I was invincible.
Like, Mario-star invincible. And why wouldn't I be? I hadn't been sick in years. I worked out every day. I commuted on my bike like I own the city. At 27, you don't stop to think about being anything less than invincible. That's for old people, for someone else. Besides, nothing bad has ever happened to anyone who was 27.
In June I slid into third base in my men's league baseball game, something I had done hundreds if not thousands of times in my life. I caught my right cleat on the ground and landed funny. I thought it was just a sprain.
My fibula was broken.
I figured I'd be in a cast for a month, if that. Instead, I had surgery, with a plate and five screws put in to stabilize the break. I've just started walking again. Every day is a struggle to accomplish the most basic activities I had always taken for granted.
Still, it could have been so much worse. I freelance for a living, and with that career you don't get things like health insurance.
At the end of last year, I signed up for Obamacare as a complete afterthought. I waited until the deadline like it was homework-if I put it off long enough, maybe it would just do itself. My experiences with the system have been far from perfect. The entire rollout and signup process were confusing. It took hours of calling to find an orthopedic surgeon who would take my insurance, and I had to travel more than an hour to get to the appointment.
But without Obamacare, I would not have had insurance. Like most people I know my age, I'm getting by without a lot of wiggle room. Hundreds of dollars a month on traditional coverage is something I wouldn't have been able to manage. My surgery, hospital visits and physical therapy would have cost somewhere between $15,000-$30,000 with no insurance at all.
That's a life-altering amount. I certainly wouldn't be getting a master's degree in the fall, probably would have moved to a cheaper apartment and definitely would have needed another job or three. I have no idea where my life would be right now. It's a terrifying thought.
And yet I haven't heard many stories like mine, in part, I think, because of the stigma that comes with Obamacare. It's become a political issue so shrouded in negativity that it's easy to forget it helps real people like me. Instead of struggling for years with added debt and an unhappy life, I will be walking normally before long; all this will be nothing more than a struggle I overcame. But I'll always have a six-inch scar on my ankle to remind me of what could have been.
Thanks, Obama.
Scott Bolohan is a RedEye special contributor.