On a cold and moonless February night, Mary was jolted out of sleep by the barking of her golden retriever. When she saw that it was 4:30 a.m., she sighed, “Good Lord Boots, what new animal scent have you picked up now?”
Ever since the drought, an onslaught of animals had moved into the forest, which was located near Mary’s back yard. But it wasn’t the forest which attracted the deer, raccoons and beavers. No, it was Mary’s creek that bordered the forest’s edge. Unlike the ponds, rivers and lakes which had dried up or gone stagnant, Mary’s creek was fed by artesian wells whose crystal waters flowed in defiance of the worst drought in 100 years.
“I’m coming Boots.” As she sat on the edge of her bed, her eyes fixed upon the photos of her husband Tom, and her two children, Maria and Sam. Her kids had grown up, had families of their own, and Tom had died one year ago. Ever since his death, Mary’s life had de-accelerated into slow motion, as if she was walking under water. Worse, she felt a growing sense of aloneness; she was a hollowed-out tree whose heart had been vacated, and the world had spun on without her.
She put one hand on Boot’s head, opened the back door, and stepped out on her porch. But Boots, in a frenzy, barreled past her and accidentally shoved her. The glaze of ice on the porch caused her feet to slip, and down she went.
Eight weeks later, her broken hip had been replaced with a new one, and she was about to return to work. But, like a castle under attack, troubles besieged her. Non-insurance covered hip replacement bill, $16,000; new roof, $5,000; son lost job, $5,000; car died, $19,000; washer/dryer died, $2,000; tuition for grandkids catholic schools, $7,000; Boots tangled with a coon, $750.
Exhausting all her savings, she paid off everything, except her hospital bill. She mailed a check for half, with a promise to make monthly payments on the rest. But then, the vultures swept in: “Hello Mary, I’m Denise, at FMC (Fortune Mutual Collections), and I’m calling to ask why you failed to pay your hospital bill.”
Stunned, Mary replied, “I paid half, and I’m paying off the rest monthly.”
“Sorry, Mary, but I have no record of a payment. I’ll check and call you back.”
For 10 days, Mary lived on a roller coaster: guilt to fear to helplessness to depression.
Call #2: “Mary, its Denise at FMC. I have your payment, but your balance must be paid off this week or else I will turn you over to our legal department and a lawsuit will be filed against you. You could lose your home.”
Mary sputtered, “My savings are all gone, I am paying you all I have ...”
Office Visit #1: Mary began: “I’m depressed and worried sick that I’ll lose my home.” Her doctor said: “Mary, what’s happening to you is occurring all over America. Ruthless collection agencies are using Nazi scare tactics. But your hospital has hired FMC, and if they knew how bad you’ve been treated, they would not be happy.”
Mary pleaded, “Could your office call FMC, and tell them I will pay off my bill each month, and explain my situation?” A call was placed to FMC. However, the FMC agent was hostile, and began screaming over the phone. A second call was placed to the hospital, asking for help with Mary’s bill.
Office Visit #2: Mary held the letter from FMC. It was an apology, stating that her monthly payments would be accepted, and no further collection activity would take place.
That spring, torrential rains flooded her basement. Wooden floorboards had covered the basement floor, but now, they clogged the sump pump. Mary hired men to drain the basement and put in a new pump. The next day, she inspected their work. The basement was dry, but Mary spotted a crack in the floor. She pried up one corner and behold: A locked metal trunk. Using Tom’s set of keys, click, click, it opened. Inside was a sealed packet containing a photograph. It was of two people. The only one she recognized was Tom, as a young man. On the back were these words:
“Tom, get my daughter Mary far away from Chicago. Keep her safe and promise me, she will never know who her father was.” Signed, Al Capone.
Mary gasped, “I’m Al Capone’s daughter.” Her second shock came when she looked through the rest of the trunk, where she found bars of gold and silver.
Ten years later: At the age of 79, Mary, the guest of honor, cut the ribbon to dedicate the new hospital. Her legacy, in addition to the new building, was an endowment to help patients who could not pay their medical bills.
Since the recession, Mary’s story has become commonplace. However, there is a second story seldom told: Adults, 65 and older, account for 20% of all suicides in America. In addition, they have the highest suicide completion rate of any age group. (Julien, 2008, “A Primer for Drug Action”).
The content of this article is for educational purposes only and should not be used as a substitute for treatment by a professional. The characters in this story are not real. Names and details have been changed to protect confidentiality.
Dr. Richard Elghammer contributes his column each week to the Journal Review.