This is a letter to the people who call St. John home. I’ve seen them in action many times but this time I was at the receiving end.
About four months ago, my right foot started hurting and it quickly became hard to walk. It got bad enough that I had to do something to find out what was causing the pain. That meant a trip to the radiology center in St. Thomas. But that takes money, which is less than scarce in the summer here.
Someone gave me enough money to set up an ultrasound to find the problem. Moe was the name of that angel. I was diagnosed with peripheral arterial disease — which are a few long words for blood clots in the legs. Which meant surgery, which was money again.
Along came the next angel, which was the revolving fund. I was loaned money for a down payment to get into the hospital.
Then came the surgeon who cut his cost from $10,000 to $3,800. Our clinic doctor and nurse — whom we all know — made many calls to make sure that I didn’t fall through the cracks of paperwork because time was of the essence. Enter Dr. DeJames and Chris Jordan.
Everyday angels appeared too — Buck and Sally making sure I had a ride back and forth to St. Thomas; Kevin who stuck $200 in my hand to live and eat; Sherrie; Arlene; Donna; Mean Jean; Nelda; Tracy; Rachel and my granddaughters; and so many more who brought food and checked up on me — thank you all for all you’ve done for me during this pretty scary time.
I’m healing slowly thanks to all of you. There is no place like home.