“a compelling novel in the tradition of Animal Farm and 1984 that shows better

than facts and figures the disastrous consequences of government-run health care.”
— N e wt Gi n g r i c h , F o r m e r S p e a k e r o f t h e H o us e o f R e p r e s e n t a ti v e s

a novel

D AN I EL P U T KOWS K I
a u t h o r o f AN I S LAN D A W A Y
190 DANIEL PUTKOWSKI

This was Smith’s fourth Monday off in a row. At least this

one had a purpose, taking Timmy to his follow-up appointment
at the Adler Cardiac Clinic in Philadelphia. Thanks to the M
Fuel Supplement Card, he had plenty of fuel to make the trip,
the only catch being that he had to siphon it from Hannah’s
SUV into his pickup because the card was keyed to her license
plate. It wasn’t his first time using the siphon. During the previ-
ous four weeks, he gradually filled the two 5-gallon jugs in the
garage. In the event of another emergency, he would have plenty
of gas to get to the hospital. He meant to tell Hannah about
it but never found the right moment. She would probably just
think he was paranoid.
Which left him in the driver’s seat, with his son on the other
side of the pickup, feeling less paranoid than simply fearful. As
much as Smith admired his son’s optimism, he feared what the
next doctor might say. It was unrealistic to expect that Timmy’s
heart had fixed itself already. It was equally unlikely that the first
two doctors had mistakenly diagnosed the problem.
“I ate a big lunch today,” Timmy said out of the blue.
“Good,” Smith replied, knowing the reason. “Let’s not get
ahead of ourselves.”
“I’m not worried, Dad. I feel great. I’m ready to play.”
“We’ll see if the doctor agrees.”
Smith found the Adler Cardiac Clinic with no trouble. He
tucked his receipt for the forty-dollar parking fee into his jacket
with the hope that he could deduct the expense from his income
taxes. He would have to check the Universal Coverage Manual
later because Timmy was already out of the truck and striding
for the door.
Catching up, Smith nearly dumped Timmy’s records out of
the folder he made for them. “Slow down. You’re not on the field
 UNIVERSAL COVERAGE 191

yet,” he said as they entered the clinic.

Inside, father and son passed through an airport-style metal
detector. Two guards sporting none of the corrupt jocularity of
Rieser monitored the line while another pair searched septuage-
narians and younger souls with equal vigor.
“Why do they have cops here?” Timmy asked a little too
loud for his dad’s comfort.
“To keep us safe,” Smith answered, shepherding his son to-
ward the next line, which ended at the reception window. After
a brief wait, he received a yellow plastic tag bearing the letter C
and was told to take a seat until he was called.
“Let’s put the game on,” Timmy urged, referring to the tele-
vision mounted on the far wall.
“There were other people here before you.”
“Maybe they’re Phillies fans, too.”
Resisting a smile at his son’s wit, Smith said, “Sit tight. It
won’t be long. Next time bring one of your school books.”
“There won’t be a next time,” Timmy said more to himself
than his father.
Looking about the room, Smith noticed several other yellow
tags. Green, red, and blue ones were also scattered among the
fifty or so people in the waiting room.
A thin man wearing a T-shirt over faded blue jeans entered
the room carrying a clipboard. “Group C,” he called. “Everyone
in Group C follow me.”
“That’s us, Dad,” Timmy said and leapt to his feet.
“Be careful,” Smith warned, catching Timmy’s arm before
he bowled into an elderly man with a walker.
“Sorry, mister,” Timmy said to him.
“Fall in behind me, young man.”
Foiled in his hurry, Timmy shuffled along, aware that his
192 DANIEL PUTKOWSKI

dad was glaring at him.

