Back in the late 80’s/early 90’s I took riding lessons and leased a horse at a small stable near Carpinteria. There was a carriage house on the property that was rented out to a series of tenants who came and went, and who didn’t necessarily have horses. At the time I was there, four people lived in the house: two single women and a married couple. The married couple were both in health care, one a nurse, the other a tech/orderly of some type. The two single women worked at other jobs.
At this time, the AIDS epidemic was still very new. No one knew much about it, who could get it, or how they could get it and why. People other than those who had engaged in relations with an infected person suddenly had it, like hemophiliacs, but no one was sure yet why. We only knew that it was deadly and somehow transmitted by blood. But was it only by direct transfer person to person, or was it transmittable by merely coming into contact with blood, as in a droplet on a non-sterile surface, or blood that had dried on a surface? No one knew. People were extremely cautious about everything, and suddenly no one really wanted to touch anybody who was injured.
I know that sounds overly paranoid to us now, but back then people were really afraid. You couldn’t tell just by looking at a person whether they might be infected and it’s still not possible. The prevailing feeling was not to take chances. If you weren’t in a hospital or clinic setting, you didn’t touch anyone who’s bleeding. Period.
One day, at the height of this uncertainty, one of the boarders at the stable cut herself and was bleeding. It wasn’t a horrible cut requiring a trip to the clinic and stitches, but it required more cleansing than a simple rinse under the hose. The stable personnel weren’t there so the boarder went to the house, hoping someone was home.
One of the two single women was in fact home, and let the person into the kitchen, allowing the boarder to use soap and hot water, as well as supplying paper towels and clean Band-Aids. The cut was soon cared for and neither party thought anything of it. In fact, no one else might ever have known about it, except for one small detail. Neither one of the women thought to look for or clean up all traces of the blood.
So, later that evening, the married nurses came home, and found the trail of blood leading up the dirt driveway and the cement steps leading to the kitchen door. When the husband heard the explanation he went absolutely ballistic. The whole barn heard the shouting, and everyone came running to see what the fuss was.
The husband was shouting at the unfortunate roommate. “How could you be so careless? How dare you let someone who’s bleeding into my house? What’s the matter with you—we could ALL get AIDS and die from this!” And on and on.
No one knew what to say. They just stared at the husband and the roommate.
Finally, the husband ran out of air, and the roommate, asked in a tiny little voice, “What was I supposed to do, let her bleed?”
The husband yelled, “Yes!”
There was a dead silence that lasted a very long time. Then the crowd dispersed, taking the bewildered roommate with them. The husband was left all alone to wash the cement steps, while the wife resterilized the entire kitchen.
While that was by no means a traditional Good Samaritan moment, it might be good to ask ourselves if there have been times when we have allowed what we know to interfere with what must be done. After all, the health care people in this situation were following the rules they knew, just as those who passed by the injured traveler were doing what they knew to be right. When is the right thing the wrong thing to do?
Copyright © 2013, Carol Ann Chybowski
Carol Ann Chybowski
Carol Ann Chybowski is a long time member of the Catholic Writers Guild. She has published book reviews at various websites and appears in two volumes of A Community of Voices: An Anthology of Santa Barbara. When not busy about her parish, Carol Ann can be found knitting, gardening, or on horseback.
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