Pose Large Threat to Health; Overall 26 Percent Increased Risk of Death”.  Yikes!

Low Vitamin D seems to be the cause de jour for everything from osteomalacia and osteoporosis to cancer, heart disease, chronic, diffuse pain, depression and other health problems.  Given the dire predictions in the articles referenced above, and the anecdotal evidence of my physician, who tells me that only 5 out of 100 patients in her practice have “normal” levels of vitamin D, I’m surprised we haven’t seen more about this in the so-called mainstream media.  Or have I missed it.

p.s. I can’t end this post without relaying my insurance story for the prescribed vitamin D.  My prescription was for 12 weeks (12 pills), called in to my pharmacy of choice – Pharmaca. (I highly recommend the pharmacists at the Oakland branch.)  When I go to pick up the pills, I am told that my insurance only covers one month at a time – I will have to go back each month to refill the prescription.  No can do.  I’m leaving in two days for Canada for the summer.  My co-pay for the one-month’s worth of pills (4) is $10.  If I used my insurance to pay for the 12 pills a month at a time, it would cost me $30.  Instead, I paid $18.21 for the 12 pills without applying my insurance to the purchase.  For this I pay $507 per month?

Red Hot Power Ranger Roses

Until about two weeks ago, I was attending meetings with members of the administration of the Union Territory of Puducherry, including the Lieutenant Governor, the Chief Secretary, the Chief Minister, the Tourism Secretary, the Commissioner of the Local Administration Department, and the Secretary of Town and Country Planning; networking with other NGOs on environmental and regional planning issues; working on an upcoming newsletter for Pondy Citizens Action Network…

Today, I spent an hour as one of three volunteers in Mr. Nagatani’s kinder garden class at the Chabot Elementary School in Oakland, California, supervising a project for the Red Hot Power Ranger Roses Small Group. (Okay, on Tuesday, I attended a talk by Germaine Greer, co-sponsored by Berkeley Arts & Letters and the Hillside Club Book Lust Salon, discussing her new book Shakespeare’s Wife, and yesterday, I considered attending a CITRIS lecture at UC Berkeley on the Climate Navigator: A New Tool for Policy Leaders to Address Environmental Challenges.)

Did Mr. Nagatani have it in for me, or did he believe Betsy (for whom I was subbing) when she told him I was “highly competent”.  (And why did she do that, exactly?)  Here are the assignments as he described them to his class:

Essere Redux

It’s been a while… a long while… five months and counting…

It’s not like I haven’t had anything to say, but the four other blogs that I maintain always seem to take precedence… and what I have to say in my own blog takes more time to compose than what I post on ProPoor or write on Beautiful Pondicherry, Save Our Beach, and Shuddham… not that the issues covered in Beautiful Pondicherry and Save Our Beach are not complicated and delicate… but I’ve been busy, OK?

Am now back in the San Francisco Bay Area, with an always-on (and fast) Internet connection.  I’m looking forward to catching up on all the video links that I’ve deferred viewing and doing more than just maintenance on all my blogs.

More later…

Knit 1, Purl 1

Moss Stitch

I taught myself to knit in 1981, after graduating from college and while living at home with my parents in Scarsdale until I saved enough money to move into a studio apartment in Brooklyn Heights.  It was that, or watch golf on TV, in the basement, with my parents, after work in the Finance Department of an insurance company on Wall Street.

Knitting Know-How - Pages 163 to 171

Starting with page 164 of Knitting in Vogue, which gives step-by-step instructions on how to cast on using several methods (I started with the “thumb method” and have never learned another way) to page 171, which completes the various ways of making up the finished pieces, this book started me on my way to five years of knitting obsession.  Every trip to Italy (there was always a stop in either Milan or Rome) entailed a visit to Filatura di Crosa and the purchase of bags of luscious, sophisticated, sometimes designer, yarn.

My first sweater cost me over $240 in 1981 dollars!  My friend Ellen had the exact same experience with her first sweater:  of walking into a yarn store (in my case, in Scarsdale), picking up a beautiful, soft skein of yarn (in my case, a heather colored wool/angora mix), asking the sales woman how many skeins you needed to make a sweater, taking the yarn that you have completely fallen in love with to the cash register, being shocked beyond belief that the yarn cost $200, and paying more than you have ever paid for a sweater by a LOT (in my case, several multiples) because you are too embarrassed to return the yarn and pick something cheaper. Of course, the total bill was more than that because I also bought a pair of knitting needles.  Once I had finished the pieces of the sweater, I had to go back to the store because I didn’t understand how to “block” the pieces and didn’t trust myself to “make up” the sweater.  The sales woman took pity on me and told me she would block it for me (even though they don’t normally do that) and make it up for $40.  I meekly paid that exorbitant amount, again embarrassed to take it back and try and do it myself.

