An extremely poor Asian family supports themselves by gathering plastic containers from the roadside and selling them. The 50-year-old first wife (of two wives) was gathering plastic one day when a bus ran into a rickshaw and then ran into her. They carried her in with a broken dangling upper arm, a broken collar bone—I mean really broken—one end pointed down towards her chest and the other four inches in the other direction, and all the skin was torn off her left lower leg.

She was in shock—no blood pressure. We resuscitated her and cleaned up her wounds. I wanted to send her to the nearest government hospital—we don't have what is needed to handle this type of fracture—but everyone agreed that if we tried to send her, she would just go home and die. They were too poor to do anything else.

So began a long hospital stay with skin grafts and surgery to try as best I could to get the collar bone in some semblance of correct position—we don't have any fluoroscope, orthopedic drill, nor plates, nor screws, so this was a make it up as you go and use what you have procedure—and attempted to set plaster on the arm. Then we fed her. She was not very compliant, not in the sense of difficult, but in the sense of doing what was comfortable regardless of how it affected her various treatments.

Here, all patients must have a someone with them to care for their basic needs. For the first little while she had no one, but eventually they managed to get someone to come in and tend to her. Her husband didn't come for visits. She was very concerned about her wife status with a rival in the house.

At about the three week point, I noticed more and more withdrawal. The nurses said she wasn't eating. I asked if there was a problem and the woman burst into tears. We arranged for more frequent visits from the chaplains, an anti-depressant, and we put some pressure on the husband to appear. By the goodness of the Lord, the husband actually showed up to be her care giver for many days. In fact, one day he grabbed me on my way into the hospital to take me in the room. He showed me where his wife had slipped and fallen and bumped her head. No damage was done but he cared.

Finally, the day came for her to be discharged from the hospital. She walked with a limp and used a big stick as a cane—she was a tiny lady. The total bill came to 25,000 in local currency—about $350 US. I told the husband he was going to have to try and contribute something. The next day he proudly told me that he had paid something toward her bill. How much? 100 of the 25,000 owed—$1.40 US. (Please pray for our poor fund!)

As I walked back to the hospital after lunch, I saw her. She was on her way home ... hobbling with her stick and her husband at her side. I smiled and said how happy I was she was finally able to go home. She dropped her stick and went down on her knees. She grabbed my feet in a gesture of great thanks. Crowds of people were all around watching. This happens often, but it has always been by some poor patient wanting me to authorize free medical care. I usually find it awkward ... but not in this case. When the Asian staff moved to pull her away, I said, "Leave her alone. This isn't begging, this is thankfulness." It was a great honor. This was "New Testament"—like where the healed man came back and "praising God in a loud voice he threw himself at Jesus' feet and thanked him." (Luke 17:15,16)

What a profoundly humbling experience.