Sick Love

Have you ever noticed how when people change the name of somebody to protect their identity they always give them a common name like John, Joe or Matt? It seems to me that we are missing out on a great opportunity to be creative and use less common names, so let’s call this guy Leroy.

I met Leroy at Laundry Love last Thursday night. I had never seen him there before and in fact, it was his first time out. He was homeless and had been living on the streets for only a few months. I introduced myself and held out my hand to shake his. He stuck his hand out and then quickly withdrew it causing me to raise a curious eyebrow. He then informed me that he was still recovering from a bout of Pneumonia and did not wish to get me sick.

After I got over the initial rush of anxiety from every obsessive compulsive, germ-a-phobe cell in my body, I politely thanked him for his thoughtfulness.

“You had Pneumonia?” I inquired.

“Yep, and a few weeks before that I had the flu,” he said.

Immediately I felt horrible for the guy. I’ve had Pneumonia once when I was a kid and I wanted to die. Seriously, I have never been so sick in my life (except the first time I asked a girl out) and I never, ever want to have it again. I would rather get Scurvy mixed with Malaria (Scurvaria?) then go through Pneumonia again. Believe it or not people can still die from that even here in America. It’s usually people who can’t get good healthcare such as the elderly and homeless, or in this case, Leroy.

Now I will let you all in on a little secret. When it comes to being sick, us guys, we’re total wimps. I can’t stand even having a cold and at the slightest sneeze or cough I want to call in sick, stay at home, and have my mother fly in and pamper me. I can’t imagine being sick and homeless.

As I pictured him lying sick and cold on the streets, hiding behind some bushes somewhere, shivering with fever and gasping for breath, body aching and ribs cracking with each violent cough, I felt an incredible sympathy for him. Maybe he had made it into the shelters but I didn’t ask. He might have even gotten some help from a mobile clinic but the impression he gave me is that he had suffered through it without much help.

I don’t know if he had Pneumonia for sure or not. He might have Bronchitis or possibly something else. I do know I wished I had met him sooner. Maybe I could have helped him. Maybe I could have taken him to a clinic or brought him some medicine or something. Even if all I did was bring him vitamins, orange juice and cough drops, that little bit might have helped. Yet somehow, despite all that, he had survived another month on the streets.

And yet somehow, despite all that, he was grateful that night at Laundry Love.

“Thank you so much for what you are doing,” he said. “I have no way of washing my clothes and for the first time in two months I can go to sleep in something clean.”

One might think he would be bitter by his situation but that wasn’t the case at all. In fact, the simply gift of friendship and clean laundry meant the world to him. I guess it only goes to show you never can tell.