In out. Up and down. Black White.
You feel reasonably well and, suddenly, the dice of chance or the bad shadow they put you in a taxi heading to the emergency room, in your house slippers and with the driver looking at you out of the corner of his eye in the rearview mirror. Vulnerability is the natural state of the human biped, even though he believes he dominates the reins of that mare called circumstances. You hear the usual roar of traffic. Closed eyes strain their ears during the interminable drive, stagecoach style, as if the hospital were in South Dakota or beyond the frozen quimbambas. Do you remember when you broke your leg doing the sioux indian. You were five years old, they put you in the luxury of a taxi and the grandmother took a handkerchief out of the window, a very white and ironed handkerchief, so that they would give way to you.
Emergencies, first section of the night. About 50 people in the eye of a good cubero retrospective. The waiting room has little of the first—it consists of a long, wide corridor, with plastic seats pushed against the wall—and turns the second, procrastination, into a resin bubble full of ghosts. Bronchial concert. A lady and her nose broken. A kid with a considerable buzz. A foot operated twice that does not evolve well. recurring diarrhea. In the hospital, intimacy is collectivized in a single gigantic body that throbs in multiple organs. Old people, many old people. One is telling another that he studied textile expertise in Terrassa: the wait gives to tell life from the beginning. From time to time, the noise of the drink machine. Another ambulance. The beep that warns of the turn, as in the super, in the delicatessen queue.
CUSTOMARY CHAOS
How many doctors will there be? One? maybe two. And nurses? Oxygen, one way, temperature, blood pressure, impose order in the corridor, instill calm without coping. And this one day after another, Saturdays and Sundays, without stopping. Hard and tired faces. The emergencies are overflowing due to the collapse of primary care. Strikes everywhere, and with good reason. In Catalonia, where the one at the beginning of February was called off due to an ‘in extremis’ agreement, the new budgets promise an 11% increase in spending in public health, after years of cuts to the ax.
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They enter a boy of about 30, mentally handicapped, in one of those trotted wheelchairs that look like they came from the 14 war. The boy is scared. He grabs the ambulance driver’s arm and yells at him: “Don’t leave me alone.”
We must save the ground that sustains us.