I've spent a lot of time in hospitals this summer as various people I love have been "incarcerated," one for an extended period of time.
Hospitals like the ones I've been in are cities of their own; the one where I've spent the most time even has neighborhoods, where class differences are palpable, depending on which of its many buildings you're in. And you can't just walk into any of said buidings, by the way. All eyes are on the visitors.
To get to my loved one, I have to enter through a particular door, where I've made friends with the security guards, Lydia and Ruben. Our daily greetings and their asking how "my person" is doing make it easier to enter, buffering some less pleasant aspects of being here. Not everyone who works in a hospital (ok, anywhere) is happy but somehow the dramas are more amplified in a situation like this and the discordance of humans grating against one another has a screech all its own.
Case in point: a patient was being taken off the floor for testing via gurney. The woman from "Transportation," an important department in a big medical facility, couldn't raise the side rail of the gurney. She called for help from the maintenance man down the hall. First, he ignored her. She tried again. Still no reply. This call/ignore went on for several volleys until he reluctantly approached the gurney.
"What's your problem?"
"I can't get it up right." She pulled on the side rail.
"What do you mean?"
"It won't come up."
"What are you talking about?"
Having achieved nothing by asking for help, the woman from Transportation set off with the patient, side rail in an awkward (read marginally safe) position. Next thing I noticed was the patient putting her hands to her face as her gurney was pushed into a laundry cart where the guy maneuvering the cart crossed himself and wished the patient good luck on her journey.
