This morning I met with my friend Melissa, who runs a Christian service ministry located in our church's basement. (More info about Waukee Area Christian Services here.) She updated me on the latest with the food pantry, community garden, and free clinic, and we talked about the people she serves, many of whom simply can't make ends meet, even if they're working more than one job. Melissa shared the story of a woman whose paychecks will cover rent but not groceries, so she'll make a bowl of oatmeal for dinner and save half of it for the next morning's breakfast.
"These are real people, just like you and me," she said. I don't doubt that.
After meeting with Mel, I stopped to pick up a prescription at a pharmacy, where a woman walked up to the counter next to me and asked the pharmacist if she could recommend an over-the-counter medicine for her sick two-year-old, who was down with a fever, cough, runny nose, the works.
The pharmacist said she can't make recommendations for children that young, and suggested the young mom take her son to the doctor.
"We don't have insurance, so I can't take him to the doctor."
The pharmacist just stood there not knowing what to say, and another pharmacist weakly suggested maybe Tylenol for the fever. The young mom said thanks ("for nothing," I might have added) and walked away. She was gone before I could put together my own thoughts of what might help. The free clinic I had just come from was an option, but it wouldn't be open again until next Monday evening, which hardly helps her son on this Wednesday afternoon.
The problems with our health care system are admittedly complex, I know. And I don't know anything about this woman or her situation. I don't know whether she knows about free clinics. I so badly wish I had thought quickly enough to say something about ours, even if the timing wasn't right today. Sooner or later, that little boy will be sick again. Perhaps on a Monday.
I guess all I'm really saying is that it breaks my heart to hear of someone making a bowl of oatmeal last for two meals, or to hear a young mom say she can't afford to take her sick toddler to the doctor.
These stories are right here in the western suburbs. Where it could just as easily be me or you.
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