Washington: You Have a Problem

It's been just over four years since my daughter was diagnosed with leukemia. Those years were hard fought, filled with life or death decisions. I saw my child sedated, hysterical, poked with enormous needles and tubes, pumped full of toxins that ravished her body, stripped her hair down to the scalp, tested the abilities of her internal organs, demolished her immune system. I became a vaccine advocate, pleading with the world to protect those that could not protect themselves. For two years, I scrubbed the walls of my house, I broke the sanitize feature on my washing machine. I nearly lost my mind. I nearly lost everything.

And my sad story is not your problem.

I've met hundreds of sick children. Many of them are no longer alive. The ones that survived will face a lifetime of problems. Their parents all have the same combination of shock/horror/fear on their faces. They too will face a lifetime of problems. Many of them will become financially decimated. Many of them will lose everything.

And you have the gall to stand in a rose garden with smug faces, bragging about the fact that you have zero compunction about preventing these families from gaining access to health insurance. You are fools if you don't think you're on the wrong side of history, here. You are fools either way. Your callous insolence for basic human life along with the fact that you've just spiked the G-D football at the 50 yard line only proves that.

There are millions of adults out there living with critically ill children. Tax paying adults. And if that isn't enough motivation for you to abandon your sociopathic, hypocritical values to actually give a shit. I've got news for you...

These adults can also vote. And alllll those children, whose lives you are so haphazardly screwing over for political gain? Well, with any hope, they'll be able to vote one day too. Grandparents, aunts, uncles, entire support systems, communities- we will all vote.

And that, my friends, is absolutely your problem.

These voters, like myself, have seen hell and lived to tell the tale. We survived because we carry with us an immense sense of tenacity and endurance. We are flameproof, made of stone. These features were not diminished by our journey through childhood illness; they got stronger. And I will tell you something, we refuse to live in a throw away society.


I'll leave you with this, a photo of my child in the midst of, by far, the most difficult phase of her 2.5 years of treatment. If you are able to look at this image and not feel an immense sense of failure for your part in dooming her in adulthood, then I would strongly recommend getting your resume up to date.