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a million stories

  Have you ever walked down a hospital corridor and looked around?  I mean really look around?  Noticed the scratches, dents and marks on the walls?  The hospital is filled with a million stories.  We turn around patients all the time–people coming and going–but their visits often leave their marks on the hospital.  I’m not trying to be touchy feely or anything, I’m talking about mostly inconsequential marks but reminders to all of us that the craziness existed long before us and will continue long thereafter.  Each mark, dent or scratch, a patient in hospital bed being pushed to a stat CT scan, to the OR, to interventional radiology.  Residents who’ve banged equipment into the walls while trying to get a last minute procedure done before leaving for the night.  Food services employees who run that damned gigantic food tray transport unit into every fucking thing, including my foot.

  Time moves quickly.  I’ve been going through the drill for about 4-5 months now and I’m sometimes so focused on surviving that it is easy to forget how many stories–interesting, tragic, or even annoying–happen everyday, for like a hundred years and to go on for even longer. 

  Makes me feel like a pimple on the ass of this hospital.  I’ll come and go.  Many came before and many will come after.  And maybe, just maybe, I’ll manage to turn into an abscess that needs to get drained and those who come after me will look at my scar and wonder what pain in the ass did that.


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