I grew up in England and become a patient advocate and caregiver at the age of three, when my single-parent mum had her first heart attack, foreshadowing years of chronic health problems. Coupled with heart disease and all the secondary issues that came along with it, my mum was also prone to panic attacks, paranoia, depression and hysteria. She was a patient who required patience, but she was also part of the overcrowded National Health Service (NHS) system. Her frequent hospital stays didn’t come with a bill, but her increasing mental and emotional turmoil was consistently misunderstood or overlooked, and made it difficult for her to make vital lifestyle changes or find the right treatment. My sister and I tried to be interpreters, but, really, we were only children. We were in our teens when she died, aged 58, from heart failure.

I moved to the U.S. and had my first experience dealing with a market-based health insurance system. I suddenly felt the weight of vulnerability when my dad, an American visiting the U.S. after decades of being an expat in England, suffered a major heart attack out of the blue. During his treatment he was also diagnosed with Stage IV prostate cancer and given six months to live. He had no health insurance, the various hospital visits totaled more than $250,000, the extended time away from work cost him his job and he was now bankrupt. Despite being weak, in pain and dying, he had no option but to return to England where his care had already been paid for through years of payroll taxes. He died at an NHS hospice, and the doctors had no bill to deliver, only heartfelt condolences.

I have experienced both sides of the spectrum and learned that no hospital, doctor or health insurance plan can give you good health: it takes a system of mutual responsibility, individual accountability and a network of empathetic supporters that includes health care professionals, social workers, family and friends. And yoga.