FINDING HOPE
<< Hi, we have to go... >> he said as he watched him enter the small entrance hall. The words died on his lips. << What did you do? >> he asked worriedly. << This morning at school... >> Alberto, Alexander's son, began to tell a convoluted story. As soon as he had seen him, his father had already understood the crux of the matter. Alberto was holding a bag of dry ice on his chest so as not to feel the pain. << We must go to the emergency room! >> Alexander abruptly concluded. There was a small argument between the two. Alberto tried hard to find other solutions. Alexander would also have gladly avoided going to the emergency room, he knew it would take several hours. However, he also knew it was the right thing to do. He was worried: Alberto might have broken a rib, an X-ray had to be taken to make sure. They ate in a hurry at Grandpa's and drove as quickly as possible to the hospital. They arrived at the pay car park next to the entrance at 14:44. They walked to the emergency room. At triage, where their body temperature is measured, they were greeted by a smiling young man. Since the Covid epidemic had broken out, they were greeted in this way, even though by then the Covid patients had almost disappeared. The boy explained to Alexander that he had gone to the wrong place. << Until they are eighteen years old, kids should go to the paediatric emergency room, not the adult emergency room! >> he said. The two had to continue. Alexander became annoyed. Before leaving he had looked on the internet where to go. On the web it said something different: it was only possible to go to the children's emergency room for children up to the age of fifteen. Alberto was already fifteen and a half. In any case, the father avoided controversy and headed straight for his new destination. He had already experienced the paediatric emergency room, where the waiting times had been even longer. Moreover, in the past, he had had to go back to the adult emergency room to have an X-ray, the very place they had just been kicked out of. His already strained guts twisted further. The father gritted his teeth. With a forced smile he continued towards his destination. He couldn't remember the exact location of the paediatric emergency room, thank goodness he had rarely had to go there. < Here's the usual game of passing the hot potato to someone else! > he thought, observing the nurse as he walked away. Behind a polite facade, the Triage boy ruefully hid the relief that he had been able to avoid to intervene. Alexander had preferred to arrive on foot. In the children's emergency room it was easier to get in that way. Alexander was glad he had made the right choice, however, he was tense. In emergency situations, agitation makes people regress. We all become like children. Alexander tried to remember the street, he remembered the location, though not exactly the building. He felt a stupid, childish fear of not being able to find it. Alberto trotted quickly by his side without complaint. His athletic skills allowed him to proceed quickly even as an injured man. The father tried to look at the signs. < Children's Hospital > he read on a couple of signs. The arrows were a bit contradictory. In any case, they were in the area. Alexander decided to enter a building he remembered as the headquarters. At the entrance was a manned reception point. The place was strangely devoid of patients and, inside, one had the opportunity to ask a human being for information. A nurse answered that the Children's Emergency Room was located nearby. She moved her arm in front of her like a snake and uttered phrases peppered with: << ...right...left. >> Alexander walked out, seeing nothing new. He continued more or less in the direction indicated. < Why is it that in the movies when one enters a hospital one immediately sees the sign 'Emergency Room', as tall as a person? > he wondered. < And emergency reception usually has an access road as wide as a motorway? > He continued past the corner of the building. What he saw beyond brought back memories. The building they had stopped at was the old Children's Emergency Room. From the corner where they had turned, the glass windows of the new building could be seen. It was better to walk to the Children's Emergency Room because there was only a small pedestrian gate on the street outside. The two were coming from the back of the building: the street inside the hospital complex. That street was designed for access by car. In all probability it was the one Alexander had taken the previous times. Before entering, the father looked unsuccessfully for the words: "Paediatric Emergency Room" or "Paediatric Hospital" or "Children's Hospital", both around the entrance and on the windows. Nothing, he saw nothing. < The sign will be outside the gate. > he imagined. But his gaze had already run inside the building. In the foyer he saw three groups of people consisting of two individuals each. They were more or less standing in line in front of a shiny new entrance counter. Pasta, a nationwide food company, had donated the new Emergency Room and Children's Hospital to the city a few years earlier. Everything was now very modern. At first glance, the environment was reminiscent of American films. The response times, on the contrary, were very Italian, slow, mainly due to the lack of personnel. This was often the justification given by the ASL, in response to numerous letters of complaint published in the city newspaper. Alessandro had even seen reports on local TV in which 'self-denying' people were interviewed. They blamed the long waiting times on