When I broke and dislocated my arm a few years ago, four months’ worth of hospital visits drained over $2,000 from my bank account, was draining hundreds from my brother’s account, and then the week before Christmas I got hit with a bill for over three thousand dollars to cover the rest of the services rendered, due Christmas eve.

The services that were rendered included having my arm eyeballed by a doctor a few times, two xrays, and that’s it. Nothing for the pain (“Just mix ibuprofen and Tylenol”), nothing to rehabilitate the strength I lost in that arm, just some dick in a coat poking my arm and charging me hundreds for the opportunity.

Had I not gone to the hospital, I wouldn’t have been left penniless. Combine that with a severe anxiety disorder and now I feel fight-or-flight fear responses any time I have to spend more than $100 on something.

Oh yeah, then a few months after that a friend of mine elsewhere in the country fell ill. He didn’t think it was major enough to warrant hospital fees, especially since he was uninsured and made little money. About a week later his condition suddenly went critical, and the next evening his sister informed me that he was dead in the hospital. Leukemia. I’d still be talking to him if it weren’t for the American wealthcare system.