James

'What a little thug,' I thought flying past James running from room to room to see patients. He was like a little critter hiding in a complicated "Find these things" scene in Highlights. Alas I walked in to see the 12 year old patient for his yearly physical. His abuelita approached with a slow, steady and persistent gait. I could feel her coming at me, pressing me with her needs that well surpass that of answering a simple medical question: "He had a seizure fifteen days ago. I changed his medicines. His medicines are the same as before." I shook my head to clear my ears of the fuzz that must have been confusing my reception, yet she persisted with her directly contradicting story. My mind flashed: 'Room 1 is about done with their albuterol treatment, I told Room 3 I will be in in ten minutes fifteen minutes ago and there are five patients waiting.'

So we continue our cyclical banter to figure out why James had a seizure 15 days back. Time pressures me from behind forcing beyond this conversation. "Who's the primary caretaker?" "I am," says abuelita, "Who knows where his mother is, she left him and so now I must care for him. "And dad?" "Who knows where he is. I am the only one who will take care of him." I throw a glance over James' way and find him lounging on the exam table, distracted by his hangnail with extreme focus. So the story begins to be told: James is in contact with his dad from time to time, abuelita finds James to be unbearable and entirely rebellious at times: "I don't know what to do with him anymore!" 'Anymore? Anymore? He's only 12.' Can one really have foresaken the ones that love them; can a child be so terrible? "What grade is he in and how does he do in school?" I ask. "I'm in 7th grade and I get A's and B's," James abruptly interjects. His grandmother confirms this statement with vague, disconnected pride. 

We wrap up abuelita's time quickly as she has made clear that James, amongst other things, has become an additional burden in her life as a martyr for her children and grandchildren. 

I close the door, turn around to find James huddled over and his head buried deep in the bend in his arm. As I negotiate with soft nudges, time taps me on the shoulder. The loud alarm sounds and bright flashing lights of unhappy, waiting patients bears down on me once again. A simple command becomes the key to accessing him: "Come on buddy, let me take a quick listen to you and I'll get you out of here, hop up."  He climbs on to the table. "I am so proud of your grades at school, what is your favorite class and what are you studying?" "I'm good at math, we are doing pluses and minuses," he states with confidence. "Hmm, have you started division?" the picture doesn't add up. "No we haven't started yet." Wow our school system is so behind! Or maybe he's in those remedial classes. Either way doing "pluses and minuses" in 7th grade math just doesn't add up. Regardless, James eagerly accepts my compliments, shoulder pats and positive reassurance with his ravenous appetite; he's clearly starved for affection. I'll see him next week for vaccines. 

The worry hanging over me is further confirmed over lunch. "James is so resistant. He soured his face and remarked 'no' to all the questions we were asking him." We reflected on his behavior and realized we are at risk of losing this one to the streets, to drugs, to drug dealing, to guns, to gangs, to whatever haven the street can offer a kid with little emotional support from home. I can just see him slip through the cracks and realize, I am glad that he is here. My mind starts spinning of a plan to get him to safety.

I drive home feeling that strong need to help and satisfied by my ability to be in such a position. We are all here to help each other. Quickly I'm overwhelmed with a pang of anxiety, insecurity and lack of control. Is driving an hour to work and working just a few shifts a week going to pay the bills next month? Is my tenant going to move out and force me to move back to OC? Will I be able to negotiate down my apartment rent with my landlady? Will I have to withdraw money out of failing investments and eat the 50% stock loss?" I reflect and realize that my pain is pebbles compared to most families, single-income dependent families, families forced to abandon foreclosed homes, families are are free-falling waiting for the bottom to hit. "Obama will be closing Guantanamo Bay within a year," NPR delivers. 

For the first time I think of Obama and realize, I'm sinking, I need him to hustle, to stabilize a our economy. I feel the urgency of need as I feel the urgency to deliver help to James. We all are living in the same world, we all truly are here to grab a reaching hand and lift them to a better place. I gain solace in realizing that I am a wheel in the greater process. As we all move in unison our strength amplifies, wrong directions are redirected, derailed lived are placed back on track and as we watch progress rise from the fruits of our labor we can live my daily mantra: Progress is Happiness.