Nightmare on Orms Street

From friend Jim Stahl, a letter to the Providence Journal:

Letter to the Editor

Nightmare on Orms Street

Monday afternoon an apparently disabled man stumbled and fell walking up Orms Street. Watching him teeter and fall in my rearview mirror, I turned around, parked, approached him and asked if he needed help. He was bleeding from stitches in several places, he was drunk, and a near-empty gin bottle lay on the sidewalk nearby. I asked his name, his destination, where he'd just been. His reply: he'd just been released from a nearby hospital. One of his shoes was oddly crooked. Walking caused pain, which explained some of his stumble. He wore hospital-issue pants, blood stained. I wondered whether a beating or a car accident had caused his multiple wounds: above his brow black stitches had closed a swollen bump the size of a baby carrot.  Large Frankenstein-style stitches scarred his head and arm. How long had he been out of the hospital? Twenty minutes, he replied. Why was he discharged? No insurance, he said. He had handsome blue eyes and an intelligent voice. He said he worked recently in housekeeping at a nearby hotel.

Given the stumble and fall I had just witnessed, it seemed possible that his next fall might bring him under the wheel of a bus. I decided to take him in my car to his destination up Orms street. I was scared – of the blood on his body, of the possibility of sudden violence, of my liability should he fall and get hurt under my charge. And I was oddly embarrassed: no drivers witnessing this scene offered a hand. I felt foolish. I thought of calling 911 but could not be sure this man's complete vulnerability, and his inexcusable public drunkenness, would not invite more abuse.  Recent and old stories in the ProJo, and video clips on the evening news, of kicks and night sticks aimed at Providence's most helpless gave me pause. So holding him under the arm, I got him into my car.

At his destination, thankfully, someone knew him. A milk crate appeared and I sat him down. My job done, I drove off sad, angry, and confused: confused that this bloodied and bewildered Rhode Island man, for lack of medical insurance, was released from a well-regarded hospital with so little concern for his personal safety or his dignity; sad that a lack of trust and confidence made me afraid to call 911 on his behalf; and angry for two reasons—that helping the helpless has become so out of vogue that doing so made me feel embarrassed, and that a life of good fortune -- free from the crack of abuse, negligence, misery, and indignity ---  is available only to those of us with money in the bank. This man obviously had none. When the money's gone, watch out. Any one of us could be the next to fall on Orms street.

---by R. James Stahl, Providence RI, publisher of Merlyn's Pen, and Merlyn's Pen New Library of Young Adult Writing

I wish you were not such an accomplished story teller, Jim. This is a heart-wrenching and dispiriting story made all the more vivid and troubling by your most personal and sensitive account. You reflect a sense of responsibility, even accountability--and yes, a range of human reactions--rarely shown and only occasionally expressed by individuals, institutions and government. Thank you. I hope they publish it and it is widely read.

Something like this story is now-and-then told or written about in more prosaic, detached terms about such neglected individuals and the hospitals around the country that neglect them. There are all the understandable reasons: the limitations of our system and institutions, the defeated, muted voices of those denied help, the preference of most of us not to see or hear. All we can do is keep telling the stories, Jim, and advocating for the healthcare system all Americans deserve. Thanks again for doing your part, for sharing your story.

Greg