Affordable (free) and available healthcare for all should be something that is cherished, and not squandered for political gain. The NHS should not be for sale, and an ACA should be strengthened, not undermined. Something to think about, next time you vote.

Huddled against what was once the sea dike separating the northern Hogeland from the Wadden Sea lies the quiet village of Vierhuizen. The only road that leads through the village peters out in the reclaimed lands that now lie beyond the fields. Once, a hundred, two hundred, years ago, it would literally have been the end of the world.
Communities were largely self sufficient back then, and the roads between villages not hardened before 1850. You’d seldom visit the villages surrounding your own, with some only known to you as church spires on the horizon, and many would never visit the city of Groningen; the journey was such that it may just as well have been 200 miles away, rather than 20.

For years Klaas Jans, of the farm Midhuizen between Vierhuizen and Hornhuizen, had suffered from a hernia, and at the end of January, tired of living with the constant pain, he decided to visit the specialist in Groningen. It was January 1787, and he did so in the only way available to him. He walked to the Reitdiep river in Zoutkamp and tied on his skates. The story is carved out on his grave, a stone slab covered with cramped script:
When I still was, they said of me,
No stronger man than him you can see,
It was true, but know that God,
Made me meet my fate,
When I that morning wife and child,
loved strongly and tenderly,
bade goodbye and on my skates,
went to Gruno’s city, where I was struck,
another blow, because a breach,
hurt and anguish for many years,
it had caused, mind me,
In this situation I went,
And came at the breach doctor,
But this man had for me
No relief, so that I could
Do not else than go home,
riding on my skates.
In such condition it’s a shame,
this is how I came home,
Soaked in sweat from pain and groin,
back with beloved and child.
Straight to bed, I was worn out.
Two doctors fetched immediately for help,
They came quick but it was too late.
See, they know no herb to cure me
So on the third day came the end
of my lifetime, and I’ve just
been set in this grave on the tenth day.
From which I will arise.
Farewell beloved, praise God.

He was 28 years old, Klaas, and how strong must he have been indeed, to skate the 20 miles to Groningen and back. And what love was there between him and his wife, and what anger was there at his ordeal, to record his saga on his grave stone, rather than the usual dates of birth and death.
