Tired. She looked tired. Sitting by the door my patient was
wrapped in a white shawl and almost her entire body except for her face was completely
covered—and it was 101 degrees outside. She had come to Rosie’s Place for medical
care; tooth pain specifically. A tooth had been removed and she was in agony. I
spoke slowly and not very often, trying more to understand what we could do to
help her. Any language barrier between us was quickly surmounted. “The pain”, she said. “Help the pain”.
Back I forth I went to the supply room, always returning
with something she had requested. It was as if she remembered each time there
was something else I could help her with. First, I brought some Tylenol. Then,
some throat lozenges, and finally, she remembered the small injury to her
finger that hadn’t healed. She needed a
Band-Aid and some ointment. As she grew more comfortable with me, her tone
became more familiar. “More. More three!”,
she said with a smile. “Oh” I thought,
“she doesn’t have any at home.” I
stayed with her until she left. With a brief “thank you” she was out the door, gone as quickly as she had come.
And such was my first ever morning at Rosie’s Place. It is
an unassuming building, sitting back from the street with trees and shrubs
hiding the entrance from the harsher city surrounding it. I was surprised by a locked
front door, the sign clearly posted that reads No Loitering, POLICE TAKE NOTICE, and the civilian security guard
that stopped me at the doorstep and assertively asked what I was doing there. I
quickly computed these facts and reminded myself that Rosie’s is a women’s
shelter, where victims of domestic violence and homelessness come to have a
meal, find fellowship, receive some medical treatment, and find some relief
from the struggle of daily life. There is a sense of sisterhood among the
guests that made me feel like I was the guest in their home. I hope I can be
invited back.
Chason Ziino MS III
