To All Good People (01-28-08)

Lately, I have become somewhat of a “rural snob.” What I mean is that I may have taken my pleasure with rural living a bit too far, and become, perhaps, a bit of a bore to my urban relations.

“Life in a small town is so wonderful. There is no traffic, no pollution, and you can see all the stars at night. People are so friendly. There is hardly any crime because people in small towns are just better than those in the city!”

Or something like that. Especially over the Christmas holidays, I can only imagine how I sounded as I went on and on about the virtues of small town life.

I really went too far in my criticism of city life when my mom was in the hospital. Granted, I was under a lot of stress, but it initially seemed to me that for all the doctors assigned to mom’s care, no one actually seemed to, well, care. I recall Mom being treated by at least five different specialists, not counting the subs on call over the holidays. They would swoop in, spend five minutes using terminology my mother didn’t fully understand, and then fly away to another patient.

Typical big city. Everyone too busy to take the time to talk. Cell phones ringing incessantly. No personal touch.

At one point, I told my wife, “I’m sure glad that we live in a small town where people will take the time of day to show they care.”

Of course, that was just me being my usual snobbish self. After I calmed down and began to look at mom’s situation objectively, I realized that she was receiving excellent care. Yes, the doctors were busy, but they were never too busy to answer our questions or take our calls. Even more impressive were the nurses who showed incredible compassion and sensitivity to a very sick woman. I can’t thank them enough for the time and effort they took to make mom as comfortable as possible as they performed their procedures and tests.

When mom was sent home, to her apartment in the Santa Marta Senior Living Community, I again had a moment where I wished that she lived in a small town. My first impression of Santa Marta was one of cold greed perpetuated by rigid policies.

Again, though, I was proven wrong. The good people working at Santa Marta, once they fully understood the severity of Mom’s condition, bent their rules and bent over backwards to support my family. They offered assistance in countless ways, from paying for a private nurse to sending platters of food. Once mom passed away, they continued to be incredibly supportive, and some of the Santa Marta staff even came to the funeral.

Finally, my initial impression of hospice also left me longing for home. The first caseworker kept calling Mom by the wrong name, and the number of visits they said they would make didn’t seem nearly enough.

Again, it was case of mistaken snobbery. After an awkward registration process, the good people at Hospice were nothing short of incredible. They had equipment and medications delivered almost instantly, they were on call at all hours and always seemed to understand just what needed to be done. Not only did they visit, but the hospice nurse made more and more time for us as mom neared the end. The hospice workers were so kind, so gentle, and so supportive that I honestly don’t know how my family could have coped without them.

This experience has reminded me that good people are good people, regardless of where they call home. I honestly don’t know if the sick and the dying receive better care in a rural environment, but I don’t see how anyone could have gotten better treatment then we did in the big city.

So to all the good people in hospitals, senior centers, and hospice, regardless of where you live and work, I offer a heartfelt thank you for all you do for the sick and the dying, and all you do for their families.

Even for rural snobs, like me.