A Forgotten ‘Human of New York’
If you use Instagram, odds are you might know the account Humans of New York. The account is incredible and has a ton of attention placed on depicting the lived experiences of New Yorkers. This article is by no means a criticism of that account, but just one extra needle in their meaning-making haystack.
During my time in the city, I secretly hoped to stumble across someone on their team, grabbing sound, finding more leads, building intimacy with the generations that existed before Instagram, but even walking circles through the city I couldn’t find them. Probably better schedulers, or maybe they’d all been quarantined.
Regardless of the account, I’m certain I found the next best thing:
A Lifetime New Yorker named Jonathan
Difficult to say how exactly we met, but I believe I heard him ranting about HIPAA laws by a McDonalds walk up drive through window in the darkest hours of the NYC night. He could see how taken I was by the city (All my bags were in hand at this point), he could tell I desperately didn’t want to leave, but had nowhere else to go.
His face said anything you might want to to know but were too afraid to ask. He told me what it was like being addicted to Heroin, pointed out local methadone and suboxone clinics, showed me where to get a good meal, how to interact with people without ruining locals’ days. Truly an uncle fallen from Ellis Island herself.
The morning effort to get coffee was a concerto. He preferred vaping, myself I need hot coffee and a cigarette, that’s fine, he didn’t care. He was wide eyed like a criminal but easy going as if he’d been waiting for me a long time. We find a bodega, I needed cash, I’d already spent half a fortune on fees, he stood there stirring his coffee as if it held my whole brain in the cup, finally we both turn to check out, and back on the beat we went.
Now HIPAA laws have always been of substantial concern to me, but I just couldn’t keep pace with his jive. He’d draw me in real close, I’d smell for alcohol, try to hear the missing pieces of his puzzling life. Then leaning my head out, he’d say: ‘HIPAA Man!’
HIPPA stands for the Health Insurance Portability and Accountability Act, and as Jonathan so benevolently drilled into me, is an area of law that predates the ACA and essentially attempts to guarantor that no Insurance or non-medical entities gain any access to your personal medical information.
Being a former Obama supporter, and having been a big beneficiary of the ACA, the idea that anyone tried to regulate healthcare before 2010 was entirely news to me. Jonathan and I seemed to agree on quite a lot, but for some reason we were in an understated argument together for nearly half a day. “Do you think that guy walking his dog over there knows your health information?” I ask, incredulously.
“No, but do you know how easy…” He stammers. The only logic I had that held a candle to this man’s knowledge of NYC Health systems was that I knew the ADA exists. Some younger, more naïve, even stupid part of me was understanding those three landmark pieces of legislation to be working together (ADA, HIPAA, ACA).
In a perfect universe, where no one is diabetic, no one is chemically dependent, or worse drug addicted, those three laws should work in a harmony that protects people and their information. If mine and Jonathan’s is a case study, these laws leave a lot to be desired, but in truth I was just grateful to see him outside the hospital.
