I have never worried about health care coverage. I guess I have always had it and, during the few months I did not have it back in 1995, I did not really care. My mother pressed me to get it, though, while I was unemployed, and I signed up for some kind of individual program. My next job was with such a small company, I maintained my insurance and my employer paid the monthly premium, which at the time was, I believe, $49 each month.

Other than my brief three-month hiatus from the healthcare system, I have never thought twice about insurance. For as long as I can remember, I have gone to the doctor as much or as little as needed and to the dentist more than I would have liked. And while I have long been aware of the health care crisis facing our nation, this awareness has come primarily from my work on political campaigns and my lifelong interest in politics and public policy.

That ended for me last week when I learned that my mother’s boyfriend lost his health insurance. Apparently his company is too small to qualify and, due to his own financial pressures, he opted out of Cobra and its $300 a month fee. For any person to be left without health insurance simply because he or she cannot afford it is in my opinion unconscionable. When you take into account this particular man’s current state of health, it is downright cruel.

You see, in November, my mother's boyfriend N___ had a heart attack. At least we think it was November. The actual timing is unclear because he only found out about it several months later when he went to see a doctor on an unrelated matter. That doctor told him he appeared to have had a “cardiac event” and sent him to a cardiologist who confirmed the diagnosis. At the doctor’s suggestion – and my mother’s insistence – N___ quit smoking after more than 40 years. But he never went back to that doctor again.

The unrelated matter he had gone to see the doctor about initially was a hip injury he sustained as a result of a motorcycle accident in the mid-1990s. The injury has steadily gotten worse and he is barely mobile these days. In fact, the other night we were walking to a coffee shop and after one city block, he had to stop and hold onto a parking meter and rest. My mother was fed up with his immobility and pleaded with him to go to a doctor. Finally he relented. But the doctors could not tell him anything in that one visit. And he never went back.

Then there was the doctor that told him he was diabetic. This was not a surprise to me. He is overweight, has terribly unhealthy eating habits, was a lifelong smoker and is about as sedentary as a person could be. A natural candidate for adult onset diabetes. But he only went to this doctor one time.

And then he lost his health insurance.

So now what? The truth is, I care less about what happens to him than I do about what it does to my mother. She has watched his health steadily deteriorate. She seems to care more about his health than he does. It infuriates her. She finds herself angry at him and feeling trapped. Because the way she sees it, she has two options. One, she can continue to live with him, prod him to take care of himself and hope his company or he finds an alternative health care provider. And she can live with the knowledge that he is slowly – though probably not that slowly – killing himself and that she will one day wake up, as she says, “With a dead guy in my bed.”

Option number two? She can marry him. But she does not want to marry him. If she did, she would have done so by now, six years into their relationship. She has been married before (twice) and does not want to go through it again. She is perfectly content to live with this man, share her family with him, embrace his family, make improvements to the home they own together, take vacations together, wake up together each day. But not as husband and wife. She knows that marriage changes things and she does not want to bring that kind of change into their relationship.

But he needs health insurance. And she seems like his best shot for getting it. If they get married, she can cover him on the plan she gets through work. Despite her company’s huge size and claims about commitment to diversity, it does not offer domestic partners benefits. And so the only way for her to help him get insurance is to marry him. Which she simply does not want to do.

Of course there are other choices. But she does not see them – at least not yet. So she is stuck. And angry.

And I am angry, too. Angry that there are people living in this country of freedom and prosperity whose lives are at risk every single day because they cannot afford to pay for what passes as health care these days. And I am not just talking about an overweight, sedentary, ex-smoking diabetic.

I am talking about millions of children whose families risk financial devastation simply because they walk outside the front door everyday where there are swerving cars, buses that run red lights. Where they run around, like kids should, on concrete playgrounds. Where they swing from monkey bars and play on a seesaw.

I pray my mother does not get married again. But if she does I will understand. Because it is too unfathomable to imagine that a man would die because some insurance company deemed his workplace too small to qualify for coverage and he cannot afford medical care without insurance. So to make the system seem less fucked up, you take drastic measures – like marrying someone you do not want to marry – just to feel like you can do something about it.

Infuriating.