There's a horrid rumor going around that if healthcare reform goes through, there will be a Death Panel which will decide the fate of children with mental disabilities and seniors who are no longer productive. They will be humanely euthanized. As I am in my ninety-sixth year, I fear I'm a ripe candidate for extinction. This makes me a teeny bit nervous. If you were my age, wouldn't it bother you? I am sick of the very name of Sarah Palin who is now an unpleasant fact of life but she is worried about her parents who, like me, are senior citizens. When her father can longer go moose hunting, will he be zapped?
What to do in this dire situation? Perhaps I should join a gaggle of tea-baggers and go to town hall meetings where I could shout with the hecklers and stand up (in my shaky, doddering way) for my rights as an American citizen who has a bona fide birth certificate. Who needs the government's help when there are plenty of insurance agencies, ready and happy to take care of your medical bills as long as you keep paying tne premiums. Medicare? Oh, well that's different. And those Canadians who go on yapping about their healthcare program are a peculiar bunch of folks.
Town hall meetings would be exhausting however. My hearing is pretty well shot and my vision none too good. I'd probably get home in a state of major disrepair. In the end, maybe the best thing for me to do when I hear that the Death Panel is on its way to me is to stand behind the door, leaning on my walker with my cane raised to strike. In the words of W, "Bring 'em on!