“Go away. We can’t do anything for you.”
The sick young man was devastated. So was his family. This was the place that was supposed to treat young people with the most difficult diseases. The place that never turned young people away. The place that specialized in lost causes. Yet the doctors’ words were as clear as they were hurtful.
“Go away. We can’t do anything for you.”
In the doctors’ defense, the young man’s disease was rare. They didn’t see this disease in someone his age that often. They certainly never cured it. Yet the hospital supposedly had the best minds in the world there. If anyone knew how to treat his disease, they could, right? Yet, their judgment remained:
“Go away. We can’t do anything for you.”
If only the young man had been younger, cuter and curable. Then they could’ve used him in their marketing campaigns. Then older women on fixed incomes would have donated what little they had to the hospital. They could’ve dressed him up in a cute outfit and made him tell his story so the old ladies would cry and be compelled to give the hospital even more money. The hospital was a “feel good” story and you can’t feel good about a teenager with an incurable disease. Old ladies give their money to the hospital so that precious babies can be cured, not so a dying young man can be comforted in his final days.
“Go away. We can’t do anything for you.”
Eventually, the young man’s story became known, and the family told how they were turned away by the hospital and the hardship it created. Funny thing – then the community started giving money to the family so they could care for the young man. Soon, the hospital announced it had a “change of heart.” The hospital said, “We’ll pay for the young man to be cared for by another facility. So now when you give us money, a portion of it will go this young man’s care. Giving money to us is just like giving money to this young man and his family.” Only it wasn’t.
“Go away. We can’t do anything for you.”
Another clinic in the area treated the young man. Eventually the hospital cared for him, too – presumably out of the goodness of their hearts and not because of the bad publicity from the young man’s story. He actually died at the hospital months after being initially turned away. The community was devastated, yet inspired by the young man’s bravery, faith and strength. The story is now his story. And his family’s story. And his community’s story. The story no longer has anything to do with the hospital.
Occasionally, I get letters from the hospital, asking me to give them money so they can cure precious babies. I don’t often talk to pieces of mail, but when I get these letters from the hospital, before I tear them into pieces, I say:
“Go away. I can’t do anything for you.”
