Employee + Child(ren)

SONYA HUBER (www.sonyahuber.com) is the author of "Opa Nobody." (Courtesy Author)

The fetus and I were accepted a few weeks later. The kid would be covered through at least his first birthday. I received a case number and a harried caseworker who returned my phone calls. Each day's mail brought packets of information: where to go for health exams, free breast-feeding classes, nutritious farmers market food.

Waiting at the pharmacy for my first prescription under the plan, I rested my hands on my huge belly. The pharmacist smiled and handed me back my new state health card, along with my antibiotics.

"Uhhh," I said. "So . . . ."

"You're all set," she said. "No charge."

No charge. Not $5, a nominal amount to remind me of my shameful dependence. Not $10.74, a faceless yet exact figure to convey my status as a field in a database. Not $179, the free-market cost. Was this some sort of sick pharmacist humor?

She pushed the paper bag in my direction. "Have a good day."

Until then, the closest I'd come to a surge of patriotism was a glow of gratitude while sitting in a library or hiking a state park. But walking to my car, I felt an intense heat start at my heart, making me lightheaded. I wanted to hug a mail carrier. I wanted to find a government building and kiss its marble surface.

In a better world, I knew, I'd be able to afford my child's health care. But I had no room for anger in my pregnancy-squished brain, only relief. I put my head on my car's steering wheel. I cried and cried, leaving a wet spot on my publicly funded belly.

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