Hello Mudda, Hello Fadda

Dear Congress,

Hi! What's going on? I hear you've had a lot of snow in DC lately; please know that you're welcome to visit sunny Florida any time. It's been a little chilly here lately, but there's no shoveling required. Well, enough small talk. Let's get to it.

I need you to get on task with this whole health care thing. I understand the "big government/socialized medicine" arguments y'all have going on, and while I agree that both sides make valid theoretical points, mostly what I hear is bickering and sniping. But I wonder, if we could look past politics and posturing for a minute, what you would say if I were your daughter.

Seriously, Congress, just for a moment, pretend you're my parent. You brought me into this world, me, this tiny helpless, incredibly sweet baby. You raised me right: I floss regularly. I went to college, got a good job, and learned to provide for myself. Even better, I registered to vote and checked the little box marked "organ donor." It makes you proud, doesn't it?

But now, there's a little problem. You see, for some reason, despite my rule-following and best intentions, my body is starting to fall apart. (You know, Congress, I did some research, and my condition appears to be genetic... but I digress.) I am going to doctors, trying to figure out what's wrong, and how I can be fixed. Except my health insurance company has decided that I have a pre-existing condition, and will not pay for any diagnostic testing nor treatment of my degenerating discs.

This is my fault, right? Because I quit my corporate job (with a good group plan) for a job that satisfied my ideals. And now that my idealistic job is suffering in the poor economy, it's my fault for sticking with it and not finding another job with benefits, because I'm holding tight to my dream of being a playwright. The message I get is "Because I want what I want, I must pay the consequences." Is that what you say to your child?

I actually wish I hadn't gone for a check-up. I would rather live with my symptoms, instead of knowing that I am not worth fixing. Because that's what it feels like the insurance company is telling me.

Would you allow your own daughter to settle for suffering or financial stress? I hope that you wouldn't, Congress. Even my own less-than-stellar parents haven't been so negligent. They worry for me, they offer advice, they refrain from judging my choices, and they hand me money to pay for my care.

I know that it's your job to look at the country as a whole, to do what is best for millions of people. But sometimes, we're not just the masses. We're individuals, human beings. Many of us are good people. I am a good person, Congress. And I need your help.

Ok, I guess that's all. I hope the weather gets better for you -- those cherry blossoms will bloom before you know it. Write back soon!

Love,
Miranda Sunshine