themselves. According to them, patients were unnecessarily 'clogging up' the emergency room, resorting to this service without really needing it. Alexander would have preferred to "cut off his hand..." rather than spend hours and hours waiting in the emergency room "without really needing it". < We are ruined! > the father concluded annoyed. The last time he had had to use the service, after two and a half hours of waiting, no one had yet examined his son. And that time he only had one patient in front of him. Alexander had left before the visit. Alberto then had a fever of almost forty. An immune reaction had occurred after receiving a dose of vaccine. His father had rushed to the hospital with the details of the vaccine administered, the time of administration. He believed this was the way it should be done... After two and a half hours in the waiting room, the fever had dropped to 37.5 degrees on its own. Alberto had recovered there, in the waiting room. Alessandro had left, or more precisely: '...he had left voluntarily', before being examined. Once it was Alessandro's turn, this was the wording the nurse would use on the report. But today the queue was long. The sight of those three little groups had frightened Alexander, terrified of the danger of an interminable wait. Although a slight calming effect was produced by a photocopy placed on the glass door. On it it read: 'Due to Covid only one accompanying person per patient is allowed'. < At least for this we are in order. > thought Alexander. < There is only me accompanying Alberto. > < Three groups of two... it's actually three small accompanied patients... > Father and son entered and lined up. The father started to think again about the problem of the 'paediatric emergency room' sign, the contradictory indications, the incredible difficulties in doing simple things in our country. < Even McDonalds puts a sign on a pole about ten metres high. You can see it from the beginning of the street. Couldn't they do that in the ER too? Yeah, but McDonalds wants to be found, here they probably don't. > concluded Alexander gloomily. At the counter he saw Angela, a neighbouring nurse. He liked that person, she was a fervent religious, she spent her life dedicating herself to others, starting with her four children. Arriving at the counter he greeted her. They had seen each other several times in church. She recognised him. She greeted them politely, listened patiently to Alberto's cumbersome story, and took care to warn them of the long waiting time. She warned them that the doctors might refuse to take an x-ray of the boy. < Here by dint of cutting costs they even try to avoid taking x-rays. > thought Alessandro. << Alberto you have to say that it hurts. >> he told his son. << Otherwise they won't take an x-ray. >> Alberto's main concern was to be able to play the next football match on Sunday morning. The championship was over now, however, the spring tournaments were about to begin. Alberto had discovered something interesting. That Sunday he would perhaps have the chance to face the team he had left at the beginning of the year. In the event that they both reached the semifinals, the teams would face each other. Alberto had left because of disagreements with the coach. The coach had stopped calling him to matches, even though he was the only boy who had been present at all the training sessions for years. In nine years he had missed fewer times than could be counted on the fingers of one hand. The desire to have a rematch with the old coach interested his son greatly. Later Alexander suspected that, after welcoming them, Angela had gone to alert triage of the long queue. The two were seated in the waiting room, placed in a rough row, behind a black gentleman. The man spoke in broken Italian. In theory he claimed to be accompanying a child to be rescued, but in practice he was alone. After five minutes, the black gentleman disappeared. Alessandro panicked. He had lost his only point of reference in the queue. There were twenty-two people in the waiting room, in three rooms separated by glass. There were basically eleven young patients and eleven carers, the vast majority of whom were mothers. The patients were almost all small children, with the exception of three teenage boys, including Alberto. The gentleman's disappearance frightened Alexander: he feared he had lost his place. He vaguely remembered the patient before the black man. He remembered that he was a child with a mother, however, he could not say which one. There was no regular line, people were sitting here and there in no order. < But is it possible that there is no rule-code number!? > Alexander asked himself provocatively. < Without a rule-code in our country, there is always someone trying to get past you. And in this case, the 'law of the strongest' > is triggered. Alexander looked around worriedly. With the law of the strongest he would surely lose at least one position. There was a door, with colourful children's drawings on the side, behind which was the triage of the paediatric emergency room. There were numerous signs on the door: the words 'Do not enter', with a drawing of a small dog, the words 'Do not enter' above the no entry sign, flanked by a stylised drawing of a man with a huge black hand, placed as a sign to stop, two posters with the words: 'NO to violence in the hospital', and finally a STOP sign. Looking at them one had a feeling of 'warm welcome'. < In fact, on the news I heard several reports of assaults on attendants. > Alexander reflected. < I must say that I was also angry the first time I came to the