(Could this be you? Or someone you love?)
I wish I could say this is one of my usual dark humor posts. It’s not. It is, however, one of the most necessary things I’ve written in a while—for all of us, as human beings navigating a system that often forgets the human part.
72 HOURS AGO, EVERYTHING SHIFTED 🕰️
My wildly energetic, sharp-as-a-tack 79-year-old German mother hit a wall. She had chills, a high fever, violent shaking, and looked like a truck hit her. We thought it might be a UTI—easy mistake to make given the symptoms. We got her antibiotics. They didn’t help. We went to urgent care. More meds. No improvement. By the next morning, her fever spiked to 107°F. I rushed her to the emergency room.
We spent seven hours in the ER together. I didn’t leave her side. I was her advocate. Her voice. Her bodyguard in a wheelchair. The diagnosis? A severe strain of rhinovirus. A virus—no easy fix. No magic meds. We just have to monitor her breathing, hope it doesn’t progress, and let her rest. That’s the backstory.
But that’s not what this post is about.
WHAT I WITNESSED IN THE ER 💔
While we were waiting for blood test results, I watched something that made my stomach turn.
Older patients lined the walls in wheelchairs. Alone. Hooked up to IVs and catheters. Hospital gowns half-falling off. Heads slumped to the side like their dignity had already left the building.
And no one—not one single staff member—came over to check on them unless they were being taken for a test or speaking to a doctor. No one asked if they were cold. In pain. Thirsty. Terrified.
I saw a woman slowly slide out of her chair over the course of an hour. By the time she was half off it, her gown had slipped and her body was barely covered. And still, no one came.
The front desk staff? Chatting and laughing. They looked cheerful. But five minutes every hour to check on those in need? Apparently not on the to-do list. This isn’t drama. This is what happened. I watched it unfold while I clung to my role as advocate, praying my own mother didn’t end up in that same state.
THIS ISN’T AN ATTACK ON HOSPITAL STAFF 🚑
I need to be clear—this isn’t about bashing healthcare professionals. According to the CDC, nearly half of medical professionals in the U.S. report being burned out. And it’s no wonder. Endless shifts. Administrative overload. Insurance nightmares. It’s a system that crushes both providers and patients.
I’m not pointing fingers at individuals. I’m pointing at the system. The one that’s designed to check boxes, not hold hands. A system that treats insurance paperwork like a prerequisite to compassion.
But even in a broken system, we still have a choice. We can still show kindness. We can still choose empathy. We can be human.
ASK YOURSELF THIS 🧠💬
Look at the image below. One woman is slumped over, alone and exposed. The other is my mother—upright, smiling, because she had an advocate next to her.
- How does it make you feel?
- What if that slumped-over patient was you?
- Or your mother? Your aunt? Your partner?
- Would you be okay with what you saw?
And if you wouldn’t… what will you do next time you have a chance to act?
YOU DON’T HAVE TO BE A HERO TO SHOW UP 🦸♀️
Here’s the truth: I couldn’t physically help the woman in the waiting room. But I can tell her story. I can raise awareness. And I can keep showing up.
And I did show up. Even though multiple staff assumed I was the patient just because I’m in a wheelchair—despite the fact that my mom had the hospital bracelet and the actual fever. But I stayed laser-focused. I was the lion that day. We can all be someone’s lion.
You don’t need superhero strength or hours of free time to make a difference.
🟠 Is someone at work going through something heavy? Ask them if there’s anything you can take off their plate.
🟠 Got a family member you haven’t called in a while? Reach out—even if things are complicated. Especially if they are.
🟠 Know someone who could use a kind word? A ride? A meal? A judgment-free ear? Be that for them.
SIDEBAR: THE MAFIA MACHINE 🤖💸🚪
Before the hospital staff asked how my mother was feeling, something else happened. A woman rolled in with a machine—clipboard in hand, smile suspiciously thin. “Name? Date of birth? Insurance subscriber ID?”
I call it the Medical Mafia Machine. It shows up before care. Before compassion. Before basic human inquiry.
That machine was there to decide, in real time, whether my mother’s insurance would be accepted. No green light? No treatment here. Off to another hospital, perhaps. There we were, standing at the intersection of healthcare and capitalism—where your ZIP code and insurance card determine if you get to breathe easy or keep waiting.
Is this really the system we want to keep defending?
WHY THIS GOES BEYOND HOSPITAL WALLS 🌍
Let’s be honest—this isn’t just about healthcare. It’s about how we treat each other in every aspect of life.
We live in a culture that celebrates individualism, competition, and overachievement. But in doing so, we often overlook the people right in front of us. You don’t have to spend hours volunteering to make a difference. You don’t have to donate thousands of dollars. It could be as simple as:
🟠 Driving your neighbor’s kid to soccer practice when they’re running late
🟠 Picking up a dropped item for someone who can’t bend down
🟠 Letting someone go ahead of you in line when they’re clearly struggling
It’s the micro-moments of compassion that shape who we are as a society.
FINAL THOUGHT 💡
The photo I’m sharing today tells two stories: one of quiet suffering and one of fierce support.
You get to decide which one you contribute to. In a world that feels increasingly divided, heavy, and indifferent, we have one powerful tool left: human connection.
Let’s lead with compassion. Let’s ripple kindness into every space we occupy. Let’s remember that being human is more than being busy—it’s being there for each other when it counts.
Because you never know when the person in the waiting room will be you.
Final Thought Dark humor: I had to add something at the end. For the first time in my life I saw section that was labeled wheelchair users ONLY. I wish parking was like this where they had the ONLY PART. Especially where there are white lines where I need to pull my ramp down and not get blocked in by another car. I did find that moderately comical!
