"If I croak, it's going to be right in the doorway of Tim Pawlenty's office," Lona DeCarlo says.

DeCarlo, of Oakdale, is one of the 47,000 people likely to lose eligibility for MinnesotaCare under the governor's budget proposal. She was among those who spoke Wednesday at Hennepin County Medical Center highlighting the personal impacts of losing MinnesotaCare.

The simple truth, DeCarlo says, is that without insurance, she'll no longer be able to pay for her medications ? which cost $5,600 a year ? or for the check-ups with three different specialists.

DeCarlo has been on MinnesotaCare for 10 years ? and paid a premium every month, she points out. She has survived a bout with cancer and 13 surgeries related to Crohn's disease, a chronic intestinal ailment. "After the first 12, I jumped out of bed and went back to work," DeCarlo says. "After the last one, I'm no longer able to work, because weakness and fatigue are part of the progression of this disease."

DeCarlo worked as a bartender for 33 years. "I've worked really nice places, I've worked scummy dives," she says. "You go into the food and beverage business knowing ahead of time there are no benefits. If you don't work, you don't get paid. If you get sick, you take care of yourself."

If she loses MinnesotaCare, however, "there are no options," she said. "I'm going up to the governor's office and I'm going to die right on the floor outside his office. He'll have to acknowledge, at least one time, that this is his doing, because I couldn't get my medications."

Workers including (from left) Julia Turnbull, Michele Barnick and Lona DeCarlo, spoke out at a news conference on health care. Union Advocate photos

That's a choice?
Under Pawlenty's proposal, some people who lose access to MinnesotaCare beginning July 1 could qualify for other state health coverage ? but only if they quit working and liquidate most of their assets. Brian Rusche, executive director of the Joint Religious Legislative Coalition, calls that dilemma "just nuts."

"If you're cut off MinnesotaCare and you have health-care needs, then the way to access health care is to quit your job or somehow impoverish yourself," he says. "If you have a chronic condition, it would be against your best interest to go back to work, because you'd lose your coverage."

De Carlo doubts 20,000 people would do that in order to qualify for the state's Medical Assistance plan, as some expect. "The majority of people enrolled in MinnesotaCare are working people," she says. "They're not going to quit their jobs to get welfare. It's not going to happen. What would be the point? They would lose their homes, they would their cars, they would lose everything they?ve got."

Double whammy
Tom Deyo, 51, of Minneapolis, is among those likely to lose his house ? and more ? if he loses MinnesotaCare.

Deyo has diabetes and 30 percent kidney failure, making access to medication vital to his health and survival. "If I stop treatment, things deteriorate rapidly," he says. "Kidney transplants are not cheap and not easy to come by.? If I let my kidneys go, I'll either be dead ? or on dialysis, and that will cost the state a lot more money."

Deyo recently qualified for Social Security disability payments, but must wait two years before he can obtain health coverage through Medicare. He wife also is disabled. "I don't know how we're going to cover this two-year period," he says.

"I've worked since I was 10 years old, at least two jobs almost my whole life. I'm not asking for a handout, but me and other people in my situation do need some help."

Deyo, like DeCarlo, faces a second threat beyond the possibility of receiving a termination letter from MinnesotaCare.

Even if the governor's plan fails and Deyo and DeCarlo remain eligible for MinnesotaCare, they'll run out of benefits sometime this summer anyway, because restrictions put in place two years ago limit their annual coverage to $5,000.

"Anyone who has fingers and toes can do the math," Deyo says. "I'm not going to have enough."

The specter of homelessness
Deyo says either state policies or overwhelming medical bills could force him out of his home. "Either way, you end up living under a bridge," he says.

Michele Barnick sees that potential in her future, too.

Barnick, 32, lives in Minneapolis, down the street from a homeless shelter. "Everyday, I can look at the possibilities of what people face, so that's very sobering for me," she says. Barnick works two jobs despite suffering from tension migraines and from lymphedema, a circulatory problem, in her right leg. "Working two jobs on my feet all day is not advisable, but I have no other choice right now," she says.

Barnick rejects Pawlenty's characterization of MinnesotaCare as "welfare" health care. "I work hard. I work hard every day. I do what I can. I don't think it's a fair statement."

Then she adds: "Even if you can't work, I think it's a negative statement that suggests you're not trying. And everybody's trying to take care of themselves and take care of their families."

Insurance makes a difference
Julia Turnbull represents another side of the health-care debate. She's not literally facing a life-or-death need for health insurance, but she knows firsthand the difference insurance can make in the quality of her life.

Turnbull ? a 22-year-old restaurant server and part-time student at Minneapolis Community and Technical College ? has been on MinnesotaCare for only two months. For four years before that, she went without insurance ? a common decision among people in her age group, where 1 in 6 lack insurance.

"I don't make that much money," she says. "I have to go to school and have a car and buy my books." If she loses MinnesotaCare, she'd go without health insurance again, she says.

But in just two months with insurance, she's already had a chronic medical ailment diagnosed ? an ailment that went unrecognized previously, when she relied on community clinics for her care.

"I know that I have the option to be seen," she says in explaining what having insurance means. "? If I need to go to the doctor, I can go to the doctor. I can have the same doctor. And I can have that same person keep looking at me and follow my story, instead of going to a clinic and seeing who's ever there at that time, and then everybody's just trying to figure it out. It's madness."

Michael Kuchta edits the St. Paul Union Advocate, the official publication of the St. Paul Trades & Labor Assembly, AFL-CIO. E-mail him at advocate@mtn.org