Category Archives: small town USA

A Bumpy Ride – –

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This a picture of me in my hospital bed about six weeks ago taken by Wendy. She threatens to print it and post it on the fridge as a reminder to me!

My first thought on seeing it is how well everyone at Wytheville Community Hospital looked after me. I think the folk who looked after me, like people in those kinds of occupations all over the world, only have one motivation – –

Of course I compare the US health system and the Scottish NHS and the difference is pretty stark! Not the quality of care, but how it’s paid for – –

I live in a very rural part of America where there is still something of the ‘frontier spirit’ – I look after me and my family and don’t look after anyone else unless I choose to. Scotland is different – everything is free for everyone and paid for through taxation. Maybe some memory of the clan system, maybe the longstanding left wing attitude or maybe just a small country where almost everyone has a connection with someone else.

When Margaret Thatcher was at the height of her popularity in England, but much less so in Scotland, she famously said “There is no such thing as society, only the individual and the family”. Like the vast majority of Scots I believe she was wrong and the Scottish National Health Service is a fine example.

Different cultures – different attitudes – –

Mean Christians

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A couple of weeks ago, we were coming into the calm finish to our yoga class when a woman at the back burst into projectile sobbing.

Photo by kike vega on Unsplash

Near the front of the class, I made eye contact with Becky, the instructor, and we did the woman’s non-speaking language of “yes please go check on her.”

I didn’t know the woman, but found her doubled over on a bench outside, sobbing. I sat down next to her and rubbed her back. It wasn’t a time to talk, just to signal “you’re not alone and nothing is expected of you.”

The class ended a few minutes later, and another woman with a blond French braid emerged to sit on the crying lady’s other side. Over her back she said to me, “her son was on that plane.”

That plane being the one full of people from the skating community, which collided with a helicopter. Everyone aboard died.

The woman began to talk, sharing horrific details of the crash and how she was coping. We listened in sympathetic silence, shielding the crying woman from class participants and track walkers who were trying to gauge if they should help. Most kept going, which was a good thing.

The crying woman said suddenly, “And of course my faith sustains me. But at my church some people…” then she stopped talking again.

French braid lady patted her arm. “My brother committed suicide. And my church wasn’t particularly helpful. Some people just don’t know what to say.”

“But they say it anyway,” said the crying woman, and burst into fresh sobs.

I had nothing to contribute except to continue sitting there, shielding her from curious eyes. She said a few more things, then Becky came out and gave her a big hug. Told her she should come back to class anytime, and cry all she wanted, everyone was there for her, everyone understood.

French braid lady gave the other woman a final hug, and said, “Don’t listen to the mean people. They don’t understand and they don’t get to dictate how you feel.” Crying lady nodded, blew her nose, smiled at us both, and gathered her stuff.

I really don’t want to interpret this exchange. When did Christians become the mean ones to be avoided when in pain?

Don’t answer that. Thanks.