I found myself in a courthouse today. Thankfully I was just a friend of the plaintiff, so I was pretty much on a observer trip, studying the cops, lawyers and judges uphold the pillars of democracy (with justice and freedom for all). Almost like visiting the zoo. Don’t annoy the animals, stay away from the bars.
It’s surprising how similar the atmosphere outside a courthouse and hospital is. Both institutions deal almost exclusively with misery and never having to visit either is something we can all hope and wish for. As I strolled around the crowded campus, the atmosphere, stale and pregnant with worry, reminded of a hospital I visited several years ago.
A friend of mine, well known for his ability to sleep through almost anything, had his reputation challenged when an insect entered his ear and refused to leave. Soon it was 2 am and I found myself at a hospital, waiting for a doctor to get the offending insect out. Confident that this would be no short wait I decided that walking around the empty halls of the hospital would be the right move for someone with an observer status, such as mine.
It was winter and the empty halls of the hospital amplified the cold. It was hard to imagine them empty, as if death and sickness had joined in on the festive atmosphere outside and had taken a holiday. One corridor led to another and before I knew it, I found myself in a long narrow corridor in what must have been the back entrance to the hospital, the words “Emergency” painted on the walls in bright red. Halfway down the corridor, in a little seat sat a woman. The first person I’d seen since I started my little walk. She was in her mid forties, wore glasses, and seemed like she would have offered me tea and biscuits if I visited her home and would have perhaps asked me what I planned to do with my life and if I had a girlfriend and if I kept my house clean and if I were eating healthy . But not on that night. Even at that distance I could sense her anguish. Even at that distance I could see the sadness on her face. The line that divides sadness and grief is worry. And she was on it.Hard.
I contemplated speaking to her but was unsure of the good that it would do, afraid of being more of a bother than anything else. I wish I could have helped her. I wish I knew how. I said a silent prayer for her in the corridor and I wish I could have done more. I think of that night and the lady in that corridor and a wide range of emotions hit me. And somewhere deep down I’m afraid one of them is guilt.
It’s surprising how similar the atmosphere outside a courthouse and hospital is. Both institutions deal almost exclusively with misery and never having to visit either is something we can all hope and wish for. As I strolled around the crowded campus, the atmosphere, stale and pregnant with worry, reminded of a hospital I visited several years ago.
A friend of mine, well known for his ability to sleep through almost anything, had his reputation challenged when an insect entered his ear and refused to leave. Soon it was 2 am and I found myself at a hospital, waiting for a doctor to get the offending insect out. Confident that this would be no short wait I decided that walking around the empty halls of the hospital would be the right move for someone with an observer status, such as mine.
It was winter and the empty halls of the hospital amplified the cold. It was hard to imagine them empty, as if death and sickness had joined in on the festive atmosphere outside and had taken a holiday. One corridor led to another and before I knew it, I found myself in a long narrow corridor in what must have been the back entrance to the hospital, the words “Emergency” painted on the walls in bright red. Halfway down the corridor, in a little seat sat a woman. The first person I’d seen since I started my little walk. She was in her mid forties, wore glasses, and seemed like she would have offered me tea and biscuits if I visited her home and would have perhaps asked me what I planned to do with my life and if I had a girlfriend and if I kept my house clean and if I were eating healthy . But not on that night. Even at that distance I could sense her anguish. Even at that distance I could see the sadness on her face. The line that divides sadness and grief is worry. And she was on it.Hard.
I contemplated speaking to her but was unsure of the good that it would do, afraid of being more of a bother than anything else. I wish I could have helped her. I wish I knew how. I said a silent prayer for her in the corridor and I wish I could have done more. I think of that night and the lady in that corridor and a wide range of emotions hit me. And somewhere deep down I’m afraid one of them is guilt.
1 comment:
Calden, good to finally see your post.
I know what you're talking about.. we're all faced with such situations na, almost daily... I remember once driving home from Koramangala to Cox Town I saw a dead body on the Intermediate Ring Road.. all bloody and surrounded by people and even an ambulance.. I just had enough time to take a glimpse.. but that sight.. that feeling of helplessness.. still haunts me.
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