children's emergency room. I was anxious about my son, but nobody seemed to be in any hurry to examine him. Of course with my character, my ideals of NON-VIOLENCE, in the end, I hurt myself more than others. In the end I took it out on my stomach. I think it is better to behave like this than to hurt someone else. If, on the other hand, a person has a reactive nature, he avoids gastritis, but risks attacking an attendant. A problem exists: those signs are proof of that. Perhaps we should all get stomach aches? After all, in Italy, without a theatrical performance, nobody usually bothers to listen. It seems to be necessary to shout at people to manifest the existence of a problem. He who dies in silence, dies of a perforating ulcer, but that doesn't count... > To the anxiousness of the injured person, the first-aid workers seemed to counterbalance the rescuer's philosophy: it is better to go calmly to avoid doing something silly, the name patient means one who must be patient. The black gentleman suddenly returned with a nine-year-old girl. Alexander calmed down. He now had his point of reference again. The patients were all waiting at the threshold of Triage. A long time passed and at some point finally the black gentleman entered. << We are next, Alberto >> Alexander said with a sigh of relief. A few minutes later it was their turn. They walked through the door and found a smiling young doctor, helped by an even younger boy, who looked like a medical student. They took their temperature and struck up a jovial conversation. Alberto again unleashed his complicated storytelling. Alessandro realised at that moment that he was now old enough to be on his own. This made him happy. He listened in silence. Everything ended well. Finally came the ritual questions: << Allergies? >> the doctor asked. << To the school! >> escaped Alexander, in a joking mood. He was cheerful about the achievement, as well as the escaped danger of having to defend his shift position. << It is very common and we don't treat it anymore >> replied the smiling doctor to the joke, while Alberto looked grimly at his father, judging it a bad joke. This doctor also expressed doubts that the outcome of the next visit would establish the need for an X-ray. There were also some mysterious timetable problems, summarily explained, and little understood by the father. They were handed some papers to continue their journey, and sent back to the waiting room. Once seated, Alexander read the papers. They had been assigned the green gravity code and the rule-code number G34. At the top of the sheet was the time of entry into the Paediatric Emergency Room: 15:49. The father squinted his eyes, looked at his watch and pulled the parking ticket out of his wallet. The ticket showed the time 14:44. In one hour and five minutes they had travelled about 250 metres, had had their temperature measured and had obtained a rule-code number. With three people in front of them, the same operation in any shop in town would have taken less than five minutes. In that long time, instead of being rescued, they had only managed to get in. Many letters to the newspaper mentioned the long waiting times. In order to disprove them, the management used the data on the emergency room sheets: entry time, exit time, combined with average waiting times. With this little ruse, an hour and five minutes in the queue disappeared. The time on the parking ticket was the only proof of when they had actually arrived. While for the emergency room they had entered at that time, at 15:49. Alexander remembered the courses he had taken at university in statistics, and recalled that even with statistical averages it is possible to make hours of waiting disappear. You just have to process the data in the right way. The father also thought of his father-in-law, who had once told him about his wife's broken femur. He had broken it in Vienna. Within half an hour his injured wife was already in the hospital bed, the bed assigned for the operation the next morning. All in half an hour. The next day they had operated and put a prosthesis on her. A week later she was taken by ambulance back to Italy, and there... the trouble started. Twelve hours in the ambulance and twenty-four hours in the emergency room to get a bed. All by going directly to the ER to shorten the time, on the advice of the general practitioner. < We live in a developing country > Alexander concluded gloomily. The tension in his stomach regained strength. To put his mind at rest, the father began to look around again. At least now they had a rule-code number. The two were officially waiting for a doctor's appointment. On the wall was the poster of a young, unknown mayoral candidate. The municipal elections were approaching. On the poster was the slogan: 'Health and Sanitation'. < A genius! > that poster lit a light in Alexander's mind. < With these waiting times who wouldn't want to vote for him. Dishonest though, if I remember correctly, the competences on health are regional. I believe that a mayor can do little or nothing to solve these problems. But many do not know this... > Surely the manifesto was in the right place to glean votes. < Yes, we are in a developing country > Alexander confirmed to himself. He liked to prove himself right. The brick walls were painted a beautiful pink colour. Even the tables and chairs had bright colours suitable for younger patients. The stained glass windows were all adorned with marine figures: shells, crabs, hermit crabs, starfish, sharks and bubbles. Alexander's glances were accompanied by background noises. The younger children