I met God today. I first noticed Him as I passed through the waiting room to start my day. He waited quietly, alone, in an uncomfortable chair in the corner. He nodded to me, as if we were acquaintances, as I passed. I returned the nod somewhat warily.

Monday came more quickly than desired. The 10 a.m. rush came at 6. My hope for 5 minutes of peace at the start of the day was dashed when I found three patients in hall beds and two EMS vehicles outside the trauma doors. The night doc talked on the phone while a nurse and a student waited for her divided attention.

I hung my lab coat over the back of the chair and opened two software programs and three Internet pages in my usual order. The electronic tracking board was a rainbow: five waiting for beds, five being worked up, five to see, and three in the lobby.

I directed the resident to a woman with fever and moved on to what sounded like renal colic. The usual stuff – just too much of it at one time. Two hours later I could take a deep breath.

As I caught up on some charting, the nurses helped God into room 8. At least, I think it was Him. I’m not sure how He made it to the lobby because it took a nurse and a technician to get the frail, elderly, unkempt man onto the stretcher.

While the resident closed a facial laceration, I pulled a chair up to God’s bedside and listened to His story. His body odor suggested His last bath was more than a week ago. His rumpled clothing was stiff from lack of laundering.

He told me that He could no longer function in His home. Stairs to His bedroom had become insurmountable a month before. Moving about on level surfaces now consumed all His energy. He seemed resigned to the fact that His independence got on a train with a one-way ticket some time ago. He was just getting around to coming to the train station to wave good-bye.

His mentation was still quite good, and His pleasant disposition concealed the desperate situation. He confided that there was nobody to take care of Him. Everyone who loved Him was dead. A neighbor had dropped Him off with no plan to return.

A thorough work-up revealed a medically frail 90-year-old with no sign of myocardial ischemia, intracranial pro­cess, infectious process, thyroid disorder, electrolyte disorder, or medication problem. There was quite a bit of arthritis. He was a “social admit.”

So why do I think I met God? Really, it’s more that I think He met me.

First, I’m not crazy. The psych hospital said so. Second, I view these little divine interactions not as the second coming but as God’s quiet window into our society. He does not announce Himself; that would defeat His purpose.

I don’t believe God would present Himself as a robust, healthy person wearing a Rolex and a silk suit. That too would defeat His purpose. Everyone treats the VIP and the rich guy well. The measure of our character and our compassion is how we treat the most frail and vulnerable members of our society.

This we are really good at. Emergency physicians are often the white knights in these scenarios. We recognize that if we allow this man to fall through the social safety net, bad things will happen. Plus, coming to his aid is the right thing to do.

These little divine moments of truth come our way every day. This is a blessing, and I feel privileged to be in the position to act in noble ways. These acts bring us closer to our patients and ultimately to Him.

I think God knows we are the good guys, but I also believe He will check in every once in a while to see how we are doing.

Be happy.

Dr. Baehren lives in Ottawa Hills, Ohio. He practices emergency medicine and is an assistant professor at the University of Toledo (Ohio) Medical Center. Your feedback is welcome at David.Baehren@utoledo.edu.