![\"\"](\"https:\/\/wp-media.patheos.com\/blogs\/sites\/85\/2012\/01\/Twilight-Zone-Title.jpg\" "\\"Twilight-Zone-Title\\"")
<\/a><\/p>\nHow\u2019s that for an answer to \u201cWhy I Am Catholic,\u201d dear reader? Here, I\u2019ll say it again: because of the Twilight Zone episode my country has become. Because when lifesaving care can be denied to your child because of mental handicaps, or physical disabilities, you know, for the good of the herd (or is it for the good of Mammon?), that\u2019s when you realize how our disrespect for human dignity has turned our world over to monsters.<\/p>\n
Maybe it\u2019s only me hearing the theme to Rod Serling\u2019s series of scary teleplays in my head when I read something like this heartrending, and nonfictional, scenario that unfolded a few days ago in a hospital in Philadelphia.<\/p>\n
The doctor begins to talk and I listen intently on what he is saying. He has a Peruvian accent and is small, with brown hair, a mustache and is about sixty five years old. He gets about four sentences out ( I think it is an introduction) and places two sheets of paper on the table. I can\u2019t take my eyes off the paper. I am afraid to look over at Joe because I suddenly know where the conversation is headed. In the middle of both papers, he highlighted in pink two phrases. Paper number one has the words, \u201cMentally Retarded\u201d in cotton candy pink right under Hepatitis C. Paper number two has the phrase, \u201cBrain Damage\u201d in the same pink right under HIV. I remind myself to focus and look back at the doctor. I am still smiling.<\/p>\n
He says about three more sentences when something sparks in my brain. First it is hazy, foggy, like I am swimming under water. I actually shake my head a little to clear it. And then my brain focuses on what he just said.<\/p>\n
I put my hand up. \u201cStop talking for a minute. Did you just say that Amelia shouldn\u2019t have the transplant done because she is mentally retarded. I am confused. Did you really just say that?\u201d<\/p>\n
The tears. Oh, the damn tears. Where did they come from? Niagara Falls. All at once. There was no warning. I couldn\u2019t stop them. There were no tissues in conference room so I use my sleeve and my hands and I keep wiping telling myself to stop it.<\/p>\n
I point to the paper and he lets me rant a minute. I can\u2019t stop pointing to the paper. \u201cThis phrase. This word. This is why she can\u2019t have the transplant done.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n
I begin to shake. My whole body trembles and he begins to tell me how she will never be able to get on the waiting list because she is mentally retarded.<\/p>\n
A bit of hope. I sit up and get excited.<\/p>\n
\u201cOh, that\u2019s ok! We plan on donating. If we aren\u2019t a match, we come from a large family and someone will donate. We don\u2019t want to be on the list. We will find our own donor.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNoooo. She\u2014is\u2014not\u2014eligible \u2013because\u2014of\u2014her\u2014quality\u2013 of \u2013life\u2014Because\u2014of\u2014her\u2014mental\u2014delays\u201d He says each word very slowly as if I am hard of hearing.<\/p>\n
\u201cSTOP IT NOW!\u201d The anger is taking over. Thank God. Why did it take so long to get here?<\/p>\n
The social worker is writing some things down. Not sure what. She casually gets up to take a call. My eyes follow her to the phone and I see Joe\u2019s face. His mouth is open, his face is pale and he is staring straight ahead of him at the white board.<\/p>\n
Rage fills the room. I point in his little, brown pudgy face. \u201cDo not talk about her quality of life. You have no idea what she is like. We have crossed many, many road blocks with Amelia and this is just one more. So, you don\u2019t agree she should have it done? Fine. But tell me who I talk to next because SHE WILL HAVE IT DONE AND IT WILL BE AT CHOP.\u201d<\/p>\n
I see the social worker quickly writing down what I just said. Joe hasn\u2019t moved. Amelia is still asleep.<\/p>\n
The social worker decides to join the conversation. \u201cWell, you know a transplant is not forever. She will need another one in twelve years. And then what? And do you have any idea of the medications she will need to take to keep her healthy?\u201d<\/p>\n
I speak through gritted together. \u201cYES, I HAVE DONE ALL MY RESEARCH.\u201d<\/p>\n
She smirks a little. \u201cWell, what happens when she is thirty and neither of you are around to take care of her. What happens to her then? Who will make sure she takes her medications then?\u201d<\/p><\/blockquote>\n
Go read the rest<\/a>. The Anchoress<\/em> is also writing on this travesty and you would do well to check out her thoughts too.<\/a> \u00a0Please say a prayer for Amelia and her family, and for the rest of us as well. Then, if you know anyone who can help this family, via the news media, elected representatives, or by any means necessary, please contact them at once, and get this story into their hands. <\/p>\n
Surely, as a nation, we are better than this! Because stories like this one make me feel a lot like a certain astronaut named Taylor, when he was marooned on a certain planet that wasn\u2019t quite right. Remember the one?<\/p>\n