burst into desperate cries, especially when they had to face the first inspection in Triage. The mothers watched Alexander curiously. They probably wondered why the father was present instead of the mother? The attendants were almost all mothers. Alberto then increased their questions. In this emergency situation he had indulged in unusual displays of affection, such as: kisses, hugs, caresses. In contrast, the other boys present were sitting next to their mother, being very careful not to let even one finger touch them. Most were immersed in using their mobile phones. Only one girl of about twelve was tenderly holding her mother's hand, who was looking curiously at Alberto. Alessandro loved physical contact, and was quite happy to be cuddled by his son. Suddenly the lively doctor came out of Triage and, attempting an ironic tone, said: << There's no one left! They told me there were a lot of people! >> < Angela! > imagined Alessandro. < She must have been trying to speed things up! > The sentence, however, seemed a bit out of place in that situation characterised by crying children and posters forbidding even verbal aggression. < And this one even seems to provoke > Alexander reflected < Maybe... without even realising it >. < Or is she someone who likes to pick fights? > he wondered. According to the father, it was time to pray. Alexander was very religious, more than that: he was hopelessly in love with God. He had put a link to pray the rosary on his mobile phone and scanned the various holy cards he used at home. In this way he could also pray 'remotely'. The mobile phone allowed him to take his prayer tools everywhere, and there was plenty of time in that place. Alberto knew him well and told him: << To here you can say all the prayers you want. >> The father recited the Holy Rosary, the thirty-five pages of prayers on the Santini and the Chaplet of Divine Mercy. < What an extraordinary way to pass the time! > he thought. < If people knew how good it is to pray, how good it is to be together with God. > There was also a large monitor in the room. On it were displayed the numbers of the people called for the visit, combined with the number of the outpatient clinic to go to. A loudspeaker also announced the number of those who "had received the grace...". Soon Alexander and Albert noticed a peculiarity: while the numbers of the patients were very different, the number of the clinic was always the same. The patients' numbers had this format: K46, H27, L35, E60, they looked like random numbers with no connection between them. Alexander imagined it was a ploy to avoid arguments. A diplomatic incident could have occurred if a person had been visited earlier but arrived later. Think of the case of a code green, newly arrived, visited before a code white, long overdue. Such a situation could have triggered an earthquake. With these strange numbers, an attempt was made to disguise to the patient's eye the occupied place in the queue. The patients present were scattered in a haphazard manner. The random alphanumeric codes made it impossible to tell who was first, who was next, how many patients were in front of them. They generated a sense of bewilderment in those present. People looked around confusedly for certainty and someone to ask. Alessandro and Alberto were also waiting their turn with the code G34. On the contrary, the number of the clinic was ironically always the same: outpatient clinic 9a. Father and son began to joke about it. << Will you bet I can guess the number of the next outpatient clinic? >> said Alexander. << Let's hear it... >> replied Alberto. << In my opinion... it should be 9a. >> insinuated Alessandro. Then the announcement from the loudspeaker could be heard: << Patient L35 should go to clinic 9a. >>. << Come on... how did you do that? >> asked Alberto, then they laughed merrily together. Basically, there was only one outpatient clinic where the examinations were carried out. They began to imagine why they had chosen that very name: '9a'. Maybe they wanted to make people believe that there were nine active outpatient clinics or maybe even eighteen active outpatient clinics with class b clinics in mind. The two laughed again. Once the prayers were over, 6 p.m. struck, there was another call and the black gentleman entered. << Maybe we are next >> Alberto cautiously ventured. Alexander began to think about the visit. Alberto had taken a knock in the morning at school and, after seven to eight hours, he thought the pain would subside no matter what. << Say that it hurts. >> Alexander suggested worriedly. << Otherwise they won't x-ray us. >> Suddenly the voice from the loudspeaker could be heard: "Patient G34 must go to clinic 9a." It was their turn. They passed through the entrance and on the right they found a corridor. Overlooking it were several rooms with open doors. The father scrolled his eyes everywhere he could, looking for the sign "Outpatient Clinic 9a". He then saw that, from inside the first room, a smiling young doctor and a young doctor with a beard were looking at them curiously. << It is here? >> Alexander asked << Yes. >> answered the doctor. << Why didn't they write the number of the outpatient clinic on the door? >> his father questioned himself in an attempt to find a quick illuminating explanation. But the moment fled and the visit began. Alberto repeated his particular description of what had happened. The x-ray was approved, however, they were informed of one fact: the timeframe to get it done was very tight. The x-ray technician was about to leave. The young doctor offered to accompany them and