The group entered a smaller room containing a row of fif-
teen chairs, one for each patient, but not enough for those ac-
companying them. Three more faced the row from behind a steel
desk. Timmy rushed for one of the seats but made it only a few
feet before Smith pulled him back.
“Look, Timmy, I know you’re in a hurry, but don’t be rude.
Your mother and I raised you better than that. There are people
here old enough to be your grandfather. The right thing to do is
to give someone a seat who needs it more than you.”
“But I’m…”
“Timmy,” Smith said in a tone that his son knew better than
to challenge.
The fellow with the clipboard surveyed the group for a few
moments before asking everyone to hold up their yellow tag.
“For those of you who haven’t done this before,” he said, “my
name is Clark Faber. I’m the Care Delivery Specialist who will
be overseeing your visit with Dr. Hillman. Any concerns you
may have regarding the delivery of the care you receive today
should be directed to me. I’m going to ask some questions. Please
answer them concisely. After I’ve completed a general review,
you will be seen by the doctor.” With that he took one of the
three chairs that faced the group.
“I knew he was going to say that,” Timmy said.
“Shhh,” Smith whispered to his son.
“Raise your hand if you have experienced any acute symp-
toms since your last visit,” Faber began.
The man with the walker raised his hand.
“What kind of acute symptoms?” Faber asked him.
“Pain, right here,” came the answer with a gesture across his
chest.
 UNIVERSAL COVERAGE 193

“How would you rate the pain?”

“I don’t know. It hurt.”
No one reacted, but Smith sensed there might be a burst of
laughter. He hoped Timmy didn’t start it.
“It hurt,” Faber repeated. “On a scale of one to ten, how
would you rate your pain?”
“It hurt is all I can say.”
“Okay. How about the rest of you? Any chest pain?”
“A little,” someone called out.
Faber shook his head. “Be specific.”
“Three,” the same person said.
“That’s better. Three on the ten scale. Please people, now is the
time to help me order the care sequence. Any more symptoms?”
Gradually, the people in the room related how they felt.
Faber had to brush off an obese guy who went on for several
minutes about his experience climbing the stairs to his apart-
ment during an Energy Conservation Event. If not, the descrip-
tion might have lasted fifteen minutes.
Through all this Timmy sat quietly, fidgeting now and then,
but nothing worse, which impressed Smith. Although his son
was generally a well-behaved boy, it was a lot to expect him to sit
through these medical histories, especially on a game day. Smith
himself didn’t quite understand what was going on. Clearly
Faber wasn’t a doctor. At any rate, he was playing part of the role
by listening to the patients. He took their names, noted their
comments, and arranged his files accordingly.
Before Smith could figure out the system, Dr. Hillman en-
tered the room. He wore the white coat and stethoscope of a
physician, along with the harried demeanor of someone with too
much to do. He addressed the group in a languid voice, saying,
“Time for cardiac review, everyone.”
194 DANIEL PUTKOWSKI

No one responded as the doctor sat down next to Faber,

which left only one chair unoccupied. Then a woman rose off
her chair, strode forward, and pulled off her shirt. “I can see my
file on top,” she said. “Let’s get this over with Doc.”
Timmy gawked at the shirtless woman who moved to the
front of the room. She put herself in the last empty chair with
all the finesse of a truck driver, then dropped her appointment
slip and tag on Faber’s lap.
“Do me a favor and don’t stare,” she said to him. “I am old
enough to be your grandmother.”
Straightening up, Faber made a production of reviewing her
paperwork while Dr. Hillman put his stethoscope to her chest.
Shocked by the scene before him, Smith stood up and head­
ed for the door, intent on rectifying what had to be a mistake.
The appointment memorandum said nothing about a group
setting. It must have been mixed up with a general evalu­ation
of some sort. He wasn’t going to have his son staring at an old
woman’s breasts.
“Please remain on the other side of the room until you are
called or the session has ended,” Faber ordered Smith.
“I think I’m in the wrong place,” Smith replied.
“You have a yellow tag, don’t you?”
“Yes,” Smith said, fingering the chip in his hand.
“Then you’re in the right place. Be patient until I call your
name.”
“Can I have a word with you in private?”
“This is as private as it gets at this level,” Faber replied.
No one in the room would look at him, and Smith got the
distinct feeling that this type of experience was nothing new for
them. They alternately stared at the floor, the walls, their paper-
work, but not at Smith. No one that is, but Timmy, who stepped
 UNIVERSAL COVERAGE 195

up to his father with a friendly grin.

