



I’m going to explain one reason why I support universal healthcare. If you’re with me on that, then you can show your support here >>

Let me tell you about my first experience with “socialized medicine.” When I was 19 years old, I decided to spend a summer in Malaysia. I correctly surmised that it would be cheaper living there than at home, and I figured that I could find some work as a freelance writer – which I did. I scored a round-trip ticket on Thai International for less than $800, folded my six-foot-four frame into a very small coach seat for 22 hours, and there I was, in Kuala Lumpur. I found a hotel for $2 a night (no extra charge for the cockroaches), and a street vendor who would feed me my two meals a day for 30 cents each. (I still love the taste of nasi goreng, KL-style.)

Everything was going fine, until I got really, really sick.

I made my way to a small fishing village on the east coast. This is where the giant turtles land, to lay their eggs. They reputedly swim all the way from the Galapagos Islands. Just the female turtles; the males stay home and play poker, I guess. I took a shack on the beach for a dollar a day, including meals. During the day, I walked along the beach and swam in the ocean. At night, I read the Complete Works of Shakespeare that I had brought from home, and went out to see the turtles as they landed on the beach around midnight.

There is exactly one word in the English language that is derived from the Malay family of languages. It’s the word “boondocks.” I was in the boondocks.

Quite unexpectedly, one Thursday night, this quiet fishing village suddenly filled with drunks. They played loud, horrible music, on AM radios. I inquired as to the cause. Start of the Sabbath, I was told. I retreated to my shack. I kept hearing that awful music from the neighboring shack until 2 am, at which point I went into that shack, found several people passed out on the floor, and turned off their radio – without objection.

The next day, for whatever reason, I found that I was having serious difficulty breathing. An asthmatic attack. Before long, I couldn’t stand up straight; I had to bend over in order to breathe at all. I had to take little baby steps, or I would pass out. Some kind villager packed my bag, and helped me out of the village. It was less than a mile to the nearest road, but because of the baby steps, it took me more than an hour to get there. At the road, I flagged down one of the taxis that served as public transportation in the boondocks. I told him to take me to the nearest health clinic – which was 50 miles away. As I said, I was in the boondocks.

So I arrive at the clinic, having no idea what to expect. Do they have witch doctors? I don’t know. There are 150 people in the waiting room, but the intake nurse can see that I don’t have much time left, so after five minutes, she takes me in to see the doctor.

The doctor is a happy gentleman wearing a doctor’s lab coat. I feel much comforted by that.

He says to me, in English, “I see your problem – you can’t breathe.” Well, yes. He takes off his stethoscope, puts it on my ears, and holds it to my chest. It sounds utterly horrible – like Darth Vader’s breathing. (That was the year that Star Wars was released.). The doctor says, with a smile, “I’m going to do something for you, and you will get better. But it’s going to be very painful. Just for a short time.” I say fine.

He gives me an injection of adrenaline.

I feel excruciating pain all over my body – for around ten minutes. I lay down in a fetal position. Then the pain disappears, and I can breathe a little better. Not very well at all, but better.

The doctor tells me that I need to go home, because I’m still going to be sick for several weeks. I agree. I thank him.

I asked him how much I owed him. He said nothing.

He was wrong, of course. I owed him my life.

Malaysia – at that time, one of the poorest countries on Earth. Wracked by a civil war twenty years earlier, and divided by ethnic strife. A place where people were lucky to earn two dollars a day. But a place where everyone, even a foreigner like me, could see a doctor, and get the care that we needed to stay alive – and tell you about it today.

“Socialized medicine.” It doesn’t sound so awful now, does it?

Contribute today to our campaign – our campaign not just to win a Senate seat, but our campaign to make sure that everyone, rich or poor, can see a doctor when he or she is sick >>

Courage,

Rep. Alan Grayson