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A man with a headache goes to the hospital and is floored by what he learns at checkout.

Why is health care so much more expensive in the United States than the rest of the world?

A man with a headache goes to the hospital and is floored by what he learns at checkout.

A man with a headache walks into a hospital and is whisked into the rigmarole of American health care. He's floored by what he learns at the end of his visit. Hint: It isn't his diagnosis. It's his hospital bill.

Follow his unfortunate journey in this funny and eye-opening tour of the U.S. health care system with WE THE ECONOMY:

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The U.S. has the world's most expensive health care. But is it the best in the world?


All GIFs via WE THE ECONOMY.

Survey says: Not even close. The 2015 Social Progress Index ranks the U.S. as 68th (among 133 countries) in health and wellness. And according to a report by the Commonwealth Fund:

"The United States health care system is the most expensive in the world, but ... the U.S. underperforms relative to other countries on most dimensions of performance."

Among the 11 wealthy countries they studied, the U.S. ranked last on health care access, efficiency, and equity. So much for "best in the world," huh?

What's the biggest difference between the health care in the U.S. and the rest of the developed world?

It's "the absence of universal health insurance coverage," say the researchers at the Commonwealth Fund. The Affordable Care Act (Obamacare) has insured an additional 16 million Americans, making possible "the largest drop in the uninsured rate in four decades."

And after years of debate and uncertainty over the future of the law, the Supreme Court finally ruled Obamacare subsidies are legit under the Constitution.

But with almost half of all states having refused the Medicaid expansion (because politics works in mysterious stupid ways), over 4 million Americans, mostly across the South, have fallen through the cracks.

Who's to blame for the country's skyrocketing health care costs? If only there were a simple answer.


According to the video, our health care cost conundrum was the result of bad choices by a lot of people who, in looking out for only themselves, placed society at large at risk:

"The insurance companies fought it because they'd be losing money. And the doctors fought it because they would lose money and independence. And a lot of Americans just didn't trust the federal government to run their health care."

Of course, powerful business interests like insurance and pharmaceuticals drive up our costs with political maneuvering and ploys for market control.

Big Pharma: "Otherwise everyone will copy me and drive the price down!"

Insurance: "Yes, it is."

Like millions of people, this story's man of mishap is fed up with greed in American health care.

In a fit of frustration, he demands answers:

"Why can't you charge one price for the whole procedure instead of for every blood test and an aspirin? Why can't hospitals list their prices? And why isn't there price control like there are in other countries?"

Why indeed?

With the cool, gothic darkness of Christopher Nolan's Batman series and the cinematic dominance of the entire Marvel franchise, it's easy to forget that hero films used to be delightfully campy at best and completely hokey at worst. We didn't expect complex protagonists or multi-faceted villains. We weren't looking for deep backstories or in-depth character arcs. Moviegoers were largely content to be entertained while the good guys narrowly defeated the bad guys, especially in stories that were already familiar.

That's probably why audiences in 1991 found "Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves," with its star-studded cast and beautiful scenery a reasonably fun, if a little strained, bit of entertainment. Moviegoers especially loved Alan Rickman's performance as the Sheriff of Nottingham, as Twitter users made clear in response an op-ed that referred to the film as "joyless" on its 30th anniversary.

The op-ed claimed that "Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves" was "a joyless hit that should stay in the 90s." While few would argue that the film is a masterpiece, many people feel that Rickman's performance alone made it worth watching.

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With the cool, gothic darkness of Christopher Nolan's Batman series and the cinematic dominance of the entire Marvel franchise, it's easy to forget that hero films used to be delightfully campy at best and completely hokey at worst. We didn't expect complex protagonists or multi-faceted villains. We weren't looking for deep backstories or in-depth character arcs. Moviegoers were largely content to be entertained while the good guys narrowly defeated the bad guys, especially in stories that were already familiar.

That's probably why audiences in 1991 found "Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves," with its star-studded cast and beautiful scenery a reasonably fun, if a little strained, bit of entertainment. Moviegoers especially loved Alan Rickman's performance as the Sheriff of Nottingham, as Twitter users made clear in response an op-ed that referred to the film as "joyless" on its 30th anniversary.

