Right Place Wrong Time

There is flushed look to his cheeks, a noticeable hand tremor as he reaches over the front desk counter at the free clinic

Discharge papers clutter reception, crinkled from anxious movements

There is an insurance card buried somewhere under all that paper.

Prescription bottles appear but some are missing when the staff counts

“Did you check with your insurance? Are these able to refill?”

He runs a hand over his face, he shifts from foot to foot.

You suddenly stop all the sorting and clicking and look up.      

One of the medications missing is insulin. 

You ask, “did you take your insulin today?”

The frustration pushes out of him into the air as he says

“can’t you tell from my face?”

He is flushed, sweating. 

You stand and meet his eyes.

“Would you let us take your vitals or at least measure your blood sugar?”

He steps back, reaches out for his papers.

“I don’t need anything, just give me all the papers back, it doesn’t matter anyways”

You begin to lean over the desk, trying to reach what is already pulling away.

“Why not stay a moment and talk to someone?”

Another staff member walks in, you turn slightly and mutter, pills in hand…

“he is feeling hopeless”

You meet his eyes, you can already see the distance he is setting.

Resignation shapes his expression. Eyes downcast in hopeless frustration with everything.

The system, himself, the situation before him, the questions being thrown at him, the faces all around

Your voice softens, quiets, “are you okay?”

As gently as you can, you extend a line

“Psychiatry and primary care providers are here if you ever need us”

You feed it more rope

“maybe we can help”

Business hours and provider schedules fill the space

The offer looks like an added weight to an already weighted expression

The line does not catch.

“I have tried all kinds of antidepressants and none of them worked”

The line begins to float back to the surface, empty-handed

“Would you stay and chat with me?”

“I don’t need anything, nothing matters”

The line lays on the water, it caught nothing.

He steps back with papers shoved into his dark weathered bag.

“Please come back at any time, even just to check your blood sugar or just to talk”

“I just need to get out of here”

He walks out, all his belongings on his back, papers shoved in the bag.

All the gathered staff members behind the counter look at each other in worry. There are three of us now. Pharmacy technician, receptionist, and me. We hope he will be okay.

Our faces are lined with concern over his hopelessness.

We hope he comes back. We hope when he comes back, it is the right time. 

In our helplessness, we lean back and breathe.

We wonder and turn over the encounter.

Setting our shoulders, we call ourselves to action, to strategize.

The plan is to just offer one small thing next time. One overture that might help and build trust.

There were too many questions today. Overwhelming the overwhelmed. 

We wonder… the right time is… not today but maybe it is just “not yet” 

Not right now doesn’t mean never!

The idea bolsters us, makes us feel like we’re going to be able to help next time

Like we are useful and just need another chance. We’ll get it right next time.

The line will catch onto him, pull him to the boat and eventually the shore!

We are all standing in a circle, the strategy set, hope returned but then…

The hopeful thought fades into the still moment behind the counter

Will that time come? 

Will we be there? 

Will he?