Soul Mates

I was about to explode and Lavanda and Phyllis could tell. My voice was growing louder and deeper, and I was growing increasingly agitated. All of the pent up frustration and hurt finally had something to focus on and it was taking over.

That something would be one of our area hospitals. They had taken a homeless couple, an elderly lady in a wheelchair, put them in a cab after treating her in the emergency room, and had them dropped off at the J. C. Lewis Health Center. No one followed protocols and called to see if there was room for the patient or if she met our admissions criteria. She did not. She was non-ambulatory.

It seems that the Army of Salvation had no room in the inn for a couple. Especially one in a wheel chair who needed assistance. Even though her companion was happy to be her caregiver as they sought refuge from the cold. So they sent them to the hospital and like Pilate washed their hands of the affair.

The hospital didn't want to admit an uncompensated care patient, especially one with a companion, so they broke the law by paying for a cab to put them in and discharged them to the streets. There have been major lawsuits and publicity over such "street dumping" by hospitals.

My growing anger explosion grew deeper when I learned that one of Savannah's hospital is doing it with some regularity. This after Savannah's hospitals and Union Mission has been repeatedly hailed as a national best practice for its treatment of homeless people and the creative establishment of the J. C. Lewis Health Center.

My questions were becoming louder and more animated, again the frustration of the last several weeks compounding things, and frustration begets frustration, anger grows anger, and I was close to exploding.

"Please Mr.," she said from her wheelchair. "Please help me. Please!" she pleaded.

Turning my head, I looked at her for the first time. She was stereotypical homeless. Multiple coats layered on top of one another. Plastic hospital bags held all of her possessions. A dirty toboggan was pulled low over a cracked leather face. Her eyes were gray. The color of homelessness is gray. The smell of homelessness is mildew.

"Please help me sir," she pleaded again and tears streamed down the gray leather face.

The anger went away and my heart broke for the thousandth time in the past few weeks.

"I got it," Lavanda said, touching my arm. Suddenly, I felt empty for the thousandth time in the last few weeks. No hurt or frustration. Empty.

Phyllis took charge and began barking orders to everyone while talking to the two lost souls at the same.

I nodded to Lavanda and turned to leave. Addressing the woman, I said, "Don't worry baby we're going to take of you."

And I left for home. Drained and exhausted and spent. During yet another sleepless night, her leather face kept appearing with tears streaming down them. And at some point during the night they mixed with my own tears. And for a moment, we were soul mates.