“My dad doesn’t want me to be late for my game this after-
noon,” Timmy said to Faber.
“Then ask him to follow the rules,” Faber returned.
“It’s okay, Dad,” Timmy said, tugging on his father’s arm.
Bested by his son, Smith returned to his spot along the
wall.
Indeed, Timmy looked up and whispered, “They’ll probably
put me at the end like they did in Pittsburgh.”

Timmy was the last patient to feel Dr. Hillman’s stethoscope.

The others took their turn, some without saying a word. Faber
occasionally consulted a spiral bound book before jotting num-
bers onto a form that went into each person’s file. For his part,
Dr. Hillman performed like an assembly-line worker, doing his
job but without much zeal. He asked short questions, signed
prescriptions, and wished each person well. The obese man who
had suffered up his stairs wanted to have a chat, and Hillman
indulged him for a few minutes before Faber interrupted.
“The lack of a working elevator is not a medical condition,”
he said. “Take it up with your local Federal Energy Management
Board representative.”
“What if I collapsed on the stairs?”
“You didn’t,” Faber answered with enough force to cow the
man into silence. When he did not immediately rise from the
chair, the Care Delivery Specialist added, “At your future visits
you’ll be evaluated by a DGS.”
“What’s that?”
“Who’s that,” Faber corrected, adding, “A Dietary Guidance
Specialist.”
On that note, the man hauled himself out of the chair, took
 ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Daniel Putkowski lives with his wife and cat in Philadelphia and Aruba.
He is a graduate of New York University’s Tisch School of the Arts
and Stern School of Business. Universal Coverage is his third novel.
To learn more, visit danielputkowski.com.
 FICTION

Bob Smith had it all. A beautiful house, a happy family, a rewarding career,
and a government concerned with his well-being. But when his young son
collapses, everything begins to crumble. Suddenly thrust into the world of
Universal Coverage, Smith discovers that the ideals he voted for have spiraled
out of control. The U.S. nationalized health care system has quickly devolved
into a nightmare of unbearable waits, inevitable fraud, and uncertain outcomes
presided over by a disinterested bureaucratic class.
As Smith struggles to save his son’s life, he finds the only hope is Salvare,
an unauthorized hospital ship providing world-class care to anyone with cash
who’s willing to make the journey. A miracle at sea awaits aboard Salvare if
Smith is brave enough to question the dangerous path his country has taken.
Time is running out, and in matters of life and death, timing is everything.

“We must nOt let the Washington politicians turn this well-written piece
of fiction into a nightmare reality for the American people!”
— S T E V E F O R B E S , E D I T O R - I N - C H I E F, F o r bes ma g a z ine

“a terrifying look into our future if we allow the government too much control.”
— C y na r a C oome r , M D , F o x N ews M edical C ont r ibuto r

“A cross between Atlas Shrugged, 1984, and … Children of Men. warns what will
happen to individual choice … when government controls health care.”
— E D M O RR I S S E Y , H O T A I R . com

“An engaging but maddening read, because we see it coming true before our eyes.”
— J A N E O R I E N T , M D , A U T H O R of Y O U R D O C T O R I S N O T I N

“A sobering glance into a world of bureaucrats … and broken government promises.

An essential cautionary tale … ought to be required reading on every campus.”
— D avid L aska , P r esident , N ew Yo r k U nive r sit y C olle g e Republicans

ISBN-13: 978-0-9815959-4-8
ISBN-10: 0-9815959-4-4 $16.00 U.S.
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