Hospital, ironic how its name does not reflect the word 'hospitality'. The various sounds and smells floating around in the air. Sights of wheelchairs and feeding tubes force a question in my mind, is this not a place of recovery? Or is it where the sick are pushed into long winding lines by the 'countermen' who frigidly type away on their keyboards. Mercilessly telling patients to wait long stretching hours for their turn .It haunts me how these poor people, sickened by disease, pressured by pain, have to bear the dread of waiting, only to be told that their medical bills have only increased.
Sadistic!
Sadistic is what this so called system is, prioritizing order and control over sympathy and compassion.
As I look up from this brochure I am scribbling on , the patients keep flooding the registration counters, endless waves of them, prying their frightened eyes over one another, awaiting their long deserved attention. Oh how I wish I could be of significance to free these people from this god forsaken dungeon of a hospital, its cold floors and crowded spaces makes it resemble one.
Another patient is strolled on a stretcher. I caught a glimpse of the old lady's eyes as she rolled pass me. She was in fear of whatever was ahead of her. I could feel it.
I passively try to tell myself that these good people are going to be fine, but inevitably that is all I can do.
Such a sorrowful feeling washes me over.
I am subtly somber sitting in this stiff plastic chair, quietly observing oppression
as it continues with every ding of the counter bell.
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