When I moved from Toronto to Los Angeles in my 40s, health-care coverage was not a huge concern. I arrived in the summer of 2001, after giving up a law partnership in a big Canadian firm to study screenwriting (please, stop laughing).
I was in the United States on a student visa and I figured I could always head back up north if anything really bad happened, health-wise. But being a die-hard Canuck, I was still anxious. What if I had an emergency of such catastrophic nature that there wouldn’t be time to airlift me home to Toronto?
I signed up for what’s known as “Hit by a Bus” emergency coverage from Blue Cross, for $450 (U.S.) a month. And got on with my screenwriting program.
Six months later, I awoke with abdominal pains so intense I could barely stand, let alone arrange an airlift home. I had a friend rush me to the nearest hospital – Cedars Sinai in Beverly Hills, where all the movie stars go to have their babies. I was not concerned that the place looked more like a four-star hotel than a hospital.