The Daily

No, Man – They’re Taking Me To Pittsburgh

My work takes me to strange places. I’ve attended autopsies in Atlanta, crashed plane inspections at small rural airports, multi-day car and truck inspections in salvage yards, surreal crash sites and countless hospital and rehabilitation settings to witness and record clients struggling to overcome devastating injuries. Eyewitness observation of a client’s experiences can be essential to understanding the details of their case and putting them in proper context.

Some harms are less visible than others. People with traumatic brain injury can appear ‘normal’ and people suffering from internal organ injury can similarly appear to be in good health – at least on the outside.

The other day, I was standing outside a Hospital in rural West Virginia. The local news there is full of stories detailing the carnage caused by our opioid epidemic. The economy has been in freefall since the collapse of the manufacturing base and dwindling coal supplies that took the lives of many good Americans to get out of the ground.

I saw buses (ambulances) pulling in and out of the emergency room all day and night. They are called to the same address multiple times on some nights as overdose victims trade turns taking narcotics meant to sedate the most seriously ill patients. The drug used to counteract these overdoses in most cases is Narcan – kids are hungry for it to help each other in and out of recreational overdose. The Emergency Room and paramedics are always on the alert for thieves looking to plunder their stock. This is not just a problem in West Virginia – it is happening all over our Country.

On a Friday night, I stood in the parking lot of the Emergency Room watching the buses come and go. In a vacant lot across the road, two groups of youths were standing in the dark just milling around. A few came and went but the core members remained. I wondered if they were patient visitors on a smoke break or something else. Security guards patrolled the block – probably wondering the same thing.

A CSX train rolled by overhead carrying carloads of coal. The raised trestle track is supported by blonde stone pillars that look like monuments to a bygone era – the yellow stone streaked with grease and coal dust mixed with tar and nicotine stains from the smokers that stand in the middle of the road every day under the tracks waiting on some patient or other.

I noticed rolling wheels moving past me on the sidewalk. It sounded like a roller skater but in point of fact was a thin man in a hospital gown walking alone and pushing his IV pole – the fluid bags still attached by needle to the veins in his arm. His gown flapped in the breeze as he walked past me, exposing his weathered posterior. He had on a pair of workboots but no socks. His long gray hair fell well below his shoulder blades and his facial hair was groomed and white. Like mine. He looked to be about ninety. He was probably younger than I am.

I asked him as he passed (with a smile on my face) if he was leaving. That’s when I noticed the cigarette in his hand. “No, man. They’re taking me to Pittsburgh.”, he explained as he walked off into the dark to smoke under the bridge. He smoked two more and walked back, smiling at me as he passed.

Two more buses rolled up and unloaded their emergencies.