When I walked onto the hall of the behavioral health unit, colors seemed to fade. The sterile walls and floors were liminal and bland.
I was there to assess a patient in respiratory distress. A nurse met me and gave no information other than a room number. Alone with our stretcher, my partner and I walked to the end of the hall. I could already hear someone struggling for air.
The room was completely empty except for a bed with paper sheets, and the patient. Their lips were tinged blue but still managed to smile at me. The patient was nervous, but kind and friendly. As we asked questions about what was going on and got some preliminary vitals, the nurse appeared at the doorway. I had always taken for granted that professionals working with me on scene would jump in, and this nurse’s marked disengagement puzzled me. The patient had been struggling to breath for hours, and no care was given other than the staff calling 911.
We transported, which required a nurse’s accompaniment to the emergency room. After we dropped our patient and their reluctant companion off, I remarked to another healthcare worker how odd it was that the nurse was so cold and aloof, even when the patient obviously needed help. The nurse wouldn’t even touch the patient to help transfer to the stretcher or take vitals.
“I wouldn’t want to touch them either” was the response.
At that moment, I had been away from Covenant College for about a year. Vaguely, I could remember the lessons urging us as Christians to care like Jesus, to stand up to stigmas, to bring the Kingdom to life!
But my sense of the injustice felt dulled by the reality of apathy and care exhaustion. The words hurt, but I understood them in a way. Maybe someone who spends every workday in a soul sucking, painfully empty, and colorless unit (ironically intended to help people suffering from depression and other struggles) doesn’t see a patient's needs. Maybe I would be the same. The horrible nature of many of the things I’ve seen often tempts me to despair.
These situations caused me to reflect on the story of the Good Samaritan in a different way. I have a new appreciation for caring in the face of challenge. It’s easy to let fatigue, fear and frustration numb my sense of empathy, but Christ calls us to see, to touch, and to care, even when it feels exhausting. And that work starts now.
We all have visions of our futures, our “little c callings” and ways we will change the world. If you’re like me, you hope to be a better person in the near future but never feel like you’ve arrived. I guarantee, the weaknesses holding you back from such growth are not distant challenges but present battles.
Fighting apathy is a gift of the Holy Spirit, and engaging in those battles today builds stamina for those who need you in your future. In a world filled with bad Samaritans, where apathy often prevails, will you choose to be the one who truly cares?