Hidden Stories

This truly is a depressing place. Cracked chairs, chipped paint on walls with drab, dull colors, overwhelmingly bright lights. The impeccably clean floor is shiny and reflects light, but at a closer look, there is filth under the metal chairs and stuffed into the crevices between objects on the ground. The sliding doors with black carpets seem to add some comfort compared to the white vinyl floor, but the floormat is stained with the wipe of despair and confusion flowing down sick, skeletal bodies walking in. It is hard to not to look at the bleakness of life within this hospital. People looking for hand sanitizer after touching something nasty, jerking away from the cough of another person. Everyone is either looking bored and depressed, waiting for their turn to finally see a doctor, or frustrated and angry that they have been sitting there for such a long time. The people at the front desk look bored as well. Occasionally, you will see a family grieve over someone lost. Sometimes a doctor or nurse would run across the room and then disappear again into the next room with a patient in critical condition. I hover over those bodies, waiting for the moment to take them away. I listen to their final words, which sometimes even makes me cry. But nonetheless, eventually, they give in. I am always busy here, but I always like to look at the people around me. I sit in the waiting room like everyone else. Just waiting for something different. I can always find laughter and jokes, but I was quite disappointed looking at this scene. I had to try really hard to find humor in this room. I’m telling a story, right? I at least have to try to be entertaining.

I am so sorry. I forgot to introduce myself. I am Death. Now, don’t think of me as some soul-eating devil. I am actually quite nice if you get to know me. I am not malicious. I cannot kill you prematurely. I am simply here. I am everywhere.

I see that some people here have interesting stories. Let’s dive into some of them, shall we?

Hmmm...whose story should I tell first? Ahh, here’s one. Verónica Luis, a single mom who snuck across the border hoping for her two children to obtain better lives, is an illegal immigrant. Her son is suffering from cystic fibrosis, but they don’t know this yet. Verónica was hesitant to come here, but the coughing, the phlegm, fatigue, weight loss, and the thousand other symptoms were just too much for her to handle. Honestly, I feel quite bad. Usually, I’m a jokester, but this isn't something to laugh about. 

Verónica and her children are huddling on the chairs in the corner, as far away from the hospital employees at the desk in front as possible. They sit motionlessly and silently, statuelike, as if moving, making noise, or bringing any attention to themselves will cause something bad to happen. The boy doesn’t look like he is in too much pain, but all three of them look a bit scared. In truth, Verónica is terrified. She knows that because they are illegal immigrants, they could all get deported once the hospital finds out they don’t have papers. She wasn’t going to come here in the first place, but her son’s health eventually got to the point where it couldn’t be ignored anymore. Having to choose between her son’s possible death or possible deportation, she chose the latter.

Next, we have Stewart in the middle row with a gentleman named Atticus. At first glance, I see two young men, one confused and tired, one apprehensive, both sitting in some chairs. On the outside, Atticus has no visible injury; he shouldn’t be here. But things aren’t always as they seem. Atticus is suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder. Studying at the local university, he was driving back to his dorm room with a few friends. Crossing an intersection, a large food truck stopped, waiting for the students to drive past. Looking to the right to make sure the path was clear, Atticus stepped on the gas pedal and turned his head to look at a large chrome plate that read Truck Norris(Get it… Chuck Norris… hehehehe), in my opinion, one of the funnier food truck names I’ve seen. And living up to its name, Truck Norris didn’t move an inch as the poor 1998 Toyota Camry smashed into it, throwing everyone inside from their seats. Being the good boy he is, Atticus at least had a seat belt on. However, everyone else… let me just say that I came soon after. It was an ugly scene; lacerations to the spleen and liver, broken humerus (or humorous… like me! Too soon? Fine, ok.), and a couple of broken ribs. He is unable to help himself anymore. Confused, still in a state of shock, so far, Stewart has been taking care of him and has been bringing him to his daily counseling sessions here. (Truck Norris lives on)

