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An EMT rolled a wheelchair with a large man through the emergency room doors. Clearly, the man wasn’t well, his sweatshirt pulled up high around his neck, his hood over his head. The EMT was attentive and caring, asking the man, “What can I get you?” He had a fever, I overheard. His blood pressure was high. After giving these vitals to a nurse, the EMT left for another call. He said goodbye to the man and wished him well.
Besides this man sheltering in his sweatshirt, no one else was in this waiting room alone. A young man with a gash in his forehead jokes with a whole squad of buddies. A young mom does her best to entertain her kids. An older couple sit quietly in front of me, occasionally leaning to whisper something in the other’s ear. A man who dropped a bench on his toe hobbles in with his girlfriend.
I was sick and alone once. I’d just moved to a new call, fresh out of seminary, and had caught some sort of virus. I was bad sick — the kind of sick when you start to wonder if you’re going to make it. I won’t get into the gory details. But the worst part was being alone. I didn’t know anyone well enough yet in my new community to call. I didn’t have anyone to sit watch, to make sure I was still breathing, drinking fluids, getting the rest my body needed, checking my temperature. I thought about calling for an ambulance that night, but didn’t.
Tonight, sitting in this waiting room, I pause to pray for those who are sick and alone. People who have to be wheeled into hospital emergency rooms because they have no one to care for them. Lord, in your mercy, hear my prayers.
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