I soon became quite proficient, to the point that the proprietor of a boutique in the new South Street Seaport, asked me to knit custom sweaters for her. Apparently, she couldn’t find anyone who would knit argyle sweaters or vests.  I took the challenge, but quit 4 sweaters (3 argyle) later.  Knitting for someone else had taken all the creativity and pleasure out of knitting.  (My last sweater was an Irish fishermen’s sweater for a man who had a size 50 chest and one arm longer than the other.)

Baby Blanket in Moss (or Seed) Stitch

All my knitting paraphernalia and three boxes of sweaters, tank tops, vests, and cardigans are now in Vancouver. Inspired by my soon-to-be niece, I opened the big box of needles and yarn and found some fun cotton yarn that I had purchased for $1.98 a skein in 1985 from the New York Yarn Center.  I had 8 (of 16) skeins left, and figured that doubled, I could get a decent-sized baby blanket.

I had to teach myself to cast on all over again (it’s been over 20 years since I’ve picked up knitting needles!).  Luckily, one of the few boxes of books we have unpacked contained Knitting in Vogue. I decided to use a “moss” or “seed” stitch – the stitch I used for my very first ($240) sweater.

Baby Beanie in Garter Stitch

Seduced by the instant gratification of making itty-bitty things, I bought a (one!) skein of cotton yarn and got two beanies (the first one looked too big) out of it.  Unfortunately, I had to do a lot of math before making the first beanie because the gauge for the yarn I had chosen was different from the one in the pattern I had borrowed from the Vancouver Public Library.  I have no idea if these will fit any babies – how big are their heads anyway?

Summer Treat

Coffee granita with vanilla bean ice cream

Summer has finally arrived in Vancouver. We have now had a week of sunshine, with weather in the 80’s (Fahrenheit). Radio weather announcers pinch themselves and utter un-jinxing spells before they say: “And the forecast for the weekend… do I dare say it… is sunny.” And the little weather icon, which shows the sun, partially covered by a cloud with raindrops falling from the cloud, keeps moving to the day after tomorrow every day.

After an afternoon walking around Gastown with two friends from the San Francisco Bay Area, I was inspired to make coffee granita based on this ‘wikiHow‘. The addition of a scoop of vanilla bean ice cream made for a perfect summer dessert.

Salmonberries

We have been (and are still) anxiously awaiting the blackberry harvest here in Vancouver.  We have some big plans for those blackberries – gobbling them up as we pick them, over ice cream, cobbler… can’t wait…

Then, two weeks ago, our friend Ellen Bermingham reported a mother and two kids picking berries in Pacific Spirit Regional Park during her afternoon run.  What were they doing?  It is way too early for blackberries.

On Saturday, we saw what looked like yellow raspberries while hiking in Capilano River Regional Park with Tim Ryan and Rissa.  And yesterday, Mark saw several groups picking what turned out to be salmonberries on his mountain bike ride through Pacific Spirit Park.  Aha!  Salmonberries (rubus spectabilis).  Who knew?

Today, we grabbed what containers we had and hopped on my scooter to go berry picking.  A mother and two kids (perhaps the same ones that Ellen saw?) were already at one spot close to the road.  We forged on further ahead, wading into thorny thickets yet untouched.  We found both the yellow and red fruit – enough to fill the three containers that we had brought, hoping that we had at least 6 squashed cups worth.

The flavors are very delicate – the yellow different from the red.  The juice runs clear.  There is no discernible smell.  (Mark describes the smell as “forest”.)

We emptied out all the jam and mustard jars we had, sterilized them, decided on a fruit to sugar ratio, boiled the fruit with sugar and pectin, filled the jars, boiled them once more to create a vacuum seal and viola – our first attempt at jam.

Buck 65, Nuala O’Faolain, and the Color Pink

When I’m in the San Francisco Bay Area, NPR and local radio programming provide most of my news and music and keep me updated on arts and culture. KQED and KALW are my two default stations for background ‘company’.

In Vancouver, it’s CBC Radio One for news and other chatter and CBC Radio 2 for late night musical company. I’d like to share a few of the programs that I particularly enjoyed over the last week:

1. Buck 65 with Symphony Nova Scotia, a concert recorded on April 18, 2008 in Halifax and available on Concerts On Demand on CBC Radio 2

“It was something that could only happen in Halifax” says Halifax Chronicle Herald critic Stephen Pedersen. That’s because Symphony Nova Scotia is an unusually versatile first class chamber symphony orchestra, Buck 65 is a truly imaginative and creative poet and hip hop artist, and conductor/composer Dinuk Wijeratne has the imagination and skill to pull it all together – a combination of talents and attitude that you don’t often find.

The night featured arrangements of Buck 65’s hits like “Way Back When” and “Cries a Girl”, but also a CBC commission of a brand new work by Dinuk Wijeratne – a triple concerto for Cellist (Norman Adams), turntable artist Buck 65 and percussionist Terry O’Mahoney.

2. An interview with Nuala O’Faolain, recorded in 2003 at the Literary Arts Festival in Victoria, Canada. Nuala O’Faolain died May 9 of cancer at the age of 68. She is best known for her literary debut Are You Somebody, written when she was 60. Eleanor Wachtel, host of Writers & Company, rebroadcasts her interview, which is engaging and funny, here:

Listen to Nuala O’Faolain – 18 May 2008 in RealAudio.

