Posted by: New Class Traitor | January 2, 2010

VIP treatment under nationalized healthcare

I’ve explained to countless people that one main difference between free-marked and socialized medicine systems is that while in the former, ability to pay may affectaccess to scarce treatments or procedures,  in the latter, connections will have the same effect.

Hot Air and Big Lizards both carry the story by a Japanese woman about the “VIP care” her father receives in the Japanese socialized medicine system. Her story proves my point. Some excerpts:

I’m sure everyone reading this post knows that Japan has socialized medicine (national health care, single-payer, however you want to call it). It’s not as draconian as the NHS in the United Kingdom or the Canadian national and provincial health-care system; but it is universal — everyone must pay for government insurance. Fortunately, those who are well off can also buy private insurance in addition… and they can use that instead of the government system (unlike in the UK or Canada).

In other words, Japan already has the system that proponents of ObamaCare eventually want to install here in America. So let’s take a look at how it works in the real world.

After Mom reassured me about my father’s condition, she started talking about last year around this time, when she had to have stomach surgery.

“Oh Sachi, the care I received was wonderful!” she said; “I stayed in a private room which was like in a nice hotel. It had a private bathroom. The nurses were nice. The doctors were wonderful. I spent nine days in the hospital and only paid ¥80,000!” [About 800 dollars]

“Really?” I asked; “government insurance actually covered all that?”

“Oh, of course not; I have three insurance policies,” she proudly announced.

Before retirement, my father was a patent attorney. As a private business owner, he had to pay an exorbitant government insurance premium, both for himself and his three employees. But he always knew that would never be enough coverage, so he purchased two more private insurance policies. In other words, he spent more than twice as much on health insurance as a typical American spends now, pre-ObamaCare.

But even those extra policies wouldn’t cover the VIP treatment my Mom got. I asked a few more questions, and she finally spilled the beans:

“I was supposed to be in a 4-person room. But I had a private room all to myself, thanks to your uncle.”

Ah, my uncle the hospital administrator. I’d forgotten about him!

[…]

My mother is quite the hypochondriac; she always complains about one ailment or another, usually imaginary. So whenever she is not satisfied with her general practitioner, she talks to my uncle. First thing you know, she’s seeing a specialist — skipping the long waiting list that those without such connections must endure under Japanese system.

[…]

My mother strolled in at 9:00, the time the office officially opens; the waiting room [of a particularly well-regarded specialist] was already full, and they had long stopped issuing any numbers. One lady told my mom that she had gotten up at four and had her daughter drive her for two hours to get to the hospital. She was lucky; she got number 38 and had waited three hours already. “There are no specialists in my city,” the lady explained.

My mother-the-sister-of-one-of-the-nomenklatura presented her letter of introduction to the receptionist:

“Don’t worry, Ma’am, never mind the number. Just have a seat; we will call you.”

My mother did not have to wait. The doctor was most courteous, a rarity in Japan, and he asked about my uncle. Then he gave Mom a thorough examination, spending far longer with her than other patients.

[…]

But Mom is not so foolish as to rely upon such insecure health-care planning as [three health insurances plus personal connections]; she has a back-up system that she also uses…

After such nice treatment as she got for her knee and her stomach, my mother never forgets to send “gifts,” typically cash and premium liquor to the doctors, expensive chocolate to the nurses — and of cours, something extra special to my uncle, her brother. She was laughing that after her hospitalization, she spent more money on gifts than the actual medical bill. That means over thousand dollars of, let’s be honest, bribery.

Wonderful. The national health-care system works!

But even so, the family of the patient is expected to help out:

The day my father was taken to the hospital, the nurse told Mom to obtain several changes of clean pajamas, underwear, and towels for my father. Also soap, shampoo, and other toiletries, which were needed right away. Conveniently, the hospital has a kiosk that sells all kinds of items and is open 24 hours. Just a little markup over buying at a regular store, miles away… maybe 100% or so.

Oh, yes, I almost forgot, they told Mom to bring a thousand-dollar deposit. Cash.

My sister and mother take turns visiting Dad everyday. They have to pick up his dirty laundry, wash it and bring it back, because the hospital doesn’t do that. But Dad’s quite lucky that he stays in a nice hospital with three different insurance policies, under the auspices of his brother in law. My girlfriend’s father only had government insurance when he was hospitalized, and the hospital did not even turn on an air conditioner in the middle of August, with temperatures over a hundred degrees and humidity close to 100%.

My girlfriend visited her father as often as she could; she had to: Half the time, they didn’t even empty his bedpan.

You see? National health care works great… so long as you’re rich enough to afford the premium level of government insurance and to buy multiple additional private policies; so long as you have influential relatives; and so long as you’re willing and able to brazenly bribe the doctors and bureaucrats who run the system.

I believe this story speaks for itself.

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