It's Four O'Clock Somewhere...

Each day my staff and I set aside our four o’clock appointment for a person in need of eye care who does not have insurance and cannot afford to pay.  Eligibility for this is determined by a local free clinic and those patients are then referred to us.  Our surgery center donates the time, the operating room, and the anesthesiology staff.  We donate the care.

Many of these new patients are foreign nationals who have immigrated to America to be with their families and to find a better life. Because we have been doing this for years, we have accumulated a significant group of international patients.  Too many to list, they come to us from five of the seven continents and represent many of Earth’s 193 countries.

We look forward to what our four o’clock patient may reveal to us about the world, and many do not disappoint.  Liberians and Congolese arrive proudly wearing their traditional, brightly colored African kaftans and boubous and kufis.  Japanese display less flamboyant attire but rise and bow ceremoniously each time we enter and leave the exam room.  Appreciative South and Central Americans greet us with grateful, toothy smiles while Europeans communicate more with gesticulations and body language, but they always convey the same hopeful and obvious message:  If they could only see better, they could do better.

Because most speak little or no English, and we cannot possibly understand or speak the hundreds of languages and dialects they do speak, we require only that they bring a family member or friend who can translate well.  And what we hear them say is they are grateful to be living in one of the best countries in the world.  They feel free to pursue their dreams, happy to be in a place where they are protected equally in the eyes of the law to do so, and fortunate to have a support system to help them create a better life.  They are proud to be in America.  They are proud to be American.

I arrived at the surgery center on this day feeling especially thankful for my American heritage and proud of the position our country plays in this cumbersome world game, because we have been in the news a lot lately, solving humanity’s problems.  Ebola virus spreading through your country?  We have our own domestic health care problems, but sure thing, we’ll be right over with more medical and Marine support than you can ever imagine.  Tired of seeing the environmental deterioration?  Our air is now cleaner than ever, and our President will get the Chinese to agree to controls that will keep our coral reefs and polar caps safe and healthy.  Got some ISIS varmits in your Middle Eastern backyard?  Count on Mother Liberty to send you a military crew to help you exterminate your pest problem.  Want to go to Mars?  Maybe you can hitch a ride with the good ol’ USA on Spaceship Orion, which blasted off recently, and we can get you there like when we went to the Moon fifty years ago.  Being attacked by Communists or harassed by Socialists? Last year we spent $37.6 Billion in foreign aid, much, much more than any other country and much more on a military trained to defend those countries and protect humankind from savagery; I am sure Uncle Sam has something for you.

In the preoperative holding area were my patients, lining up as usual for a chance to see better, but today the activity was more frenetic than usual.  The privacy curtains for each patient cubicle were bulging, each crammed full with a patient, some family members and an interpreter.  Behind curtain number one were the Japanese, their questions being answered by a compassionate nurse.  Curtain number two shielded the Congolese family, chattering and interpreting to our tolerant and kind anesthesiologist.  Curtain three sheltered the Argentinians, comforted by a concerned staff.  The discord was disorienting.  Fifteen patients today and so far, it was International Day at Charlotte Surgery Center.  As Walt Disney liked to say, ‘It’s A Small World’.

In the operating room, my staff was waiting, our first patient prepped and draped, my familiar anesthesiologist and circulating nurse team ready and able.  But my surgical assistant was a new face.

“Hi, Doctor. I will be assisting you today.”

“Good.” I replied brusquely. “We are busier than usual.  Lots of needy people from other countries are counting on us.  I hope you’re up to it.  We are their only hope.”

“I’m sorry,” my Southern etiquette taking over, and I asked, “What is your name?”

Her strength and confidence shined through her surgical gown.  Her red hair hidden by a surgical cap and her nose and mouth protected by a white surgical mask, only her kind blue eyes were visible and, like stars, they twinkled as they met mine.

"My name is 'America'."**

** Her name really was America.