Leaven #17

“My tears will cool me off.”

St. Louis. August. A couple of minutes before 11:00 AM. Cloudless sky. Slight breeze. Record heat.

I see her when I round the Center for Advanced Medicine on my way to the Ettrick Building across Forest Park Parkway for an 11:00 AM meeting. She looks to be in her early 30s . . . is casually dressed . . . is a bit overweight. She is sitting awkwardly at the corner where Euclid Avenue intersects Forest Park Parkway, looking anxiously across the parkway’s daunting ten lanes (including turn lanes). I wonder if she has fallen. As I approach, the lights change and the heavy/rushing traffic on Forest Park Parkway stops. I notice her struggling to stand. Remembering that pedestrians have been hit attempting to cross the parkway, I slow down to walk at her pace a step behind and to her side.

Her stiff/irregular walking motion is all too familiar. I ask her if I can help. “Yes, thank you,” she responds and steadies herself by holding to my arm. Sweat streaming down her face and neck soaks her shirt. As we slowly cross the parkway, she explains softly while concentrating on each step -- “I have MS . . . This heat is unbearable . . . I am having an exacerbation.” By the time we reach the opposite side of Forest Park Parkway, I have learned she has made it this morning to a clinic appointment at the hospital . . . she has been sent to another location for tests . . . she lives in an apartment a few blocks away . . . she needs to reach the bus stop a few feet past Euclid Avenue before the next bus arrives.

She slumps onto the grass behind the sidewalk in front of the bus stop. I sit beside her. Tears fill her eyes as she stares at the hospital and asks for one thing – “All I want is my life back”.

I listen. Though fatigued, she continues – “I see the way people look at me. I understand their suspicious tone. I don’t want to be on disability. I want my job back. The doctors keep telling me to ‘be patient, be careful’. I wish I had never learned to walk . . . to run . . . to write . . . to play.”

I tell her about the hospital’s spiritual care staff/service. I give her the name of the person who will answer when she calls . . . and I give her my name. I have her repeat twice the information I have written down for her. I ask, “Would you like for me to get you some ice water from the Bread Company (a short distance behind us).” She responds, “No. My tears will cool me off.”

The bus approaches. She struggles again to stand. She makes it to a seat. I watch the bus pull away as I walk to my meeting.

When do we (not) notice? When do we (not) stop? When do we (not) listen? When do we (not) help?

These revealing questions bring to mind a hallway comment I overheard a clearly disturbed/confused nurse make to the nurse with whom she was walking -- “The Good Samaritan story* is eating me alive!”

Think about it. Perhaps talk to a coworker.

* Whether familiar or not with its religious source, you likely know the gist of the story that has given us ‘Good Samaritan Laws’. A traveler is robbed and left on the side of a dangerous road badly injured. Two community leaders traveling separately on the same road see the injured man but hurry past him on the opposite side of the road. Then a third traveler – who belongs to a harshly treated ethnic minority – sees the injured man. Touched deeply by his plight, this third traveler administers first aid and then delivers him to safe shelter. The admonition at the story’s end – “Do what the third traveler did”. The story’s implication – “Do not do what the first two travelers did”. Thus the nurse’s angst. She confesses to her friend that a story to which she turns for guidance does not translate easily/obviously into the complexities of work . . . of life.