on wednesday i spent many hours in the hospital. everyone is okay -- just so you know. much of my time passed in the ER waiting room. at one point a teenager came in, clearly in excruciating pain. they had sliced their finger, were breathing heavily, audibly wincing. they wore jean shorts and a bikini top, and flip flops. their skin was dark brown, black hair braided and pulled back. their finger was wrapped in gauze of some sort, and they said their hand was going numb. they doubled over in pain more than once.
there were several of us in the waiting room, looking on, exchanging concerned glances. wondering what was taking so long.
after way too much time, it was their turn to register at the desk. the hospital staff somehow managed to completely disregard the visceral distress, to act like nothing was happening besides the administrative, bureaucratic exchange. there was no urgency -- no emotional reception attuned to the intensity of this person’s experience. little care apparent. after they checked them in they told them to keep waiting.
sterile hospital - in every sense. institutionalized torpor. it felt brutal. whiteness, contempt in action. i’m not sure what kind of training the hospital staff do, or how pitifully they’re paid or how they sustain themselves when they probably experience dozens of interactions like that in a shift. but god damn. how these structures ask us to turn off our hearts, our intuitions, our care for ourselves, for the beings around us. we often nod and oblige.
the people in the room and i also took too long, i think. i considered offering them my sweatshirt, in case they were cold in the swimsuit, but didn't act quickly enough.
the next patient called was not the teenager, but they let them go ahead. our glances turned from incredulous to appreciative. like okay there's beating hearts in here, still. in the face of indifference, of casual, quotidian violence - people regarding each other. these little ways, that may not be enough, but count.
*both quotes from Dub, Alexis Pauline Gumbs, 20