intercede for them. At the questions Alexander tried unsuccessfully to resist the temptation to be nice. He fell miserably and made the school allergy joke again. Alberto still looked at him crookedly, shaking his head and wondering why his father insisted on that joke. The doctor took it seriously and started questioning the boy about the reasons. Then they hurried off to the possible x-ray. Alexander still feared he would have to go back to the Adult Emergency Room, just where they had started from. But he was wrong, the Children's Hospital now also had an outpatient department for x-rays. < Some things have improved. > Alexander reflected with relief. < Even the surroundings are more pleasant. > On their way out they met Angela again. << Eh... you can't deny anyone an X-ray! >> she said jokingly. Meanwhile Angela massaged Alexander's arm in a friendly way. This gesture made him feel a feeling of comfort in his heart. When they arrived at their destination, the young doctor came in to treat. From inside a voice with a strong southern Italian accent said: << One moment! >>. Alessandro and Alberto were temporarily seated on a bench without a backrest. The negotiation for the X-ray was in progress. Eventually they entered the outpatient clinic. Alessandro had to sign some papers to grant his young son permission to take the X-ray. After that he was made to sit outside again. Afterwards they were invited to go to a specific waiting room. The route description included an important turn at a red fire extinguisher, which they had to pay special attention to. Alexander misunderstood the directions but set off anyway. The two somehow found themselves in the initial waiting room. Several minutes passed, then they saw the young doctor with the beard enter. The doctor discharged Albert, after explaining to them that they had gone to the wrong waiting room. The x-ray showed no fractures or cracks. The man prescribed Alberto a painkiller and a few days' rest. In case of need they should have contacted the general practitioner. Alberto was happy, he had decided: Sunday morning he would still play the football match. The discharge time from the paediatric emergency room appeared on the sheet: 18:49. << Four hours to take an X-ray. >> Alexander concluded disappointedly. In the Italian way of calling Emergency Department: "Ready Help" It was precisely the word 'Ready' that bothered his father. He wished he had eliminated that word. Even in that umpteenth experience, that word seemed like a mockery. It would have been better to write outside the hospital only 'Help', or 'Help when we can'. Any word could have been written, except that one. Yes, the succour received was anything but not ready. He vented to Alberto. They went over the events and agreed that the worst thing for the patients was that very long wait. The most annoyed seemed to be the small children, such as babies and children under ten years old. Even the waiting times seemed to have been longer than when they had gone to the adult one. < Enough! > Alexander blurted out impatiently to himself. < I'll write a letter to the newspaper! > < And it's a good thing the rib was healthy, otherwise how much longer would we have had to stay in there!? > Then Alexander was seized with despondency. Even a letter to the newspaper would have been of little use, one among many, another letter, yet another. The hospital's reply would have been given with the sole intention of denying what had happened. < Couldn't there be a private emergency room, perhaps for a fee, but quick? > the father wondered. This inner question disturbed him further. Every idea that came into his mind, when he thought about it, seemed to turn into something impossible to achieve or completely useless. When his father had gone to the emergency room as a child, although the surroundings were ugly, the times had certainly been shorter, maybe even half as long. Yet even those had been long, far too long. Over so many years, things had sadly deteriorated. Now the main problem seemed to be the lack of personnel. There were few staff, too few to provide a rapid service. Suddenly they saw Angela come running in. Their neighbour had taken off her smock. She was wearing a pair of jeans and a white blouse. She had probably finished her shift. She warmly embraced first Albert then Alexander. The two were surprised by this unexpected gesture. Angela said nothing and disappeared. Alberto and Alessandro watched her confused as they walked away, before realising an inner change. That embrace had struck a point in their hearts unreachable by the words she could have said. Both were stunned, touched to the core and searching for a rational explanation. Alexander recovered with a purpose in his heart. < I will write a story! > This thought flashed like lightning through his mind. < Maybe it will serve to make other people sensitive to the subject. After all, everyone would want to be rescued immediately, otherwise why would they call it "Redy Help". > << Thank you Angela. >> He said in a low voice. Angela's embrace reminded Alexander of a phrase by Gandhi: "Try to be the change you would like to see in the rest of the world." < Angela succeeded in doing that > thought the father. Now the word 'Ready' seemed more sympathetic to him, it represented something for the future, a project. That gesture had given the hospital an unsuspected heart. < The hospital with a heart... > he thought to himself. < That would be a great advertising message. > His economist's soul had returned to the surface. Alexander smiled: he had found hope. Now he knew what to do. |
