Into that good night

Annals of American health care, up close and personal edition, Part 1 My Aunt Betty died last week. It was no surprise to us. She was 87, and her body had been breaking down for some years now. The last three months were the worst. Her legs gave out and bloated with edema (she'd worked on her feet for 40 years behind a cosmetics counter at Scranton's only swish department store, The Globe). She had colon cancer, and it had spread everywhere. My mother took care of Aunt Betty at home way past the point she should have. They lived together in my grandfather's house. He was a coal miner, and bought this two-story house on credit during the Depression--the 20th Century one, that is. You can just imagine. It is more than 100 years old, has bad plumbing, narrow doorways and steep, uneven stairs. I pleaded with my mother, who is 80,... [read full story]                    

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