I crashed!
It was an accident. I walked into a stainless-steel table which refused to move. Wow, did it hurt! The crash took my breath away. I couldn't believe it happened as the table was in plain view. I was just being my usual hyperactive, high-speed self, when I simply walked into it.
This happened on February 5th, which was a Friday. I figured the crash would leave me with a big black and blue bruise that would eventually go away. It hurt all weekend, and I didn't think much more about it. By Sunday evening, however, my left leg was hideously swollen from my hip down to my ankle. I had difficulty walking, as well.
So first thing come Monday morning, I reported to the prison's Infirmary for "sick call." The nurse took one look at my leg and abruptly walked off in search of the facility's doctor. When, as soon as he looked at it, he said to me, "I'm sending you to an outside hospital."
An hour later, after the facility called to make arrangements with the hospital, off I went in a prison van with three correction officers as my escorts. If not for the handcuffs and shackles, and the constant pain, it would've been a pleasant drive.
Ninety minutes later, I was sitting in the Emergency Room of a busy city hospital. Plopping down in a plastic chair, polite citizens gave me a curious glance before quickly turning away once they saw my steel jewelry. Seeing a man wearing handcuffs and leg irons was an uncomfortable sight. I smiled at them and said hello, and they did the same to me, but I could feel the awkwardness. No one wanted to stare, and that was fine with me.
Yet as I sat in that huge, crowded room, I got to see humanity in all its pain, suffering, and grief. It was a surreal but exceedingly humbling experience. Sitting near the main entrance door to the Emergency Room, and almost directly in front of the Admissions desk, I watched in sympathy and sadness as ambulance workers arrived with their hurting cargo.
In came sick or injured citizens of all races. Some came on stretchers. Others were being pushed along in wheelchairs. While many were walk-ins off the streets. Some walked up to the admissions desk to say they were there to pick up the medications they'd been prescribed. Still others were clearly overdosing on something. Addicts. One was a young woman being carried in who was having convulsions. Then there were a few in comers who had Covid, or were thought to have it. The Covid patients were obvious by the way they were covered up, and especially by all the protective clothing the medical personnel who were escorting them were wearing.
Sitting on the sideline and seeing these things stirred my heart. I was looking at everyone with the eyes of Jesus. I wished that for that day I could be Him, an unchained healer and savior. I would walk among the sick and hurting, touching them with hands of compassion. I would talk to them and pray with them and love them.
After it was my turn to register at Admissions, and after sitting in the waiting area for a considerable period of time, my escorts and I were ushered into another more private waiting area. And after waiting some more, a nurse showed up to announce, "I'll be back shortly to give you some tests."
In a large city hospital, the words "wait" or "I'll be back shortly," take on a different meaning than one would normally expect. It had to be well over an hour before the nurse returned to take me deeper into the recesses of the facility where I could be examined. Then it was back to the waiting area for the doctor to show up.
He did show, hours later! More tests. It was now well into the night. Lots of trauma to my leg. Internal bleeding and "hematoma" made worse by the fact that I'm on blood thinners. Plenty of persistent pain, as well. But nothing was broken other than my heart.
Seeing firsthand the massive amounts of human suffering, I silently prayed for everyone. I regretted being in chains, and not being able to walk among the wounded to offer them help and support, and a listening ear.
D.B.
This happened on February 5th, which was a Friday. I figured the crash would leave me with a big black and blue bruise that would eventually go away. It hurt all weekend, and I didn't think much more about it. By Sunday evening, however, my left leg was hideously swollen from my hip down to my ankle. I had difficulty walking, as well.
So first thing come Monday morning, I reported to the prison's Infirmary for "sick call." The nurse took one look at my leg and abruptly walked off in search of the facility's doctor. When, as soon as he looked at it, he said to me, "I'm sending you to an outside hospital."
An hour later, after the facility called to make arrangements with the hospital, off I went in a prison van with three correction officers as my escorts. If not for the handcuffs and shackles, and the constant pain, it would've been a pleasant drive.
Ninety minutes later, I was sitting in the Emergency Room of a busy city hospital. Plopping down in a plastic chair, polite citizens gave me a curious glance before quickly turning away once they saw my steel jewelry. Seeing a man wearing handcuffs and leg irons was an uncomfortable sight. I smiled at them and said hello, and they did the same to me, but I could feel the awkwardness. No one wanted to stare, and that was fine with me.
Yet as I sat in that huge, crowded room, I got to see humanity in all its pain, suffering, and grief. It was a surreal but exceedingly humbling experience. Sitting near the main entrance door to the Emergency Room, and almost directly in front of the Admissions desk, I watched in sympathy and sadness as ambulance workers arrived with their hurting cargo.
In came sick or injured citizens of all races. Some came on stretchers. Others were being pushed along in wheelchairs. While many were walk-ins off the streets. Some walked up to the admissions desk to say they were there to pick up the medications they'd been prescribed. Still others were clearly overdosing on something. Addicts. One was a young woman being carried in who was having convulsions. Then there were a few in comers who had Covid, or were thought to have it. The Covid patients were obvious by the way they were covered up, and especially by all the protective clothing the medical personnel who were escorting them were wearing.
Sitting on the sideline and seeing these things stirred my heart. I was looking at everyone with the eyes of Jesus. I wished that for that day I could be Him, an unchained healer and savior. I would walk among the sick and hurting, touching them with hands of compassion. I would talk to them and pray with them and love them.
After it was my turn to register at Admissions, and after sitting in the waiting area for a considerable period of time, my escorts and I were ushered into another more private waiting area. And after waiting some more, a nurse showed up to announce, "I'll be back shortly to give you some tests."
In a large city hospital, the words "wait" or "I'll be back shortly," take on a different meaning than one would normally expect. It had to be well over an hour before the nurse returned to take me deeper into the recesses of the facility where I could be examined. Then it was back to the waiting area for the doctor to show up.
He did show, hours later! More tests. It was now well into the night. Lots of trauma to my leg. Internal bleeding and "hematoma" made worse by the fact that I'm on blood thinners. Plenty of persistent pain, as well. But nothing was broken other than my heart.
Seeing firsthand the massive amounts of human suffering, I silently prayed for everyone. I regretted being in chains, and not being able to walk among the wounded to offer them help and support, and a listening ear.
D.B.
RSS Feed