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| Articles: House of Death |
Posted by
Comedian on Thursday, September 19, 2002 - 03:39 PM PST
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.
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| House of Death | Login/Create an account | 15 Comments |
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Re: House of Death
by MorteAscendo (corpsmanwix@aol.com)
on Sep 19, 2002 - 05:27 PM
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If there is anyone who can relate to you its me. I have worked, everyday for 14 months in a hospital. I see people die all the time. I've done 4 autopsys, ranging from an old man, to a teen Marine to a neonatal death. I am reminded everyday about death, but also seeing people that where on the verge of death, come back in full health. Now there are some who dont, but there is more of a majority who do. When i saw a dead body with my own eyes for the first time, it was an experiance that i will not forget. But what it reminds me of the most is that no matter how invincible i think i am, i know death is only a door away.
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Re: House of Death
by Merry_Widow on Sep 19, 2002 - 07:49 PM
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I hate being in hospitals. Especially when I'm standing in and hearing a young woman crying in her room because baby her died before it was ever born. And then it reaches this really high pitch because she can't even hold the body for a little while because it came out, shall we say, less than intact.
So many people I know work in hospitals, deal with stuff ten times worse than that. I can only sit back and say, "I wish I had the nerves to do that."
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Re: House of Death
by AloneSoul (AloneSoul@hurting.com)
on Sep 19, 2002 - 08:49 PM
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Hospitals seem to a gateway to the next world for many who enter those cold, uncaring doors. So much sorrow and misery must be soaked into those walls, I cannot begin to comprehend how they can still be standing. The world inside those walls seems to be saturated with a aura of death but, it’s not always that. People’s lives are prolonged, given second chances and miracles, even if short lived, are abundant in that place.
Still, that is a place I cannot stand to be. Memories come rushing back with the force of a hurricane when I enter those doors. We here do understand how you feel. Again I say that you’ve stated my thoughts better than I can ever have tried.
The insignificance of our lives are forcefully pressed in our faces each time we see death before us but, those fears are only concurred by your own will. Don’t let those thoughts bring you down too far or you will already be dead.
You my friend still have a life to live (grim or not) as do us all.
Take care.
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Just another body
by Monolycus on Sep 19, 2002 - 09:18 PM
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It staggers my imagination as well, Comedian. My mother passed away earlier this year... she went in for heart surgery. Before they wheeled her gurney into the operating theatre she told one of the orderlies that she was very scared. The guy looked like he had not had his coffee yet that day and muttered a noncommital "There, there" that was not even the slightest bit reassuring or even sounded as if he was listening. Just another body to him. When she died from complications a few days later, that same orderly and the rest of the hospital staff struck me as being a great deal more concerned about getting hit with a malpractice suit than the fact that a human being in their care had just left behind on this earth some very hurt and grieving friends and relatives. Just another body. Just another day. Punch the clock.
I took some medical classes in college. I saw that same look on the students and TA's faces when we were studying the cadavers. Just more bodies. These pieces of skin that were stinking of formalin and passed around as carelessly as any other visual aid had once been persons with dreams and ambitions, loves and regrets. I kept having to remind myself that the half-head that had been run through a bandsaw so that we could learn how the brain works had once cried real tears the same as I or my friends do. The buckets full of hearts, kidneys, livers, brains, reproductive organs, and so on had all belonged to people who, at one point in their lives, had felt alone, needed to be comforted, needed to be reassured. There is no reassurance for them now. They are just teaching aids... like the chalk and erasers in the lecture halls. Just bodies.
I wondered then and I still wonder when the med students would realise that they, too, would one day be on those slabs... just another body. Do they think about it? Do they appreciate living more when they are confronted with death every day? Or do they just grow callouses over their emotions and see everyone walking around as bodies-to-be? The pain of hospitals is overwhelming. The grief and agony every day would be unbearable if one stopped to think about it. But if one does not stop and think about it from time to time, one can never fully appreciate what a precious and temporary gift being alive really is. One can only be just another body.
~Monolycus.
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Re: House of Death
by IamSquid (AAA@sockmonkeys.net)
on Sep 20, 2002 - 11:40 AM
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I hate the hospital. I've had hepetitis since I was 14 (in addition to other medical problems) and everything about being in them sickens mee. The idea that the majority of the doctors I've had have been buissnessmen rather than professionals.
Hearltess capitalists who hold this bullshit over my head because I'll die if I don't put-up with them. They don't want to cure mee, they just want to keep mee alive to make mee their cow. Oh, and don't get mee started about the insurance companies.
People die because of paperwork.
I should point out that the nurses I have are all very professional. People who work there because they want to help people but couldn't afford to go to med school. I have this one nurse, Cythia, who takes my blood every couple weeks and is so good I can't even tell I've been pricked (much like many of my X-girlfriends felt about mee).
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Re: House of Death
by bettie_x (strangersangel@hotmail.com)
on Sep 22, 2002 - 11:59 PM
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I practically grew up in a hospital....for several reasons, one my mother was a nurse and I stayed with her until it was time for her to drive me to school, passing the two hours in the morning doing paperwork like pressing patient cards and copying and stapling forms and such. Did that until about 8th grade. Saw a lot.
Next reason was my graceful way of going about my business like a lead balloon on broken roller skates...broken toes, fingers, noses, concussions, sprains, gashes etc. The radiologists and er nurses knew me on sight even if they didn't work with my mom.
Final reason, high levels of self inflicted stress at a very young age gave me ulcers and mad crazy stomach problems that kids in fourth grade shouldn't have. LOTS of time having stomach stuff done. Not pretty.
During a stomach episode I was again in the all familiar ER and an auto accident victim came in. Hit head on by a semi. Swiss cheese. Screaming about glass in his eyes.
I didn't realise just how much I hated hospitals until my neice had to have her appendix out. Remembered all those times, there for a reason or just waiting for school and helping mom with paperwork, and seeing all the nastiness the wolrd heaps on people so unexpectedly.
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Re: House of Death
by ThatOneWastedChick on Sep 25, 2002 - 01:41 PM
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Hmmm... What can I say about this... I have mixed feelings about doctors and hospitals in general. Sometimes their made out to be the bad guys and other the good guys. Ever see ER? I'm a pretty healthy child, but my great grandfather was in the hospital a lot before he passed away. The staff seemed fairly decent. I guess I never really paid attention. Either way, I think it probably all depends on the persons expriences there. If someones life was saved by a doctor then they might like hospitals. But if someone lost a loved one there then they might not like it all to well, in fact some people need an outlet for their greif and blame the hospital staff for their loss. I'm not to sure... Anyway, that's my outlook on the topic.
-love-
Wasted
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