I push through the crowds of people hovering next to the bus stop outside the automatic doors of the hospital, kicking the empty paper cups and bags out of my way. Stepping inside the hospitals waiting room, the first thing that hits me is the sound. It crashes over me, engulfing me, drawing me in. I step closer, into the midst of it. To my left sit a young couple, anxiously feeding their toddle, with a cast around her leg, which seems to look like baby food. The two year old cries and whines, putting his hand up to his mouth as if to say ‘no, no more.’ The group of young people to my right are laughing, shouting and flirting. Two of the boys have blood dripping from the cut on their hands, but they act as if they are in a playground. I can hear the radio playing faintly. The newest, noisiest dance track struggles to be heard in the room full of people, resembling a school canteen.
As I wait, sitting on the rock hard seat a smartly dressed businessman, holding a brown bag containing a burger, and his other hand to hold his drink, walks in through the automatic doors. He has his mobile phone trapped between his ear and his shoulder and he jabbers away to his colleague about ‘advertising the main businesses’. An elderly woman, accompanied by two young, brightly dressed grandchildren, frowns at the man as he makes his way past them searching for an empty seat like that of a bird searching for which tree to construct a nest on.
The smell of the sweaty, soggy teen’s sweatshirt is overpowering now, and I can hardly breathe as smell is penetrating my nostrils like bullets to human flesh. The smell coats the floor, like a three-inch carpet, soft underfoot. I make my way to the reception to ask the receptionist if I would be called anytime soon. I overtake the queue telling them I would be five seconds; surprisingly I get let to the front. The receptionist can’t be much older than myself, yet she looks older, more tired, world-weary. Her shoulder length hair...