Growing up in suburban New Jersey,
my father was a hematologist; most of his patients suffered from leukemia. In
the 1960’s and early 70s, there were few effective treatment options for many
of them and my father spent a lot of time running to the hospital in the middle
of the night to provide blood transfusions for those who were in crisis;
offering support and personal attention to each of them.
These patients were mostly working-class or indigent men and
women who lived in
gritty industrial towns that surrounded that tattered city. I don’t know what
kind of insurance my father’s patients had or whether they paid mostly out of
pocket for their care, but I was vaguely aware that an unofficial barter system
had developed over the years in lieu of some payment. That barter system, born
not only from need, but also gratitude toward a devoted doctor, served our
family well.