To Each Staff
Member of this Facility:
As you pick up that chart today and scan that green Medicaid card, I hope
you will remember what I am about to say. I spent yesterday with you. I
was there with my mother and father. We didn't know where we were supposed
to go or what we were supposed to do, for we had never needed your services
before. We have never before been labeled charity.
I watched yesterday as my dad became a diagnosis, a chart, a case number,
a charity case labeled "no sponsor" because he had no health
insurance. I saw a weak man stand in line, waiting for five hours to be
shuffled through a system of impatient office workers, a burned-out nursing
staff and a budget-scarce facility, being robbed of any dignity and pride
he may have had left. I was amazed at how impersonal your staff was, huffing
and blowing when the patient did not present the correct form, speaking
carelessly of other patients' cases in front of passersby, of lunch breaks
that would be spent away from this "poor man's hell."
My dad is only a green card, a file number to clutter your desk on appointment
day, a patient who will ask for directions twice after they've been mechanically
given the first time. But, no, that's not really my dad. That's only what
you see. What you don't see is a cabinetmaker since the age of 14, a self-employed
man who has a wonderful wife, four grown kids (who visit too much), and
five grandchildren (with two more on the way) - all of whom think their
"pop" is the greatest.
This man is everything a daddy should be - strong and firm, yet tender,
rough around the edges, a country boy, yet respected by prominent business
owners. He's my dad, the man who raised me through thick and thin, gave
me away as a bride, held my children at their births, stuffed a $20 bill
into my hand when times were tough and comforted me when I cried. Now we
are told that before long cancer will take this man away from us.
You may say these are the words of a grieving daughter lashing out in helplessness
at the prospect of losing a loved one. I would not disagree. Yet I would
urge you not to discount what I say. Never lose sight of the people behind
your charts. Each chart represents a person - with feelings, a history,
a life - whom you have the power to touch for one day by your words and
actions. Tomorrow it may be your loved one - your relative or neighbor
- who turns into a case number, a green card, a name to be marked off with
a yellow marker as done for the day.
I pray that you will reward the next person you greet at your station with
a kind word or smile because that person is someone's dad, husband, wife,
mother, son, or daughter - or simply because he or she is a human being,
created and loved by God, just as you are.
By Author Unknown
Submitted by Holly Cresswell
from A 2nd Helping of Chicken Soup for the Soul
Copyright 1995 by Jack Canfield and Mark Victor Hansen