I saw the most poignant scene the other day. It was in one of those small, old-time markets that are handy for quick stops.

An elderly woman close to 90 was pushing a cart down the narrow aisles. Her white hair was immaculately

coiffed, and she was dressed in her finest garb.

The woman's regal appearance was capped by the biggest, sweetest smile. She just radiated joy. This trip to the grocery must have been the highlight of her week.

Behind her was an attractive 20-something-year-old, also decked out, but in a business suit. She was trying in vain to get past the snail-like senior citizen.

What I beheld in that young woman's face chilled me. Her expression went beyond frustration and into pure, unadulterated contempt. The old woman was like a gnat getting in her way.

In a dramatic act of shopping-cart rage, the young woman groaned, turned her cart around, and bashed into the metal shelving. She sped off, practically mowing down anyone in her way. Mercifully, the old woman never saw a thing.

The incident broke my heart. For one, it's distressing to see an elder disrespected. But there was another reason: I could relate to that old woman. While age-wise, I'm sandwiched between the two of them, my life bears more of a resemblance to the frail one.

Readers ask me all the time why I don't move out of Berkeley. If the Bay Area is so pernicious, why not flee to a red state, or at least to the saner suburbs?

Here's the reason why: I live with a chronic health condition that significantly restricts my life.

Some days I look relatively normal, though I always move about gingerly. Other times, when my illness flares, I use a cane and take cabs to get around.

Out in public, I often receive the same death stares as the elderly woman. I've been given the middle finger more than once as I creep across the street.

For those of living with illness, the prospect of health care being rationed is alarming. For the old and disabled, the prospect of ObamaCare is a matter of life and death.

Part of the reason is obvious: Our survival depends decent health care. SEIU workers holding the key to our survival is a horrifying thought.

But there's another imperative: the medically vulnerable need to feel needed. Believing that your life still means something is as vital as life-saving medicine.

It's easy to become despondent when you're ailing or old. Not surprisingly, the elderly have high rates of suicide. Feeling worthless and like a burden to others can lead to drastic action.

How many of society's frail would take their own lives in a socialist health system? After they were subjected to the "death talk," how many would forgo treatment or even accept medical euthanasia?

Countless numbers would give up. The message from society would be clear: Your life doesn't matter.

Depriving people of dignity is as egregious as restricting treatments. The vulnerable (and, ultimately, isn't that all of us?) need people to care. This means not only loved ones, but doctors and lawmakers. We need a culture that is pro-life.

As a lifelong liberal, I always assumed that pro-life meant the government controlling women's bodies. But I finally understand the concept. Pro-life means viewing every life as sacred, as a gift from God...and understanding that human beings have no business playing the Messiah.

But to be a leftist is to live in delusion. It's to misunderstand the place of human beings in the nature of existence. Humans are here to marvel at the world's wonders, not to redesign the world itself.

Perhaps the biggest delusion is denying that everyone, leftists included, will someday be vulnerable and need the kindness of strangers. Old age one day will swallow that pretty twenty-year-old's youth. She will be transformed into that old woman, the one with the ebullient smile and the spirit of God. That is, of course, if she is lucky.

I remember a conversation I once had with one of those cab drivers that I beckon for help when driving is too difficult. Raj an Indian man who has lived in this country for twenty-five years, is my favorite.

I once asked him if he'll ever return to India. This is what he said:

I'll be retiring to India. Most Indians do. It's better to be old in Indian. We don't have the welfare system you do. The state doesn't take care of our old people. We take care of each other.

Raj's words reminded me of an evocative story I once heard at a spiritual retreat:

God was taking a man on a tour of heaven and hell. In one room, people were sitting around a large, round table that had delectable dishes at its center. Each person was provided with an elongated spoon that was attached to the table.

Since it was physically impossible to get the spoon into one's mouth, they were each starving to death, crying out and moaning in agony. God said, "This is hell."

In the next room was the exact same setting. People were sitting around a table overflowing with delicious food. But in this room, the people were plump and happy. They were dipping the spoon into the food and then putting it into another's mouth.

God explained, "This is heaven. In this room, they feed each other."