With apologies to Charles Dickens, Paul Simon, and the Olde English Oxford dictionary.
What a dream I had! I wandered empty streets, past the shop displays, I heard cathedral bells, tripping down the alleyways…
As I lay in my four-poster bed I was suddenly conveyed back to an earlier time where I was met by the first of three spirits, the Ghost of Christmas Past. I was reminded of the prosperity of my youth where hospitals were reimbursed based on their true costs and clinicians weren’t so rushed. They could linger at the bedside to engage in a compassionate conversation with their patients and leave knowing they were making a difference. And, insurance companies helped organize healthcare for patients and retained an honorable fee for their effort.
Alas, even with the good not all was rosy in the town square. Patient records were on parchment and were often lost or hard to read. The ill were denied insurance coverage because they were diagnosed in the wrong infirmary or saw the wrong doctor. America’s healthcare spending was about 10 percent of the Gross Domestic Product. My pleasant time with the spirit was growing less so. There were people in mental despair — even those who imbibed in too much drink and items from the apothecary — who could not find help. A cloud of higher premiums, higher deductibles, and higher spending was on the horizon as was the talk of radical new government intrusions into healthcare. I grew frightened and begged the spirit to return me to my warm bed.
I fell back to sleep and was suddenly awakened by the second spirit, the Ghost of Christmas Present. The spirit transported me to the window where I could see into the cottage of Bob Cratchit's family feast. I saw his youngest son, Tiny Tim, a happy boy but who was seriously ill. I then noticed that Tiny Tim was not alone. Many, many people were sick. There was so many sick that those who cared for them in the infirmary were weary and tired to the bone. Many across the land had secluded themselves in their living quarters. Emotional anguish spread alarmingly to everyone, including the children and help could not be found. And those who keep the accounts in the hospitals could not balance the ledgers. No matter where they looked, the monies going out were more than the monies coming in. There were some in healthcare, not those who provide for patients mind you, who were celebrating the season in grand fashion on Wall Street and in lavish skyscrapers. The nation was spending almost 19 percent of the Gross Domestic Product on healthcare. The spirit had brought me to a nightmare.
But still, there prevailed pockets of hope. Technology, strange machines called computers and Electronic Medical Records, were helping those caring for the sick to do so better than ever before. Despite the terrifying scene, caregivers were extending compassion. And the charitable infirmaries were sacrificing everything to care for the sick. It would have been inspiring if not for the despair felt everywhere. Once again I begged the spirit to take me away from this dream. And he did.
With eerie silence I awoke to the third spirit, the Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come. She presented to me a world that looked the same and yet, happily, different. The illness that consumed my prior dream had moderated. Those serving in the infirmaries had time to reconnect with their caring instincts. The people of the land had concluded that mental despair was not a malady that should be hidden but instead, a rallying cry for aid. The ledgers were balanced as healthcare became a priority and was justly reimbursed from the crown and the marketplace. And the village had been transformed by their legacy, seeking good health and prosperity for all, regardless of their station.
My erstwhile reminiscence of the first two spirits drifted to the past. I awoke refreshed to the bells of Christmas Day. As the sounds tripped down the alleyways they brought a spirit of peace and hope.
Yes, it is a silly way to convey a message of hope but I’m sure you get the idea. From the Carson Tahoe Health family — and you — our community, let’s all join together envisioning better days ahead.
Over the summer, the fires in Kings Canyon threatened the General Grant Tree. If you don’t know, that tree was proclaimed America’s Christmas tree in 1926. It is 1,600 years old. It has seen more fire, wind, drought, insects, and other maladies than we can imagine. I believe that having endured those challenges, the tree is stronger and better suited to endure anything that comes in the future. It’s a big old tree that had to fight for sun and light and water. And as America’s Christmas Tree, it is a symbol of hope.
Together, we have had to fight for sun and light and water. It is my sincere wish that this holiday season brings us all peace and a spirit of renewal. The vision the third spirit shared may someday be in our grasp.
And, as Tiny Tim so joyfully proclaimed in Dickens’ A Christmas Carol, “A Merry Christmas to us all; God bless us, every one!”
Alan Garrett is the president and chief executive officer of Carson Tahoe Health.
