Disasters great and small

Every weekday morning, I see S at my local gym. She opens the shop, runs the front counter, and makes small periodic orbits to clean machines and do all the grunt work needed to make the gym as swanky as it is. I say hi to her every morning, and we talk - small stuff. S has the distinction of being the second woman I see in the day, the first being my wife, who tries to cling to blissful slumber a little longer after her tired husband gets up to go bend himself in terrible directions.

S tells me about these headaches she's been getting, connected possibly to a lump recently removed from her throat (the scar is a dull crimson line hidden from the world unless she looks up). The doctor she talks to says she needs a CAT scan to find out what's wrong with her: a pain that flares from the back of her head, wrapping around her temples and eyes. She was asked if she had insurance, and like tens of millions of Americans, she's in that club of No. Without insurance, it's two thousand just to get the CAT scan, and that would be the start of her journey. If the scan comes up with something, well, then the ride really begins.

S says she can put down $500 for the scan as part of a good-faith measure, but it's not enough for the doctors. S asked her mom and together, they can scrape together an even grand. Will that be enough? Don't know yet. Until then, the headaches, the pain flowering in the back of her head, where it's oddly warm.

And S goes about her business trying not to think about it, cleaning the machines and smiling at customers. Tiny chatter, movement, convenient distractions whilst getting paid at a job and having no health coverage. I admire her, but I won't patronize her by saying that...me with the insurance that allowed me to pick up a swanky new pair of glasses and frames for a mere $160. Without insurance? Easily $500. I can't get angry about what she's going through because she isn't. She'd rather just go about getting things done, and made that's the best treatment she can get at this point. Thinking about how unfair it is that people have to pay thousands for a diagnosis, and maybe tens of thousands to maintain their lives, might hurt worse than the treatment. Having that pain burn in you about how unfair the system is, that's a mental ulcer I can see avoiding through busywork. S will get the money somehow, maybe. She'll get in, and I pray it's good news.

As for me, the biggest worry in my life right now is trying to find out why my Shuffle is acting up. Times like this I get that Zen moment that resembles being slapped across the face with a full-grown salmon. But then, I struggle with knowing what to do for her, if anything. As despair flowers, I start to feel tendrils of contentment pull me away, isolating my guilt in a cocoon of comfy living. I feel in me this sickening glaze of self-interest, not wanting to place myself in S's shoes. Once you see someone else struggling with health and massive debt, you want to run out of fear of it being contagious. You realize it's just a fat bit of luck you got a good job, a meager raise, and decent benefits, and when you see someone without, you wonder why you are on the "winning" side, modest as it may be. You want to help her pay the expenses, but then you don't know if you can afford it. You have half-hearted nobility in your hand, and it stings. You start to see the unlucky and destitute everywhere and you get overloaded. You can't help everyone. For every homeless guy you buy dinner for, there's two on street corners blow past while listening to the new Moby album.

And then, the cocoon comes back, nuzzles you close, whispers to you that the new Xbox is going to be revealed on MTV tonight. And, hey, you have hours of fun on DVR to watch. You have tickets for Episode 3 next Thursday. Ice cream is in the fridge. Life is good, right?