The people of Bellevue

I mention that I’m interning at Bellevue, and most people will shoot back “insane asylum.” That response, coupled with the shocking number of homeless scattered about the area, and cane-bearers, struggling to walk a meager straight line, led me to investigate.

After a couple days on the job, I was more than just curious about the people of Bellevue Hospital Center. I asked someone innocently why there were so many poor people specifically near Bellevue. Her response was along the lines of “Bellevue is a public facility hospital. They accept Medicaid, and administer free health care to the poor.”

Ahhha!, that explains that!

But I was not satisfied. I still wanted to know why so many people think Bellevue is one giant psych ward. Frustrated by the general populace’s ignorance, I investigated the matter further, probing the Internet for more information.

My findings taught me that Bellevue, now an affiliate of NYU Medical Center, actually began as almshouse for the poor in the early 1800s, and opened America’s first maternity ward in 1799.

Most people know about Bellevue’s psychiatric facilities because it is one of the oldest and therefore, most distinguished, in the country. Many famous people were treated there as patients. And, of course, its pysch ward has been made all the more famous by the film, “The Miracle on 49th St.” The building, which once served as the hospital’s psychiatric facility, now serves as a homeless intake center and a men’s homeless shelter.

Every day, I amble through Bellevue Park South opposite the hospital building. I notice the same homeless men every day playing Poker on the park benches. I notice their baggage and the scraps of junk they call possessions. They seem content with their own insular culture, whatever it may be. As I approach the hospital each day, I cringe. Every time. I cringe when I see impoverished people with crooked gaits struggling with the simple task of walking from point A to point B. I feel fortunate to be young and able-bodied, and I feel privileged to own a pair of working legs.

It doesn’t get easier to go to Bellevue, to witness the pain of those who populate the area. Actually, I think it gets harder.