The op-ed claimed that "Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves" was "a joyless hit that should stay in the 90s." While few would argue that the film is a masterpiece, many people feel that Rickman's performance alone made it worth watching.

Keep Reading Show less
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Each year, an estimated 1.8 million people in the United States are affected by cancer — most commonly cancers of the breast, lung, prostate, and blood cancers such as leukemia. While not everyone overcomes the disease, thanks to science, more people are surviving — and for longer — than ever before in history.

We asked three people whose lives have been impacted by cancer to share their stories – how their lives were changed by the disease, and how they're using that experience to change the future of cancer treatments with the hope that ultimately, in the fight against cancer, science will win. Here's what they had to say.

Celine Ryan, 55, engineer database programmer and mother of five from Detroit, MI

Photo courtesy of Celine Ryan

In September 2013, Celine Ryan woke up from a colonoscopy to some traumatic news. Her gastroenterologist showed her a picture of the cancerous mass they found during the procedure.

Ryan and her husband, Patrick, had scheduled a colonoscopy after discovering some unusual bleeding, so the suspicion she could have cancer was already there. Neither of them, however, were quite prepared for the results to be positive -- or for the treatment to begin so soon. Just two days after learning the news, Ryan had surgery to remove the tumor, part of her bladder, and 17 cancerous lymph nodes. Chemotherapy and radiation soon followed.

Ryan's treatment was rigorous – but in December 2014, she got the devastating news that the cancer, once confined to her colon, had spread to her lungs. Her prognosis, they said, was likely terminal.

But rather than give up hope, Ryan sought support from online research, fellow cancer patients and survivors, and her medical team. When she brought up immunotherapy to her oncologist, he quickly agreed it was the best course of action. Ryan's cancer, like a majority of colon and pancreatic cancers, had been caused by a defect on the gene KRAS, which can result in a very aggressive cancer that is virtually "undruggable." According to the medical literature, the relatively smooth protein structure of the KRAS gene meant that designing inhibitors to bind to surface grooves and treat the cancer has been historically difficult. Through her support systems, Ryan discovered an experimental immunotherapy trial at the National Institutes of Health (NIH) in Bethesda, MD., and called them immediately to see if she was eligible. After months of trying to determine whether she was a suitable candidate for the experimental treatment, Ryan was finally accepted.

The treatment, known as tumor-infiltrating lymphocyte therapy, or TIL, is a testament to how far modern science has evolved. With this therapy, doctors remove a tumor and harvest special immune cells that are found naturally in the tumor. Doctors then grow the cells in a lab over the next several weeks with a protein that promotes rapid TIL growth – and once the cells number into the billions, they are infused back into the patient's body to fight the cancer. On April 1, 2015, Ryan had her tumor removed at the NIH. Two months later, she went inpatient for four weeks to have the team "wash out" her immune system with chemotherapy and infuse the cells – all 148 billion of them – back into her body.

Six weeks after the infusion, Ryan and Patrick went back for a follow-up appointment – and the news they got was stunning: Not only had no new tumors developed, but the six existing tumors in her lungs had shrunk significantly. Less than a year after her cell infusion, in April 2016, the doctors told Ryan news that would have been impossible just a decade earlier: Thanks to the cell infusion, Ryan was now considered NED – no evaluable disease. Her body was cancer-free.

Ryan is still NED today and continuing annual follow-up appointments at the NIH, experiencing things she never dreamed she'd be able to live to see, such as her children's high school and college graduations. She's also donating her blood and cells to the NIH to help them research other potential cancer treatments. "It was an honor to do so," Ryan said of her experience. "I'm just thrilled, and I hope my experience can help a lot more people."

Patrice Lee, PhD, VP of Pharmacology, Toxicology and Exploratory Development at Pfizer

Photo courtesy of Patrice Lee

Patrice Lee got into scientific research in an unconventional way – through the late ocean explorer Jacques Cousteau.

Lee never met Cousteau but her dreams of working with him one day led her to pursue a career in science. Initially, Lee completed an undergraduate degree in marine biology; eventually, her interests changed and she decided to get a dual doctoral degree in physiology and toxicology at Duke University. She now works at Pfizer's R&D site in Boulder, CO (formerly Array BioPharma), leading a group of scientists who determine the safety and efficacy of new oncology drugs.

