THE MARKETPLACE OF DEATH

'THE MARKET PLACE OF DEATH'.

BY MATTHEW LUCAS BECKETT

“The market is always best,” said Senator Don Coyote. “Of course having returned Health Care to a market based system is a positive step. Government run Health Care was always a bad idea.”
With a tired sigh, Monroe tried yet again to explain. “It was never Government Run Health Care. The Health Care Law merely said that Health Insurance Companies had to treat patients as people, not as simply numbers.”
“Well,,” said Senator Coyote. “A market based system would reduce costs to Insurance Companies, allow individuals to make their own Health Care Choices,, and make Health Care Decisions between patients and their doctors, not government bureaucrats.”
“And the business bureaucrats that used to run it did so well for people like me,” said Mark Krindel.
Holding up his right arm, all saw the stump where his hand had once been. “When my hand got a gangrene infection, my insurance company refused to pay for treatment because they said it was caused by a wound I got from a dog bite as a child that never properly healed and so was caused by a 'preexisting condition' and so they would not cover it, and then they dropped me entirely. Fortunately, I had a doctor friend who cut my infected hand off for free before it spread to the rest of my body, but he couldn't fit me for any kind of replacement without insurance, his clinic wouldn't allow it. I'd just gotten coverage and gotten approved for a prosthetic when YOU undid Justice In Health Care and I was immediately dropped. Your 'Market Place' when it comes to Health Care is a Market Place of Death. My stump is infected and I can't even get it treated. So don't tell ME the market is always best. It has sentenced me to death for having been bitten by a dog on the hand when I was a child.”
Moments after sitting down, Mark stopped breathing.
“The infection had already reached his lungs,” his friend Matt explained. “So, Senator Coyote, you and your lot really did sentence him to death by returning our Health Care System to a Market Place of Death.”
“Well,” said Senator Coyote, as Mark's corpse was removed from the room. “He should have had the hand taken care of when he was a child and his parents' insurance would cover it.”
“He did,” said Matt. “But the market place of death just looked for any excuse it could find not to cover him and latched on to that.” Overcome with grief for his friend, Matt left the room, unable to say more.
But Monroe had more to say. “So, now you see one example of the wonders of the marketplace when dealing with matters of life and death. But. . .”
A woman stood up. “My brother had a very minor stroke as a child. He was almost completely functional, except for a slightly weaker than usual unfavored hand. Nevertheless, when he got brain cancer at age thirty-six, his insurance refused to pay for treatment because they said it stemmed from his preexisting brain condition.”
“And what is your brother's current status?” asked Senator Coyote.
The woman removed an urn from her coat pocket, unstopped it and hurled its contents at the senator.
“That's what your 'Market Based' Health Care did to him. He had started treatment during the brief time when people were put before profits in health care, but then you put profits first again, and The Market Place of Death lived, for lack of a more appropriate word, up to its name.”
After breathing hard a moment, she gasped, realizing what she had just done with her brother's ashes, then fainted, and was removed from the room.
Senator Coyote made as if to leave, but then one more person stood up.
With a sigh, Senator Coyote sat down once more. “Yes, what sob story do you have. And remove the hood, I wish to see people's faces when I hear from them.”
The figure remained very still for a moment, then shook its head. “You shall see my face at the proper time, but for you that is not this day.”
“What do you mean, 'For me it is not this day'? Speak, and do not waste my time. Who are you and what have you to say?”
“I would like to say that I applaud your efforts,” said the terrible, almost inhuman voice. “They have been of great service to me, I thank you.”
“You're...you're welcome,” said Senator Coyote uncertainly. “But what do you mean 'service to you'? Are you an insurance executive?”
The black hood shook. “No, not one of them, though their service I also appreciate. The Marketplace you have created for me is quite rich with harvest, and I have taken great pleasure in its advantages over the system that for a while robbed me of my due. Oh, I feel another harvest in need of reaping. MMMM. A young child with a stroke that could not be treated because of an earlier brain injury, delicious.”
The figure turned to leave, but Senator Coyote called it back. “I would at least know the names of those who testify before me.”
The figure turned, its posture seeming surprised. “Do you not know me. Can it be that you have provided me with a market pace rich with food and yet do not know me. Perhaps. Well, such a faithful and productive servant should know his master's name, and you are a wonderful agent. I am Death. I thank you for your service. Keep it up, and we shall meet again where I shall reward your service. But now, I must go feast on that child's soul. Well done, valued servant, and continue.”
Then in a sweep of black robes, the figure was gone, leaving all in a state of stunned silence and Senator Coyote whiter than a sheet.