Moving on, let’s see… ah. Sitting closest as possible to the front desk is a middle-aged woman named Gertrude. Every few hours, she drives back to the dilapidated hospital in order to make another appointment at the front desk. The staff hates her. The receptionist even keeps a nurse on hold for Ms. Gertrude alone. Honestly, she might as well get a private physician instead of coming to the hospital. This time, I don’t feel bad for the patient. I feel bad for the doctors. The face on the receptionist whenever she comes in… HAHAHAHA, it’s too much. One time she even thought her heart was failing since she had shortness of breath--after she jogged one mile in 30 minutes. Have you ever thought that you might not be in the best shape, young lady? The most exercise you get is walking to your car 100 times a day to get over here. I just want to bang my head against a wall. I mean, a blow of the nose… influenza. A small bump on the wrist… smallpox. This time, she feels an itch on her wrist… it must be measles. Over the last 2 days, she thought she had polio, yellow fever, heart parasites, restless leg syndrome, sixteen distinct types of malaria, and by her own description, “all the plagues”. I am really starting to hope that she one day actually contracts one of those diseases. I know, I know, it’s mean, but god, I hate this person even though I’m not the one dealing with her. Luckily she has insurance, but if she didn’t… let me just say that she would be raking in the medical bills. Hey, I thought of another idea. I will name this type of person as having TDS. TOTAL DISASTER SYNDROME. HAHAHAHA… I am just too funny. Death can make jokes too, you know.

On the other side of the room, a man named Alfred stands alone, far away from the other people. He is standing so that the only part of him that touches anything other than the air around him is the bottom of his rain boots. He is wearing a plastic poncho that makes him distinctly resemble some sort of jellyfish, a surgical mask, a visor, and rubber gloves. He would have worn a gas mask and a full-body protective suit, but he, unfortunately, didn’t have either, yet. I might have to wait a long time until I come for him… Well, after he talked to the receptionist and was handed a piece of paper and a pen to fill out a form, he took the pen and quickly signed everything and then dumped almost a quart of hand sanitizer on his gloved hands, the pen, and the piece of paper. Definitely overkill. Why don’t you just shower yourself in bleach? Yeah, oh wait, he already does that EVERY DAY. You might be asking yourself why Alfred would even come to the hospital in the first place since he is such a germaphobe. Well, he simply is picking up his monthly supply of products ranging from Clorox wipes and all-purpose cleaner spray to rubbing alcohol galore.

Next, we have Mrs. Zhang, a Chinese grandma in her 70s who is wearing many layers of clothing despite the fact that it is the middle of the summer. She is holding a closed umbrella (she was using it to block the sun, of course) and a thermos of hot water since she thinks drinking cold water will lead to stomach problems. Currently, she is very frustrated and cursing under her breath in rapid-fire Chinese while she fumbles with her new cell phone and tries to figure out how to call her daughter to get her out of this place. “这些愚蠢的疯子。这里的人都有神经病。带我离开这里吧！这种愚蠢的技术。翻盖手机怎么了? HALLO? 你还听的见我吗？” (All these stupid lunatics. Everyone here has some sort of mental disorder. Take me away from here! These stupid buttons and little pictures. What do I press? What happened to the flip phone? HELLO? Can you still hear me?) 

Mrs. Zhang ended up in this miserable place after getting lost trying to find 99 Ranch(an Asian food market) to buy some Asian vegetables and to demand her money back since the thousand-year-old egg (a type of preserved egg) she bought there turned out to be just a regular egg. Not knowing how to use her new iPhone, she went around asking the other people sitting around if they spoke Chinese, but because none of them had any clue what she was saying, she approached the only other person, Alfred. BIG MISTAKE. She walked up to him from behind, so the germaphobe doesn’t actually see her. When he heard a voice say something from only 3 feet behind him, he whirled around, and, panicking at seeing an elderly woman right there, he dumped his entire bottle of bleach on her and then retreated to another deserted corner of the room. A very nice shower for Mrs. Zhang. Moving forward, I truly hope that she gets a refund for that egg.

Thank you for listening to my hilarious commentary. You never know what the person next to you has experienced. Just imagine all the stories that are waiting to be told, all the experiences that the people around you have known. But everyone here will just keep waiting, waiting for their next experience within their lives. And I will be here to see all of it. Eventually, they may get what they came here for, or maybe not. Who knows?