Writing

Hospitals Are Prisons

I hate hospitals. Even in the most state of the art facilities, they have that certain smell about them that make you want to go out into the barn and stick your face in a pile of manure as it smells better than the smell of sick people. In the worst of them, the hospitals are old: the elevators take forever to shut its doors even when you pressed the button to go to the next floor, the paint on the walls are old, and even the paintings on the wall makes the place look like a cheap, sleazy motel rather than a hospital.

The hospital I was in today was smelled like pigs that had been preserved in formaldehyde. The only reason I’d even remotely know what it smelled like was when I was in science camp as a little kid and we had to dissect a dead baby pig (yes, it was gross). The nurses seemed to not care about their patients as they sat at the nurses’ station looking up stuff on the computer rather than occasionally getting up and going to check on the patients on their floor. Just imagine a ditzy blonde cheerleader who didn’t know what else to do with her life so she decided to become a nurse and you’ve got half of this hospital.

No, I wasn’t sick. No, I wasn’t dying. Just a little family emergency, but everything’s going to be okay now. We just need some time to do some re-cooperation. Perhaps I’ll write about it in more detail, but right now it feels too recent to even think about.

How was your weekend?

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