She had been ignoring signs of cancer for months. A relative of mine (I’ll call her “Mary”) had no health insurance. Self-employed, she made too much money to qualify for public health programs for the poor, but she did not make enough money to pay for private insurance.

When debilitating pain rendered her unable to work, she finally consulted a well-regarded private surgeon. The diagnosis: She had eight months to live if she did not have a cancerous organ removed. To schedule the surgery, the doctor needed $8,000 in cash. Upfront.

Two months later, the doctor’s office called to follow up. “Have you decided what you’re going to do?” the billing office asked.

Yes, she had decided what she was going to do. For her and many Americans without health insurance, that meant driving to the nearest emergency room where, by law, patients can’t be turned away. It meant holding her ground against doctors who tried to send her home, until one finally agreed to perform the surgery.

I’ve been thinking about Mary a lot this summer as I’ve watched the bizarre and sinister turn that the debate over universal health care has taken in the U.S. It’s been a surreal spectacle: Hordes of Republican-backed activists, eyes-bulging, picket sign-wielding, shouting down public officials at town hall meetings to discuss the plans to provide health insurance for every American.

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