No Ex!t

Intro

No Ex!t was written during the years I spent caring for my mother and managing her healthcare. I watched doctors avoid the obvious tests and ignore what was right in front of them.

I fought with the hospital for nearly two years, and still nothing changed.

The story grew out of that exhaustion and disbelief, a dark reflection of what happens when the people meant to help simply stop caring.

The Terrifying Reality of Aging and Healthcare in America

It’s one in the morning and I’m sitting in an old leather chair that’s seen better days, in a waiting room that could double as the set of a horror movie. Fluorescent lights flicker above, casting shadows on the peeling paint and outdated medical posters. The room smells of disinfectant and despair. The receptionist, a woman in her mid-50s with a face that says “I’ve seen it all,” is staring into a cathode-ray tube monitor as if it holds the secrets of the universe.

I’m here to see Dr. Pharma, the kind of doctor who’s more interested in writing prescriptions than asking questions. As I thumb through a torn, old issue of Reader’s Digest, my mind drifts to the pitiful state of healthcare in America, a place where getting sick can lead to bankruptcy and getting old is a one-way ticket to a life of medical debt.

Finally, Dr. Pharma calls me in. His office is cluttered with drug samples, stacks of pharmaceutical company brochures, and a conspicuous absence of medical diplomas. “So, what’s ailing you, my friend?” he asks without making eye contact, pen poised above a prescription pad.

I list my symptoms, all related to the inevitable deterioration of age. Dr. Pharma scribbles down some notes, barely listening. He swiftly writes a prescription for a medley of drugs: some for blood pressure, some for cholesterol, some for arthritis, and even some to combat the side effects of the other drugs. It’s a vicious cycle of pharmacological madness. “There you go, you’ll feel like a new man,” he says, ushering me out the door.

Back at home, I stare at the array of pills before me, each a shiny, encapsulated promise of longer life and emptier pockets. My phone rings: it’s from Eternal Sunset Assisted Living. They’re offering a “discounted” rate of $10,000 a month for a small room, communal bathrooms, and the privilege of being kept alive by underpaid staff and overpriced medications.

I contemplate the absurdity of it all. I’m just a cog in the wheel of a system that values profit over human lives. Insurance companies rake in billions while the average Joe is forced to decide between medication and groceries. Aging in America is not for the faint of heart; it’s a twisted game where you’re set up to lose.

Suddenly, I feel a sharp pain in my chest. I clutch my heart, falling to the floor. I could reach for the phone, dial 911, and plunge further into a life of debt and medication. Or I could lay here, letting the pain wash over me, leading me into a dark abyss. I make my choice.

And you know what? It’s the most liberating decision I’ve ever made.