Hospital

The infiltration that the body goes through due to the infection of a minor, minuscule and manipulative pathogen causes it to slowly deteriorate without the owner’s attention. But, as the overwhelming and prominent symptoms take place, the owner is left helpless and weak, thus allowing the intruder to thrive and remain victorious. The only solution for this plight is to receive some help. Most specifically, receive some help from the hospital.

When I visited the hospital today, I intended to test my blood and to receive some vaccines. However, to fulfill my tasks I was obliged to wait for other patients to be attended to. From my first reluctant step into the building, a wave of heat had rubbed against the surface of my skin. The radiation exposed by the presence of about 100 people in the same vicinity was so extreme. Each step taken upon the marble, partially-reflective floor led to a loss of energy. And a loss of energy meant a loss of restraint. Therefore, although patience is considered to be a virtue, due to my excessive discomfort, I disregarded the term “virtue” and replaced it with a more suitable and lucid term to describe patience: “worthless”.

My resentment heightened. Quickly, I made my way to the reception. Although hospitals were meant to be sanitary and clean, the vast amount of unmistakable dust settling on every spot of the desk I set my hand on influenced me to disbelieve this stereotype. However, as my attention swayed from the cleanliness of the room to the receptionist, I could perceive a sense of indignation from her. Her job – to attend to her clients appropriately; to carry out tasks that are given to her by them; to answer their questions; to pretend to at least show some interest in it – never reached fruition. The relentless commands given by the clients influenced her to give a grimace of pain. Pain from the complex queries, the multiple commands, and the uncomfortable position. And therefore, as she turned to me, she retaliated. I simply and politely presented what I needed to her and she rudely responded. As her voice took a large crescendo from the subtle and simple tone that she had just before, she directed me to the location that I intended to go to. I became intimidated and rushed towards my destination like I was being chased by her dominating voice.

Walking through the hallways, a series of seats were positioned next to the walls of the hospital to give space for individuals to pass by. Their metallic coating seemed to have pleaded for the company of a person: their excessive exposure to oxygen led to the corrosion of their surfaces. The more people that sat on them the slower the chemical process that contributed to their unappealing appearance. Therefore, evidently through the red-brown bruises that were present throughout the seats making it look like it was infected with chicken pucks, not many people bothered to respond to their plea and decided to remain standing.

Then I reached the lab. The bright, blinding light that hung on the ceiling of the room indicated how intense the session was going to be. Although it was just a mere “blood collection” the intimidating atmosphere contributed to my apprehension for the test. The collection of silver items sharpened to possess a pointy tip made it seem like there was a surgery that was scheduled without my concern. Then the doctor stood before me. He had a smile. A peculiar smile. A smile of hunger. A smile of compulsion. Swiftly he urged me to sit on the metallic seat that was positioned before him. He let out a little sigh and immediately took hold of my arm to block the blood vessels around it with a solid, lengthy rubber. As this object disrupted the blood flow to my limb, my anxiety struck. He quickly impaled the needle which was connected to the vaccuum-filled tube. He placed it in the spot where my blood was most visible through my skin. After a large cry of overwhelming pain, the procedure was terminated.

“Wasn’t bad was it?” He said. He had a fixed gaze on me that was full of derision. My exaggeration towards the procedure led me into feeling ashamed as I walked out of the lab. I never turned back to show my gratitude. That was it. I just left. I was done.

Making my way to the Hospital’s exit, there was a partially translucent window for a quarantined lab that caught my attention. In there lay a boy no older than 5 years old stationed upon a hospital bed. I could feel the melancholic atmosphere in the lab. There was a life support strapped on to him. I assumed that he was left captive here for more than a week. It was depressing but real. Looking around, I felt alienated. However, this feeling was rather fortunate for me because of the state that the majority of people presented. Although I couldn’t capture their true feelings and what they were actually going through I could speculate that most of them were like that boy. This vulnerability that they had towards their disease was contagious to me. My inability to do nothing filled me with sorrow. I was evenly as vulnerable as they were, except this vulnerability was to the sympathy that I had for them. This encounter made me look back at my approach to getting this appointment done. All the indignation, loathe and discomfort I felt in this hospital for only an hour was nothing compared to the feelings that these patients were having for days. My conceited and egocentric attitude was distasteful and therefore I felt my dignity being stripped away. It was what I deserved.

Full of shame, I exited the hospital without turning back.

 

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