Just Visiting

I look around.

Lots of white and stainless steel, all disinfected to within an inch of its life. Cheap-arse floral curtains that even an op-shop wouldn’t find appealing.

I sigh. Every time I wonder why I hated the last hospital visit… only to remember as soon as I step back into one. Soul-less places devoted to healing the body while crucifying the spirit. Eurgh.

Pete’s up on the fourth floor. The lift is full of people looking hopeless and people looking hopeful and holding flowers. Patients and visitors. Even without the crappy blue and white hospital-issue jarmies, the difference is bleeding obvious. Except for one woman who stands in the back corner of the lift, dressed in an expensive business suit, and cries silently. I don’t want to know. No, really, you’re not going to get an expose of some cute little kid with inoperable cancer that’ll show you how caring I am. I don’t want to know.

I’m directed to a single room. Lucky bastard! I’ve never gotten a single room in all my public hospital stays. Then, following the nurse in, I see the reason. A big, scary dude in a cop’s uniform glowers at me.

Pete’s under police guard. This can’t be good.

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3 Comments

  1. You’ve summed up hospitals very aptly, even from a nursing point of view! 😉

  2. Mmmm… I never used to mind them. Then I started hating them. I finally realised the difference – when I didn’t mind hospitals, I was a kid in the kid’s ward 🙂

  3. Suddenly, Wendy isn’t so sure she’s happy to see, Pete, I bet.

    I mostly don’t like hospitals because of the sadness dwelling.


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