I know Thanksgiving has come and gone, but I can’t resist the chance to write about something we all should be thankful for: University Health Services.

Two weeks ago, when I should have been tapping out the last few words of this column, I was instead on my back in Stillman infirmary. I had wandered there slowly, without an appointment, dehydrated and delirious. When I arrived, all they needed to know was that I was a student and I was not well. At the time, I remember half-realizing how extraordinary it is that this level of immediate medical attention is available to all students.

I don’t want to be overdramatic—no cadre of doctors descended upon me, whisking me away to testing. But the RN did call me back within minutes, and a half hour later when my primary physician showed up, I was already in good care. (Which brings up another thing we should be thankful for—UHS seems to employ the last remaining nurses in the world who are both caring and great at their jobs. I’d grown so used to the businesslike barking of nurses in the outside world, I was surprised when one at UHS put a comforting hand on my shoulder.)

When my physician decided that I was too dehydrated and in too bad of a state to be sent home, there was no time wasted in admitting me. No one handed me any papers to sign. No one demanded a copy of my health insurance card, birth certificate or written affidavits from three former business associates attesting to my integrity, honesty and willingness to throw my body in front of an oncoming bullet if that’s what it takes to save the Queen of England.

All night, kind and knowledgeable nurses popped into the room, replacing IV bags, checking my temperature, making sure I was responsive to the antibiotics provided at no cost. Whether the institution’s goal was simply to rehabilitate get me and get me back on the essay-writing assembly line again, I appreciated their effort. After slogging through the last 36 hours in half-sleep and semi-consciousness, it was strangely comforting to have a tube attached to my arm and clean, tile floors beneath the bed.

The fact that such care is available to Harvard students is incredible. And such top of the line service is available to all students—regardless of their economic status. While students at other universities all over the country bemoan their health services, here in the ivory tower we have found something about our school that truly sets us apart.

Of course, the service isn’t free. The student health fee for Harvard students is a non-negligible $571 each semester. But for that one up-front cost, every student can have their colds, flus and mangled ankles examined by some of Boston’s best. This fee may seem high—to many students, $571 is the result of 50 hours of hard labor. At Brown University, students pay only $255 a semester for similar services. But notedly, those students who cannot afford the fee do not actually pay for it. The cost of the student health fee is used in the College’s calculation of financial aid, which ensures that no student is forced to choose between access to superior health services and any of the other huge economic burdens associated with college.

The inclusion of this fee in the calculation of costs and subsequent financial aid is important—it indicates the University’s understanding that health services, like access to top-rate academic instruction, must be equally available to students from all economic backgrounds. Harvard, like our nation’s other leading schools, does its students a great service by including this fee in its student financial aid package.

In the Nov. 13 issue of Fifteen Minutes, The Crimson’s weekly magazine, Elizabeth W. Green raised valid concerns about the ratio of low-income students at Harvard. She pointed out that only 9 percent of the College’s students come from families making less than $40,000 a year; these students comprise a substantially smaller portion of Harvard’s population than UCLA, MIT and all but one of the other Ivy League schools. Administrators attribute this imbalance partly to insufficient recruiting efforts. Perhaps highlighting how the financial aid program truly levels the playing field by providing equal and excellent medical care for all students would help to close that gap.

No student could feel safe at the College, or on an equal academic plane, if they believed they were forced to endure whatever illness they encountered without medical assistance. They could not be expected to compete and learn as easily if they knew they were one bad bout of pneumonia away from leaving college altogether. For families from truly impoverished situations, that experience is reality. For Harvard students who experienced an inadequate level of medical care in their childhood, it is thankfully a reality only in life before Harvard.

Lucas Tate ’05-’06 is a government concentrator in Lowell House. His column appears on alternate Wednesdays.