House of Death Date Thursday, April 18, 2024 - 09:05 PM PST Topic Experiences I have to visit a hospital every ten days. Walking in to the doors you can see nurses on break; sitting back indulging habits that most doctors will point out to be self-destructive in many ways. These young men and women are unaware of their own mortality in the face of constantly facing death and the dying. And that's the kind of bravery I wish I had. Standing outside a room where blood is moved around freely, pumped, cleaned, exchanged, and tested I can see a door with warning flyers taped up all around it-- soft sounds come from the inside that sound like speech, though no one has gone in the room and the mandatory smock and face mask rest on a peg outside, with a large red warning sign saying they must be worn at all times one is in the room-- contamination warnings, feeding schedules, and charts of all sorts detailing the life balancing on the edge of death within. But I feel nothing looking at the door. The warmth of life is vacant. And the next week, the room is empty. A young woman sits, crouched in the fetal position in a phone booth crying. A few moments before she had run the length of the wing-- and now, tired, without anywhere to run, shye collapses and surrenders to the truth. A few moments later a stoical group of what I can assume are friends and family walk down the hall, collect her, and silently walk her to the elevator, as her frame nearly collapses once inside and the steel doors begin to shut.Looking back down the hall, several nurses exit the room that they crowd had been in previous, and close the wide wooden door. Four police officers move down the hall, and a gurney carrying the body of a man almost as heavily adorned with tattoos as he is with needle marks is pushed silently and swiftly to an unknown destination, and another two officers follow at the tail end of the long entourage. The tail end officers joke about getting paid for guarding this guy; he's a braindead overdose. His sullen body rests in the bed without moving, drool stains on the pillow, and numerous tubes extend out of his sallow frame. It reminds me of my own mortality to stand in this place and watch death move past me. And to be reminded of one's own mortality and insignifigance is one of the greatest fears that can be encountered. This article comes from Shmeng http://www.shmeng.com/ The URL for this story is: http://www.shmeng.com/modules.php?op=modload&name=News&file=article&sid=401