"Scientists focused on drug discovery and development in the pharmaceutical industry are deeply committed to inventing new therapies to meet unmet needs," Lee says, describing her field of work. "We're driven to achieve new medicines and vaccines as quickly as possible without sacrificing safety."

Among the drugs Lee has helped develop during her career, including cancer therapies, she says around a dozen are currently in development, while nine have received FDA approval — an incredible accomplishment as many scientists spend their careers without seeing their drug make it to market. Lee's team is particularly interested in therapies for brain metastases — something that Lee says is a largely unmet need in cancer research, and something her team is working on from a variety of angles. "Now that we've had rapid success with mRNA vaccine technology, we hope to explore what the future holds when applying this technology to cancers," Lee says.

But while evaluating potential cancer therapies is a professional passion of Lee's, it's also a mission that's deeply personal. "I'm also a breast cancer survivor," she says. "So I've been on the other side of things and have participated in a clinical trial."

However, seeing how melanoma therapies that she helped develop have affected other real-life cancer patients, she says, has been a highlight of her career. "We had one therapy that was approved for patients with BRAF-mutant metastatic melanoma," Lee recalls. "Our team in Boulder was graced by a visit from a patient that had benefited from these drugs that we developed. It was a very special moment for the entire team."

None of these therapies would be available, Lee says without rigorous science behind it: "Facts come from good science. Facts will drive the development of new drugs, and that's what will help patients."

Chiuying "Cynthia" Kuk (they/them) MS, 34, third-year medical student at Michigan State University College of Human Medicine

Photo courtesy of Cynthia Kuk

Cynthia Kuk was just 10 years old when they had a conversation that would change their life forever.

"My mother, who worked as a translator for the government at the time, had been diagnosed with breast cancer, and after her chemotherapy treatments she would get really sick," Kuk, who uses they/them pronouns, recalls. "When I asked my dad why mom was puking so much, he said it was because of the medicine she was taking that would help her get better."

Kuk's response was immediate: "That's so stupid! Why would a medicine make you feel worse instead of better? When I'm older, I want to create medicine that won't make people sick like that."

Nine years later, Kuk traveled from their native Hong Kong to the United States to do exactly that. Kuk enrolled in a small, liberal arts college for their Bachelor's degree, and then four years later started a PhD program in cancer research. Although Kuk's mother was in remission from her cancer at the time, Kuk's goal was the same as it had been as a 10-year-old watching her suffer through chemotherapy: to design a better cancer treatment, and change the landscape of cancer research forever.

Since then, Kuk's mission has changed slightly.

"My mom's cancer relapsed in 2008, and she ended up passing away about five years after that," Kuk says. "After my mom died, I started having this sense of urgency. Cancer research is such that you work for twenty years, and at the end of it you might have a fancy medication that could help people, but I wanted to help people now." With their mother still at the forefront of their mind, Kuk decided to quit their PhD program and enter medical school.

Now, Kuk plans to pursue a career in emergency medicine – not only because they are drawn to the excitement of the emergency room, but because the ER is a place where the most marginalized people tend to seek care.

"I have a special interest in the LGBTQ+ population, as I identify as queer and nonbinary," says Kuk. "A lot of people in this community and other marginalized communities access care through the ER and also tend to avoid medical care since there is a history of mistreatment and judgement from healthcare workers. How you carry yourself as a doctor, your compassion, that can make a huge difference in someone's care."

In addition to making a difference in the lives of LGBTQ+ patients, Kuk wants to make a difference in the lives of patients with cancer as well, like their mother had.

"We've diagnosed patients in the Emergency Department with cancer before," Kuk says. "I can't make cancer good news but how you deliver bad news and the compassion you show could make a world of difference to that patient and their family."

During their training, Kuk advocates for patients by delivering compassionate and inclusive care, whether they happen to have cancer or not. In addition to emphasizing their patient's pronouns and chosen names, they ask for inclusive social and sexual histories as well as using gender neutral language. In doing this, they hope to make medicine as a whole more accessible for people who have been historically pushed aside.

"I'm just one person, and I can't force everyone to respect you, if you're marginalized," Kuk says. "But I do want to push for a culture where people appreciate others who are different from them."