The Sins of our Past

The world has changed dramatically. Things that were once accepted will now ruin your life. I remember reading joke books that belonged to my dad. He had many “official” joke books, each making fun of a different group- Irish people, Italian people, black people, Jews, Mexicans and Poles. I read them all, some more than once. I laughed, blissfully unaware that the jokes would hurt anyone. (How could they? They were jokes.)

Thank God this was before the internet and social media. There is no doubt in my mind that if it had been possible, I would have posted some of the jokes online. The thought that this might later ruin my life would never have occurred to me. Even today, very few teens post with thoughts of the future.

Carson King definitely did not,

Carson King is a 24 year-old fan of the Iowa State Cyclones football team. After hearing that ESPN’s College Game Day show was going to be at the school for its weekly broadcast he decided to make a funny sign in the hope that he would be seen on TV. He chose his place behind the hosts well, and his sign, “Busch Light Supply Needs Replenished” with his Venmo account ID, was easily seen on the show.

To his surprise, people starting sending in money. Lots of money. When the amount reached $600 he concluded it was too much for him to keep and he decided to donate the money to the University of Iowa Children’s hospital. The money kept coming. Within days the story had gone viral, and thousands of dollars poured in. Anheiser-Busch got in on the action, offering to match every dollar donated, as well as putting Carson’s face on a line of beer cans, and giving him a year’s supply of beer. Venmo also offered to match the donations. Before long Carson had raised well over a million dollars.

Carson was soon a local hero, with many praising his kindness and generosity. He was universally hailed as a nice guy, online and on television. As his fame increased, the Des Moines register commissioned a reporter to write a story profiling Carson. As part of his “research” the reporter searched Carson’s Twitter feed, going back all the way to when he was 16 years old. Unremarkably, he found that teen Carson had made some inappropriate jokes. For some reason the paper decided these 8 year-old tweets were important enough to be included in the story about the good he had done.

The response was swift. Anheiser-Busch cut all ties. The special Carson King beer was pulled from production, and all promotions related to Carson were terminated. Carson’s humble apology was not enough to keep the beer company from running from potential controversy. They could not be “associated” with someone like him.

Fortunately, Carson’s story did not end there. A local beer company is producing an “Iowa Legend” beer, donating $1 per bottle to the hospital. Private donations have continued, totaling over $2 million dollars. Angry supporters of King delved into the reporter’s past social media posts. The reporter was fired after it was discovered that he had also posted offensive tweets when he was young.

The story is a reminder of an important truth- no one is perfect. We are all broken and sinful people; we all have done things that were ignorant and stupid. None of us wants to be defined by our past mistakes. With this in mind, we need to do everything we can to avoid defining others by their past.

It seems that many of the people in Iowa have embraced this. Carson was recently honored at a University of Iowa football game (the stadium is overlooked by the tower of the Children’s Hospital), the governor of Iowa declared a “Carson King Day”. Support for Carson has actually increased since the revelations of his past indiscretions.

I want to be that type of person, one who focuses on who a person is now more than who a person was before. I often tell people that one of the hallmarks of my faith is the truth that God is more interested in where I am and where I am going, not in where I have been. God forgave my past and redeemed my future. When I embrace this truth, I realize I cannot follow Him and focus on other people’s past failings. I must forgive.

Bart

A Dream Dies

For only the third time in 4 years, I am not on call for Ethics at Hoag Hospital. The first time was in April when I was on vacation in Tennessee. (I continued to take calls on my other vacations). The second time was after my surgery in August. This time is different. This time it is permanent.

I have been grieving over it for the last week, ever since I sent my letter of resignation to the Chief of Staff. I didn’t want to quit, but circumstances made it impossible for me to continue. I have been responding to consult requests since becoming the Ethics Chairman in 2015. While the volume of calls was only occasionally stressful, when the calls did come they usually resulted in 3-4 hours of work added to my day. Some cases were more demanding, and over the course of a week could result in over 15 hours of work. The reality that a call could come at any time brought additional stress,

I did not want to do the work alone, but my pleas for help were not answered. I labored on, hoping that eventually the quality and impact of my work would generate support. As is often the case, words of support came, but actual help did not.

What saddens me most is not that my efforts were not recognized, or that the help did not come. I grieve for the patients and families who will go without help, for the suffering that will be needlessly prolonged, for the conflicts that will drag on longer than they should, and the belief that I could have made a difference.

A wave of sadness passed over me when I took myself off call this evening, There is so much more I wanted to do. I wanted to have weekly rounds with nurses and physicians so we could identify potential problems earlier and provide more support for families. I hoped to train others in how to perform ethics consults, to train nurses and physicians in how to better communicate with patients and families and to educate community members in how to better communicate with medical providers. I shared these ideas to as many leaders as I could, wrote proposals and gave presentations, all of which were ultimate ignored.

I don’t like to admit defeat, but this was a fight I could not win. For now I will take solace in the knowledge that I did the best I could and the hope that God has other things in store for me to do,

Bart

Alone in Plain Sight

Day after day she sat on the sidewalk just south of my office, her belongings in a shopping cart beside her, her back resting against the chain link fence of the property next door. She had a cushion beneath her which at night became her pillow. I wondered how she ended up there what events had led to her not only being without a place to live but that had caused her to choose that small section of sidewalk to be her residence.

After a few weeks of wondering I decided to cast aside assumptions and aspersions and ask her. Returning to my office from lunch, I walked her way instead of into the office after exiting my car. I approached slowly, trying to appear non-threatening.

When I came up to her I noticed that she had a paper bag in front of her, nearly full with small bits of folded up paper, less than a centimeter square. She was busily tearing up larger pieces of paper, folding them over and over and placing them in her bag. From the amount in the bag I could tell she had passed many hours in this fashion.

She was slightly disheveled, but did not carry the odor that is often associated with those who live on the street. She was not filthy, and her hair was not oily or stringy. It seemed that there was someplace she went, at least occasionally, to clean herself up. I bent down next to her and said, as kindly as I could, “Hi, I am the doctor in the office right here. Can I ask you how you ended up here?”

Without making eye contact she said, “I’m sorry, I’ll leave.”

“I am not asking you leave,” I replied, “I am just asking how you ended up here.”

“I don’t know. I’ll leave,” her words were quiet and almost tremulous. She seemed to speed up her paper folding, obviously nervous.

“I am not asking you to leave,” I repeated, “Is there any place for you to go, anyone who can help you?”

“I don’t know,” her discomfort so strong it seemed a plea to leave her alone.

I paused for a moment, wondering what it was I could say to break through to her, before standing up and quietly walking away.

The next morning she was gone.

She was different from other homeless people I have encountered. There was a type of humility in her. She did not seem to feel entitled to help, or even to her piece of the sidewalk. She seemed overwhelmed by human interaction, unable to relate or converse. I wondered if she battled mental illness, or some other condition that had led her to the streets. The one thing of which I was certain was that she seemed to need help, and that society had not yet figured out a way to help her.

Bart