Pre-existing issue confronts Dems

Alexander Burns of Politico wrote an interesting piece http://www.politico.com/news/stories/1109/29393.html about how a flare-up of the abortion issue has affected the current push for passage of health-care reform legislation. The crux of the story is that Democrats are finding themselves split over what restrictions, if any, should be imposed on abortion funding in whatever health-care bill emerges from Congress. The centerpiece of this clash is an amendment offered by Michigan Democratic Rep. Bart Stupak and approved by the House that would, essentially, prevent money from being spent on abortions through a proposed national health insurance exchange or a public-option plan. The real question is, should the government be in the business of paying for abortions? While I would never support a complete ban on abortions, I don't see why the government, or any insurance program connected to the government, should be paying for them. I wouldn't object to coverage of abortions in the case of rape, incest or threats to a woman's health, but I think it's highly distasteful for the government to have a role in providing abortions to people who use the procedure as birth control, often because they were too stupid, lazy or irresponsible to take precautions against pregnancy in the first place. At the same time, I could make the argument that people's tax money is used all the time for things they oppose or object to on moral grounds. For instance, I think the proposal to spend $300 million to build a maglev people-mover at Cal U. is ridiculous. And I've been sickened by the horrible waste of Americans' tax dollars to finance the war in Iraq. But no matter what abortion-funding restrictions are included in the health reform legislation, women will still be able to undergo the procedures. They just might have to dig into their own pockets to do so, and abortion-rights advocates can feel free to help those who are short on funds.

Where are a rope and a stout limb when you need them?

We've all had our "weeks from hell." Let me tell you (bore you) about mine. It all started on Wednesday, July 23, when I had to start preparing for a routine colonoscopy the next day. The process goes like this: About 3 p.m., you take a few Dulcolax tablets. A couple of hours later, you start gulping down glasses of Gatorade that has been mixed with a whole lot of a powdery laxative called Miralax. I was instructed to use 255 grams of Miralax, which is a whole tub of the stuff. I looked at the bottle, and if you're just trying to prod balky bowels, you use 17 grams. Needless to say, once the Miralax kicks in, it's a pretty good idea to be in the vicinity of a toilet. By midnight, I felt as if Mike Tyson had used me for a heavy-bag workout. The next day, I go in the for procedure, and despite the IV drug they gave me, I wasn't quite out of it when the doctor went to work on me with the tube. It felt pretty much like he had stuffed a couple of wolverines up my wazoo. Fortunately, the drugs kicked in shortly thereafter, and the next thing I knew, a nice lady was handing me a Coca-Cola. They also advised that the good doctor had snipped off a couple of polyps while he was "in there," so it wasn't just a casual tour of my lower intestines. After that, I'm figuring that life has to be looking up. Ha ha. It was shortly thereafter that the electrical system in my house began to behave in a strange manner. Out of the blue, half the house would periodically go dark. Just as mysteriously, it would go back on. Sometimes, if the air-conditioner kicked on, that would jump start the part of the house that was dark. I'm still in the process of trying to figure that one out and solve the problem without having to take out a loan. Then, the first of this week, the upstairs toilet and I had an epic two-day battle. I finally won, with the help of an Internet cure found by the missus that included hot water and Palmolive. In the midst of my jousting with the "royal throne," my son calls me at work to advise that something "really bad" has happened to the push mower. He tells me that there's some oil on the deck of the mower. When I get home, I tip it up to see if there's any damage underneath, and when I do that, all kinds of oil and large chunks of metal come out of the side of the engine compartment. Nice. I fully expected a plague of locusts or snakes the last couple of days, but all is quiet. And I got a call yesterday telling me those polyps I had snipped off were benign, so maybe things are looking up. Nevertheless, I'm still on the lookout for lightning bolts, and next week I get to take my car to the shop. Oh boy.

Height of irresponsibility

There was sad news out of Spain this week. Two children were orphaned at the age of 3, and the biggest shame is that it wouldn’t have happened if anyone involved had shown a shred of responsibility. Maria del Carmen Bousada died Saturday at the age of 69. You’re probably never heard of her. I hadn’t. What made her death newsworthy was that three years ago, Bousada, with the help of a fertility clinic in Los Angeles (Where else?), gave birth to twins. First, one would expect a woman in her mid-60s who was thinking about undergoing in vitro fertilization to have had enough sense to say no. But the Earth is chock full of stupid, self-centered people. At that point, it should have been up to the fertility clinic to display some ethical standards and employ some safeguards against this sort of thing happening. But Bousada said she told Pacific Fertility Center that she was 55, which apparently was the clinic’s maximum age for treating single women. And she said the clinic never asked for identification. You can see Bousada’s photo here. Ray Charles could have recognized that she was over 55 just by feeling her face. But this really shouldn’t surprise us. Look at the Octomom, a clearly deranged woman who was able to find professional help to increase her brood by eight. And will anyone among us be shocked when it comes out that Michael Jackson’s home was a virtual pharmacy, stocked with the help of doctors only too glad to look the other way? It seems the almighty dollar speaks very loudly, easily drowning out the ancient voice of Hippocrates. The central question in Bousada’s case might be, why did she do it? And the answer is: because she wanted to. “I think everyone should become a mother at the right time for them,” the woman said in a 2007 interview. “That was the only way to achieve the thing I had always dreamed of, and I did it.” I, I, I. It was all about her, of course. Now she’s dead, and the children will have little or no recollection of their mother. What about the father? Well, good luck throwing catch in the backyard with a test tube.