Clean Blood
The day is over, you are driving home. You tune in your
radio. You hear a little blurb about a little village in
India where some villagers have died suddenly, strangely, of
a flu that has never been seen before. It's not influenza,
but three or four fellows are dead, and it's kind of
interesting. They're sending some doctors over there to
investigate it. You don't think much about it, but on
Sunday, coming home from church, you hear another radio
spot. Only they say it's not three villagers, it's 30,000
villagers in the back hills of this particular area of
India, and it's on TV that night. CNN runs a little blurb;
people are heading there from the disease center in Atlanta
because this disease strain has never been seen before.
By Monday morning when you get up, it's the lead story. For
it's not just India; it's Pakistan, Afghanistan, Iran, and
before you know it, you're hearing this story everywhere and
they have coined it now as "the mystery flu."
The president has made some comment that he and everyone are
praying and hoping that all will go well over there. But
everyone is wondering, "How are we going to contain it?"
That's when the President of France makes an announcement
that shocks Europe. He is closing their borders. No flights
from India, Pakistan, or any of the countries where this
thing has been seen. That night you are watching a little
bit of CNN before going to bed. Your jaw hits your chest
when a weeping woman is translated from a French news
program into English: "There's a man lying in a hospital in
Paris dying of the mystery flu." It has come to Europe.
Panic strikes. As best they can tell, once you get it, you
have a week and you don't know it.
Then you have four days of unbelievable symptoms. Then you
die. Britain closes it's borders, but it's too late. South
Hampton, Liverpool, North Hampton, and it's Tuesday morning
when the President of the United States makes the following
announcement: "Due to a national security risk, all flights
to and from Europe and Asia have been cancelled. If your
loved ones are overseas, I'm sorry, they cannot come back
until we find a cure for this thing. Within four days our
nation has been plunged into an unbelievable fear. People
are selling little masks for your face. People are talking
about what if it comes to this country, and preachers on
Tuesday are saying, "It's the Scourge of God."
It's Wednesday night and you are at a church prayer meeting
when somebody runs in from the parking lot and says, "Turn
on a radio, turn on a radio." While the church listens to a
little transistor radio with a microphone stuck up to it,
the announcement is made. "Two women are lying in a Long
Island hospital dying from the mystery flu." Within hours it
seems, this thing just sweeps across the country. People are
working around the clock trying to find an antidote. Nothing
is working. California, Oregon, Arizona, Florida,
Massachusetts. It's as though it's just sweeping in from the
borders.
Then, all of a sudden the news comes out. The code has been
broken. A cure can be found. A vaccine can be made. It's
going to take the blood of somebody who hasn't been
infected, and so, sure enough, all through the Midwest,
through all those channels of emergency broadcasting,
everyone is asked to do one simple thing: "Go to your
downtown hospital and have your blood taken. That's all we
ask of you. When you hear the sirens go off in your
neighborhood, please make your way quickly, quietly, and
safely to the hospitals."
Sure enough, when you and your family get down there late on
that Friday night, there is a long line, and they've got
nurses and doctors coming out and pricking fingers and
taking blood and putting labels on it. Your wife and your
kids are out there, and they take your blood type and they
say, "Wait here in the parking lot and if we call your name,
you can be dismissed and go home." You stand around scared
with your neighbors, wondering what in the world is going
on, and that this is the end of the world. Suddenly a young
man comes running out of the hospital screaming. He's
yelling a name and waving a clipboard. What? He yells it
again! And your son tugs on your jacket and says, "Daddy,
that's me." Before you know it, they have grabbed your boy.
"Wait a minute, hold it!"
And they say "It's OK, his blood is clean. His blood is
pure. We want to make sure he doesn't have the disease. We
think he has got the right type." Five tense minutes later,
out come the doctors and nurses, crying and hugging one
another -- some even laughing. It's the first time you have
seen anybody laugh in a week, and an old doctor walks up to
you and says, "Thank you sir. Your son's blood type is
perfect. It's clean, it's pure, and we can make the
vaccine."
As the word begins to spread all across that parking lot
full of folks, people are screaming and praying and laughing
and crying. But then the gray haired doctor pulls you and
your wife aside and says, "May we see you for a moment? We
didn't realize that the donor would be a minor......we need
you to sign a consent form." You begin to sign and then you
see that the number of pints of blood to be taken is empty.
"H-h-h-how many pints?" And this is when the old doctor's
smile fades and he says, "We had no idea it would be a
little child. We weren't prepared. We need it all!" "But -
but....."
"You don't understand. We are talking about the world here.
Please sign. We-we need it all -- we need it all!"
"But can you give him a transfusion?" "If we had clean blood
we would. Can you sign? Would you sign?" In numb silence you
do. Then they say, "Would you like to have a moment with him
before we begin?" Can you walk back? can you walk back to
that room where he sits on a table saying, "Daddy? Mommy?
What's going on?" Can you take his hands and say, "Son, your
mommy and I love you, and we would never ever let anything
happen to you that didn't just have to be. Do you understand
that?" And when that old doctor comes back in and says, "I'm
sorry, we've -- we've got to get started. People all over
the world are dying." Can you leave? Can you walk out while
he is saying, "Dad?
Mom? Dad? Why - why have you forsaken me?" And then next
week, when they have the ceremony to honor your son, and
some folks sleep through it, and some folks don't even come
because they go the lake, and some folks come with a
pretentious smile and just pretend to care. Would you want
to jump up and say, "MY SON DIED! DON'T YOU CARE?" Is that
what God is saying? "MY SON DIED. DON'T YOU KNOW HOW MUCH I
CARE." "Father seeing it from your eyes breaks our hearts.
Maybe now we can begin to comprehend the great love you have
for us. Amen"
Author unknown. If anyone has a proprietary interest in this story please authenticate and I will be happy to credit, or remove, as the circumstances dictate.