Since Saturday, raging migraine and pain in my side. I have never before walked out of an emergency ward visit, but last Sunday night after five hours of gripping pain I was ushered into a narrow hallway where a line of us sat facing a wall. Some had Iv’s, some were vomiting, one was moaning.

Thinking about how stoic Canadians are, I realized that we were all adhering to the cultural rules. This is not a Latino country or the American South. There is no bombast. People meekly held on to the arms of their chairs, tried to vomit courteously and actually get to the one bathroom we all shared. Only one woman was crying but one could tell that the others felt her unseemly display inappropriate ( she must be a drug-addict) and it only spurred the rest of us on to wait demurely. It was so like our waiting in B.C.A.A. the next day for our time at the counter. No one looks at or smiles to another. There is a long and convoluted etiquette about sitting in the emergency ward.

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We get the kind of system we deserve, I guess. Why we have an olympic sized pool in the rich-Mission and our taxes are arising and why the ill, the elderly and the disenfranchased have little resources available to them is a mystery. My mind kept going back to the “hospitals” that I saw depicted in Europe when the churches created bunks of beds for the poor to lay their relatives in, two or three together, to die with the reassuring presence of the clergy. Could we be headed that way? At least they were laying down.