One More Patient
By David Staab MD
Lord, they have asked me to see one more patient.
They really can not take care of him themselves.
They think I have a pill for everything.
They think I know what is wrong.
The patient is a child: unwashed, underfed, unclothed, undesirable,
unneeded, uneducated, unwanted, pathetic.
He is as unwilling to be seen by me as I am unwilling to see him.
I can see the crowded boat that bore them in; a peasant's vessel,
filthy and fishy.
Tattered clothes that serve as rags for spills, and handkerchiefs
for sweat.
No need to say, "Sir, we are very poor."
This child has no diaper to catch his water that puddles on the
floor.
This family has no common sense to contain the misery that pools
up around them.
They can not take care of him alone.
Someone has to connect them to things from far away:
Clean dry pills packaged by machines, sterile needles, pristine
fluids.
They only know of dirt and sticks and pond water.
But I have been this connection so many times before.
A well worn bridge from poverty to technology that this patient
in a hundred different forms has crossed before.
Worn and weary, Lord, I have done and done and done.
I was comfortable.
I had done enough for a rest before this "one more" came.
My fatigue has made time a burden to me.
Even thinking is hard.
For all my Western training, my analysis is no good.
Signs and symptoms do not lead me to diagnosis and treatment.
My estimation is that this patient is hopeless and helpless.
My course of action is to remove this spectacle from my eyes.
I stand in judgment, not in Hippocratic empathy, let alone Christian
charity.
I have no love, no compassion.
My soul is empty and not even this patient can pound on it and
get more than a dull and hollow sound, without melody or grace.
I can't.
It is a chance to spend and I am spent.
I have not hope for you, nor strength to wish you better.
Far less than a prayer to an omnipotent God that can cure, restore,
and resurrect.
Worse for you if you catch this miserable disease of heart from
me.
Lord, I am in pain.
Beyond the weariness, my heart condition speaks to me.
No hope, no love, no joy and what of peace?
The unfulfilled, selfish desires-cancer-like-consume my being.
I need... I want... I hurt from the unmet, selfish wants.
Can't you do anything for me?
Can't you? You are the Great Physician.
I am sick of heart and mind.
Unclean, ignorant, and without resources, I come to you the way
this child came to me.
It's me and I am sick and I do not understand and I cannot help
myself.
I need you.
I need you to see me now.
Even if you are busy.
Could you see one more patient?
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