The Communicable Diseases Hospital
[Adventures in Faith: India; 1991] Alexander and I found a man who was laying on the curb. He was dying. We took him to a regular hospital. And then to the Communicable Diseases Hospital.
One day Alexander and I needed to run some errands. We rode a series of buses all the way to downtown Chennai.
There were some marvelous buildings in that downtown area.
We were walking near some government buildings when we noticed a man who was laying on the curb.
He was the skinniest man I had ever seen in my life. I was certain he weighed less than 75 pounds. I could see the outline of every bone. He was a living skeleton.
His only clothing was a filthy sheet wound around his hips.
His body odor was nauseating. Even now, decades later, I still recall the odor.
We had to do something for him. We decided to get him to a hospital.
There was no elegant way to transport him to the hospital. The first leg of the journey was to walk to a bus stop.
We had no stretcher. And time was of the essence, as the man was dying.
So I picked him up into my arms. Even though I myself was sickly and weak, he was light enough that I could actually carry him, at least for a short distance.
I carried him to a bus stop. It was a block or two away.
We boarded the bus toward the hospital. The man did not have the strength to sit up. So I continued to hold him in my arms.
Sometimes the dying man coughed. Sometimes he coughed out some awful-looking pus.
The bus didn’t take us all the way to the hospital. So we disembarked.
Then we hailed a tuk-tuk (“auto rickshaw”) for the final stretch.
We got him admitted to the ER. After running tests, the attending physician said he had tuberculosis, also known as TB.
The dying man had TB.
I had carried in my arms a man who was infected with TB. My face had been in sustained close proximity with a man who had TB.
I had breathed the same air as a man who was infected with TB.
I had been spattered with the awful-looking pus he had been coughing up.
The hospital wouldn’t admit him. That was because he had a “communicable disease.”
To get him treated, we ourselves had to deliver him to a different hospital. It was a great distance away.
It was called the Communicable Diseases Hospital.
We were very glad such a place existed. We deeply respected the people who worked there. We were confident it was exactly what this man needed.
However, there were risks for Alexander and me. Our first concern was that we would have a few more hours of close proximity with someone who had TB.
Our second concern was entering a hospital for people with communicable diseases.
Alexander and I considered those risks. We decided we would care for this dying man anyway. If something bad happened to us, we would accept it.
Our trip to the Communicable Diseases Hospital took several more hours. During most of those hours, I was holding the dying man in my arms and breathing the same air as he.
He continued to cough. And to cough up that awful pus.
Then when we arrived, we needed to enter the hospital. We knew it was filled with patients with communicable diseases.
To make sure the man was actually admitted and not turned away, we needed to stay inside the Communicable Diseases Hospital for a few more hours.
Finally it was clear that that man was in good hands, and that we could leave.
As we walked out of the Communicable Diseases Hospital, I never felt so contaminated in my life.
My clothing and skin were permeated with the dying man’s filth. His sweat and awful stench. The pus he coughed up.
My lungs were probably infested with some of the bacteria that had caused the dying man’s TB.
Yet I also felt an indescribable joy. I was given the gift of helping another person, a precious human being that was cherished by the Most High God.
For his final few hours on earth, the man was taken care of in a specialized hospital. It was staffed and equipped for his exact needs.
We hoped he would be able to die in peace.
RESOURCES
At Wikipedia
Tuk-Tuk (“Auto Rickshaw”)
ADVENTURES IN FAITH
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