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That the doctors pace was more like trying to find a way out of a mine field |
In a ward, hospital, when times of hostile and rigid chances, no one is better in the hospital. The doctor wondered, how can there be so much crime, when it seem like half the crime victims, and the criminals are in this corridor of the hospital, all clamoring for medical attention. The brave, and not so fortunate, , widowers, widows to be jammed in this aisle in the hospital. bleeding ,crying suffering from one pain or another, with hands covering there mouth to suppress whatever inaudible shreik that my escape into to corridors of the white walls, and flickering lights and embolded lettering on white walls, some directing patients were to go, other fastidious scribble by pranksters young and old, scribes with not entry into nothing but odyessy of the night sky. Seem like 50 patients a day, some days seems more and longer, the frantic pace seems to many, a way to avoid those who society that discarded in one or the other. All have fallen through the cracks and landed here, not a way to climb out and not even wanting to leave. sort of a heaven for the waiting , gloom that they face when and if they ever leave the hospital. How could the doctor treat they, some were in the waiting rooms several hours before he came on duty. Misdiagnosed by the first doctors who examined them and made only a scant review of there conditions , and telling them to just sit there in the hard plastic chairs, and a , ah ha , someone will be along shortly to give you more treatment. And again the doctor wondered ,with thoughts interluding and mingling with the abyss that of far off, galaxy not discovered by the lunar projects of years before. Far enough away that crime was not even heard of , nothing , but here on planet earth , the saga continues, crimes , the streets should be empty on any human life, when such it seems so many have come to the hospital |