When I signed up for this account I planned to write about immigration. I planned to write with numbers, quotes, and graphs. I wanted to be reasonable and clear, not strident and emotional. Once again, something else has barged to the front of the line. I need to tell some one. I need this to be recorded. I need to not forget, or tell myself that this is not my problem.
I just had balcony seats to a tragedy. It's been happening everywhere. It did tonight. It will tomorrow. I'm not under the illusion that this is a new problem, but every case should be an outrage. In fact, it's not one problem. It's a legion of them.
It started with the homeless guy yelling outside my window.
I live on the fourth floor of my building. It's near a transit hub, and there are benches. When the transit cops chase the homeless people out of the bus terminal they end up here. When building security chases them off our benches, they end up back at the terminal. Usually they don't scream at night. It makes them easier to find and chase.
This guy was screaming. I'd left the window open to get some air, but he would have been loud anyway. He wanted to be heard. It quickly became evident he wasn't just yelling. He was looking for someone named George. Pretty soon he wasn't the only one. There was a woman, too. Eventually, the noise died down.
I thought things were over. I tried to go back to sleep. We have a lot of homeless people around here. The yelling started again. This time there were other voices. They were calm, measured, and professional. There were flashing lights. Curiosity got the better of me and I looked out the window.
Down on the street were the dramatis persona: Yelling Guy, George, and two fire department EMTs. YG quickly made it clear to them that under no circumstances were they to leave his George where he was. This, it was pretty obvious, would have been a lousy idea. George was slumped in a wheelchair, gesturing limply at everyone involved. After some firmer gestures and downright rigid language, YG was persuaded to move along.
This left the problem of what to do with George up to the two firemen and what was working of George's brain. None of them had a good plan. To start with, George is mentally ill. I've seen the guy around. He's one of the few that doesn't panhandle, at least not that I've seen. He's also paralyzed from the waist down. Add to that, he was very drunk. Evidently, being too drunk to keep himself found was the cause for Yelling Guy's call to emergency services. That's a problem. Emergency services does not have a service for George.
From what I could tell, four stories up and only hearing the loudest parts of the exchange, George could only go with the firemen if the police were involved because he was intoxicated in public. The firemen called county social services instead. George seemed to think this was a bad idea. It turns out he was right. The county van pulled up, and the driver spent a minute talking to one of the firemen.
"You're right. They won't take you." he yelled across the sidewalk. The grim-faced driver shook her head as she got back in the van and left. This was clearly not the first or the last time they would show up only to leave again.
The firemen, after consulting their clipboard, several pieces of paper from George's pocket, and a list taped inside one of the many cabinets on their vehicle placed more calls. They got out their heavy jackets. They stared down several other homeless people drawn by the commotion.
Finally, a new vehicle arrived. It was a private ambulance. The driver was a red-headed woman, and unlike the gents from the firehall, she knew George well. If this was a play, she was the exposition. She threw up her hands. She stormed. She raged. She started packing George up for his trip to the emergency room. Before they went anywhere, however, she had a thing or two to say to the protagonist.
"You're going to Harborview, because that's where I have to take you. But there's nothing wrong with you but alcohol. There's sick people that won't get a bed tonight because we have to take you in and can't say no. You don't deserve it, but there's nothing I can do about it. So you just think about that. Oh God, and you've peed all over yourself again. That's disgusting. Just look at you." She stopped and looked around.
The firemen looked back at her with the same practiced politeness they'd looked at everyone else with. George stayed slumped in his wheelchair. Red's partner had by this time had gotten a gurney out. They put George on it, packed up his chair, and were about to whisk him away when who should come back but the Yelling Guy. He was told to move along. Instead he yelled louder. "You may not care, but I do.", he raged.
George has gone to Harborview. The firemen are probably at their next call. Yelling Guy has, surprisingly, quit yelling. And I'm still awake.
There are so very many problems with this guy. Alcoholism. Homelessness. Disease. The system is failing him. But the system is failing everyone who came here tonight because of him also. Six caring men and women, who don't get paid enough for the jobs they do, certainly don't get paid enough for the jobs they don't. They aren't paid for the hard choices and painful trade-offs they're having to deal with. The young EMT who made all those phone calls is one step closer to being the woman yelling at her patient because he can't be helped. If we can't fix our healthcare system for George, we need to fix it for Red, for the firemen, for the social worker, for the people who care about George whether or not anyone else does, and for me. I'd like to be able to sleep at night.