Untangled Health

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Waking to Trump: Healthcare is the least of our problems.

 Untangled Health was created to illustrate confusion in US health policy and give myself a place to vent my frustrations as just one more American caught in the routine of “Stay, Stay, Stay, Staying Alive”. The last eleven days have reordered my priorities. Since 1979 I have been fixed-on-fixing the vulnerable people using your health care system then as I was having my morning coffee today I saw a note from a LinkedIn Friend Maria K Todd MHA PhD. She was describing her inability to create words of sufficient magnitude to describe how she was feeling since the change of administrations. I  looked inside and emotions spilled-forth with the following imagery of life, family and purpose.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Waking to Trump (click here for trip to the Cheshire Cat’s den)

I wake:Breathless, exhausted,fearful,powerless; lost: A stranger in a strange land: Who are these men? My hackles are up and I can’t remember the dream: Something about a red-haired, bright bulbous nose dude with the stink of vodka on his breath screaming “WRONG”!

Waking each morning to the same reality. Memories of 50 years attending to diabetes; age ten; being told I might be blind and lose my feet if I didn’t care for myself. Memories of what it “took” to take CARE of myself; sometimes feeling ashamed to borrow money for insulin . Experiencing life on track Zero then again on Track number Ten. Attaching myself to groups of “loving-others”: finding the barriers to “well-being” and removing them; one-person-at-a-time.

Signs of my disease pointing to the Fall of my life: then Seizing 2008 with an army of friends and moving NC to the Blue as we were “tailed by skinheads” and protected by the FBI. Wondering if this is what my father felt as he was beaten up by classmates calling him “Stinky Saul the Jew Boy”; When his name changed from Halbstein to Harris so his family could keep their business. Choosing to put life on the line in WWII, he went on to live a life of patriotism he died an honorable man. One recognized for his contributions in our Space Race; Father of the Titan II Rocket.

Staring at his penciled drawing of the completed rocket, complete with team signatures : I hear his voice; shouting loudly to reject any form of bigotry. I miss his presence and the smell of his after-shave that day in July 1969 when he rescued me from the “Darker Side of America”; bar-fly’s and deviates and bourbon breath…the Department of Social Services and my fantastic Pop chased them away. There are reasons to keep the children in focus for what they inherit is their ability to thrive in the safe-space we leave behind.

I miss you “Saul Halbstein” remembering you in your prime; the Saturn V booster rockets on their test stands “shaking the windows from our home” ; hand on my shoulder, “have no fear Jeff; were going to the moon”. 

If you are out their Pop, the joke is on you. Not a believer; you now gaze down at a country you could barely recognize: Save the memories of your childhood, the War and the 1960s.

Now I know why you were still angry when you died. When you own best friend accused you of being another “New York Jew” ; broke your heart and left your side. Those last weeks of your life in December 2015 you kept reminding me of the forthcoming debate; you seemed to believe it was extremely important; you spoke of the “transparent man” who was in the next hospital room. You called him “Mr. Deal” and warning me about his ties to the bad guys. Were you by chance having a premonition?

I asked you today if I should publish this. Then the mailman came delivering an empathy card for your death:  One-Year-Late

My Pops in his prime!

Teaching others to teach others

Missing Pop

 

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