The Hospital, Pt. 2

For the beginning of this story...read the previous post...

I hurried to find a car to take me to the big hospital, Little Kevin's X-Rays in hand.

It was pouring down rain.  A typical "Fall" Day here in our city.  Downpours happen for days at a time and roads are turned to rivers.  The inside of my private car, piloted by an eager local man who had more questions than I had answers, contained heavy, humid air that steamed up every window...the city disappeared outside.

Traffic was crazy, of course.  Jerks, stops, starts and the "sewing-pedal" method of acceleration left me feeling nauseous and whatever "willingness" I had to help was slipping into the pit of selfish thinking.

After arriving, I called my Doctor friend, who is the Chief of Staff.  He trained in Paris and speaks several languages, including mine, thankfully.  He came down to the "Urgency" room, where we put the films of Kevin's busted-up pelvis on the lighting unit...I stared silently...wishing I had a clue what to say about what I needed from him.

He turned on his heels and said, "I'll take this now to my orthopedic team and we will come back with our opinion."

So, I was then left to sit on the cold, aluminum benches outside the "Urgency Room" and watching as people huddled around beds with their loved ones in them.

The routine was the same.  A person in some distress would come in, either walking or on a gurney.  Then a cloud of white coats would gather around...white caps on the nurses...while they interviewed the infirmed.  Rapidly it would appear that an initial course of treatment was ordered and then one of the family members would rush out, a stack of papers in hand...to go to the cashier.

Here, no money...no treatment.

The Doctors and nurses would then walk away from the infirmed, often into the anti room beside the Urgency Room and would take no action, nothing to treat/calm/aide the patient...until...the family member re-appeared and presented the nurses with the Fa Piao (the official receipts) that treatment had been paid for....and then they would turn their attention back to the patient.

It seemed quite cold to me, from my Western mindset...a simple business transaction...if you want treatment, you pay, now.  So unlike the hospitals in the West who clearly post their "We will not refuse anyone treatment" statements on their Emergency Room waiting walls.

I saw a grown daughter, her parents so old that while the Father (the patient) was being attended to, her mother laid down on another bed in the stark room, because she was literally too exhausted to stand.

The daughter, herself with streaks of grey in her hair, taking a thick brown envelope from her mother's purse (obviously, the "money" wallet), stuffing it into her own worn black handbag...and shuffling off to the cashier...to buy her father some medical help.

I was again struck with the reality of how soft I am.  Of how little I know of real suffering...or better said...of a hard life.  This small family was exhausted, worn, and to my eye, ever so deserving of help...but no help was forthcoming...until the Fa Piao was presented...until the price was paid.

There is always a price to be paid.

Yet is seems that I often suspend that reality...fooling myself that there is plenty...that there is abundance...and in my life, there always has been...and as a child of Him, I am confident that I will always have what I need...

But there are so many who do not have enough...who are haggard, worn, and broken down...and if they have no brown envelope...the white coats will turn their backs...and they will be left in need.

How can I promote justice?  To make an impact?  To serve the least...to aide the weary...

More on this story, as I have more time to write...Pt. 3, coming soon.