Dirty lawyer

Some mornings I feel like a lawyer. Not one of those good ones, no, I feel like the dirty kind. The kind that knowingly defends the guilty guy. Yes. My guys, girls, men and women are guilty. I am just trying to prevent them from receiving the death sentence. Literally. They are guilty of unwillingly being stuck by crippling disease. Severe cases that require long term care, tests, medications. All of which come at a cost. The resources of PDH are limited; for the cost of one of ‘my’ cases they could easily help many others.

Voices in favour of not taking on such long term expensive cases are starting to emerge. People that say perhaps only medical tests should be paid for, not the long-term follow-up care. I play the devil’s advocate and say that medical tests are by definition intended to expose problems. Those problems need follow-up care to solve them. Well, those voices say, then perhaps not pay for any medical tests at all. That’s not a solution either, without knowing what is wrong no solutions can be found.

I continue my exposé, there is no point in starting something, getting so incredibly close to resolving problems and then pulling out at the last minute, as someone decides that enough money has been spent on an individual and the remainder is better spent on multiple less ill cases.

It is easy to understand however, that when the money runs out there is no longer a choice. Then aid turns into a sinking ship, spectacularly so, dragging innocent victims down to the dark recesses of the ocean, titanic style. As such I can also see the other side of the story; there is something to be said for helping many who are less ill instead of helping one who is violently ill.

Yet helping someone undergo surgery but then not pay for the post-operative drugs is not acceptable, not even when the problem is lack of money. Thankfully the people here agree. Yet financially we’re up against a brick wall and faced with an immense dilemma, morally, ethically. I end up compromising for the moment, settling for a visit to a neurosurgeon. Enquire about possible cheaper drug options.

The dirty lawyer? Perhaps, but I can’t let someone my sister’s age, 21, slip away because of something that can be treated. Here and now.