Health care in the North Country

It's early morning on a Saturday and I'm writing while listening to my husband's EMT radio blaring in the other room. It went off a few minutes ago, warning us that a small town north of here needs responders to the home of an elderly lady having a potential heart attack. Her life depends entirely on volunteers. It also depends on having enough of those volunteers training in advanced live-saving techniques, and at least one of those volunteers trained in driving. The training is arduous; a whole year of night classes following the year you already put in for basic EMT training. I just joined the local squad, and will probably be just a driver because who has time for that kind of commitment to training?? But it's necessary in an area like ours. That lady's life also depends on the strength of her local hospital. Fortunately, we have an excellent one in our village, but in New York, rural hospitals are threatened. New York is rapidly heading down California's swirling toilet bowl of an economy. Add to that situation the health care reform bills that are being proposed and you have a perfect storm for small community health care institutions. These institutions, and the whole delivery system for health care in the US, need to change, but how can a small rural hospital achieve change without at least a modicum of investment? To invest, you need a margin of revenue over expenses each year. New York State's hospital margins are the 48th lowest in the nation. I can't help thinking about the lady having a heart attack and what will be available to people like her in the near future. Our community is incredibly strong in a volunteer-pitch-right-in sense; that's what we're going to need to strengthen health care in our region. We'll need to band together and share resources. It'll be better for the patient that way, anyway, and better for communities in the long run.

Raining in Canton

Time to get ready for winter up here in the frozen North. It's a ritual. How do you know it's time? Not by the month. You know it's time if you see cords of firewood dumped in a driveway, or stacked neatly in a line a mile long marking the closest line to the house without encouraging rodents to transfer their affections from wood-pile to attic. You can tell when the stores put the bar-b-qs on sale, and the snowblowers and chainsaws replace them in the show-room. You can tell when the local thrift store has its last bag sale before setting out the coat racks. And you can tell if you have to wear socks in the house or if you and your partner start the long contest to see who can outlast the cold longer before one of you breaks and turns the heat on.

It won't be long, now. The leaves are turning--lots of brilliant scarlet this year--and you can smell snow in the air some nights.