3. Re: Thinking Pink, an Outfront program by a breast cancer survivor upset that the breast cancer marketing machine has co-opted what used to be her favorite color. “Breast cancer is not pink … it is puke green… or shit brown…”

Re: Thinking Pink
by Roseanne Cohen

Pink ribbon fundraisers and pink ribbon merchandise are everywhere. Tonight, breast cancer survivor Roseanne Cohen asks us to reconsider the colour and the campaign.

Thank You Keith and Tammy

Kayaking on English Bay, Vancouver, BC

Mark and I always talked of getting kayaks for our place in Vancouver. After all, we are right on the beach! That was when at least one of us was working. Should we get singles? Doubles? Wouldn’t it be great to walk our kayaks across the street and put in right there?

Well yesterday, we did just that, thanks to our wonderful friends Keith Miller and Tammy Borichevsky of California Canoe & Kayak who gave us two kayaks (sized to fit the 14′ U-Haul truck), spray skirts and paddles the day before we drove to Vancouver.

Keith and Tammy have been great supporters of our service projects over the last few years, but they have been involved in environmental protection and community service for more than 30 years. They were fixtures at Friends of the River conferences, helped raise over $185,000 to date to fight breast cancer with annual Support Strokes events, and provide internships and other opportunities for low-income youth in Oakland.

It was beautiful on the water despite the fact that my stroke isn’t even (I need a rudder!) and I’m using too much arm (oh yeah – I feel those muscles today). And wouldn’t you know it, the wind picked up on our return and it was not at my back.

Out of Storage

For weeks, we’d laughed about our decision to take the Greyhound bus to Vancouver, British Columbia, milking it for all the sympathy we might muster from our friends and family. (None was forthcoming.) As Canadian residents (we “landed” in October 2007), we can no longer drive a US-registered vehicle into Canada. What to do? Flying was too expensive, and the Amtrak train entailed a switch to a bus in Seattle and would take over 26 hours. So, the bus it would have to be. With a week’s advance purchase, our trip would cost $157 and would take 24 hours. Mark joked that we would have to take up smoking to have something to do at the rest stops along the way. Privately, we were both getting ready to blog about the experience.

The day before we needed to purchase our tickets, we decided to rent a U-Haul truck, empty out our storage locker in Alameda, and drive to Vancouver. “We’re driving to Beverly” we announced. But that image didn’t quite fit the U-Haul truck, even though we managed to fill the entire volume of the 14’ truck. We’d done the “Beverly Hillbillies” thing some years ago, when we borrowed a friend’s open-bed truck, propped the sides up with plywood, filled the truck up with junk, covered it up with tarp, and tied it down as best we could. The customs official on duty at 2am that rainy morning was not amused. “What do you have in there?” “Oh, we don’t really know – it’s just a lot of junk.” “Then why are you bringing it in?” “To store it at our house.” “You can’t just bring things into the country to store in your house!” “We can’t?” … But I digress…

Mark and I have had a personal storage unit since early 2003, when friends sold our house on Telegraph Hill and had the contents packed up and moved – lock, stock and 3,600 square feet barrel – into a fancy storage facility in San Francisco while we were in India. Most of the contents of those three containers stayed untouched during our couple-month stay with friends on Henry Street and 9-month stint on a houseboat and were only removed when we moved into our 2,500 square foot loft space on 10^th Street in April 2004. A year and a bit later, we sold SomaSala, fostered our furniture, art and artifacts among friends and family as far away as Seattle, took up most of a friend’s garage and put the rest of our things into City Storage in San Francisco. Then when Betsy bought a house in Rockridge, Oakland, we moved in with her and Zing and moved our stuff into a smaller storage space at Public Storage in Alameda.

Why keep all this stuff? First and foremost, we are lazy. Getting rid of things properly takes more effort than keeping them. Second, ever since we’ve been “homeless” in the San Francisco Bay Area, we’ve entertained vague hopes of eventually having some kind of dwelling of our own again. And I guess we still do. (We must not be alone. According to a recent New York Times article, the self storage industry has grown from almost non-existent to over 51,000 facilities nationwide in 35 years, and is still booming despite the overall economic downturn.) “We’ll never be able to afford to replace the furniture we have,” we rationalized. But now, if we ever get a place, we’ll have to manage without the contents of our four previous kitchens.

It feels great not to have a storage locker any more. But that feeling is mitigated by the fact that we still have all this “stuff.” Even though we’ve meted out some of our plates and bowls we still have remnants of our First Sunday Soirees – china, cups, glasses and silverware for 50. The tens of boxes of files from my days of international development work will get recycled. Our clothes and coats will be donated. The books… I don’t know… hard to get rid of books…

We still have too much stuff – in four different households in three continents and two garages. Oh, and all the fostered furniture and art.