It had been a typically busy day at the 456-bed Arrowhead Regional Medical Center in Colton, California. Given the neighborhood, that would include gun shot wounds, knifings, beatings within an inch of life, crack babies with little chance of a life, drug overdoses and patients delivered in front of E.R. by “drive-by ambulances” – victims of gang warfare kicked out the door of a fleeing vehicle. E.R. beds here are at a premium anytime night or day.

I know a little about this because my daughter works there as a P.A. resident and when I see her, which is about once a week, the stories flow. One in particular stuck in my mind as being especially for this season.

Often sick or injured prisoners are brought into the hospital chained in their orange jumpsuits by police officers doing their tour of duty in the county jail. Sometimes the injuries have been inflicted by fellow prisoners; sometimes they come from officers trying to maintain control.

One night last week, a prisoner came in white as a sheet, and Anne immediately recognized him as being in the advanced stages of leukemia. Not knowing if he would even make it to see the light of day, she sought a bed to make him as comfortable as possible. Carrying obviously no threat to anyone in his current state, the police officer nonetheless elected to stay with the sick man. He ended up by the man’s side all night, even seeking another bed for him that gave him more relief from the bright lights of the emergency room.

It’s a poignant picture, the law sitting up with the lawless, finding in the onslaught of death, the common bond that eluded them in life.

On that E.R. floor, as on every night, I’m sure it was not a very silent night, but in spite of that, there was definitely something holy going on.