Reality bitten

A man dressed in a worn out cotton shalwar kameez. The orginal colour of which has long faded and now appears to be mud ridden. A thick shawl wraps around him to keep him warm from the biting cold as he and his old mother walk slowly towards the emergency room entrance. He carries his ill wife in his arms. His face washed with the sorrows his life has thrown his way. His wife hardly consciouss, his mother weeping and him barely alive.

A burly man in a crisp white shalwar kameez holding a glass of what appears to be water, holds his bloody nose in a peice of tissue and steps out of a heated Toyota Land Cruiser followed by his 6 healthy sons, makes his way towards the emergency room entrance which is held open for him.

A worried daughter brings in her mother who coughs and vomits blood at the doors and then once again inside.

A group of men wrapped in shawls take away the body of a friend.

I walk inside and in an instant it hits me. This is what hell could be like. Women crying over sick or dead husbands, brothers and fathers while the men stand beside their sick mothers, wives and daughters holding and fighting back the tears.

It's a place where I wouldn't wish to be or wish for anyone I know to be at any time of the day. Lips move to call for HIS help and hearts sink lower with every tick of the large wall clock above the reception. Doctors go about their business in a non-chalant way aided by the nurses. They joke and talk about the cricket match that took place earlier that day. I am overwhelmed and the sadness and anxiety of the people present over shadows the bright lights of the emergency room.

I meet a father whose 1 year old daughter has a swelling in her throat and everytime she cries she's in danger of making it swell to proportions that would restrict her windpipe.

People dressed from all walks of life are equal here. The rich man lies down in the same bed as the poor man's wife after they take her away to another room for treatment. There is no racism, discrimination or fuss. There is no Dolce and Gabbana or Calvin Klein just inexpensive disposable gloves, IV's and scrubs. There is no bass thumping pounding of Dj Teisto or Armind Van Burren only the rhythemic beeping of computers and MRI machines and the faint hiss of nebulizers. There are no Sealy or MoltyFoam mattresses only the cold feel of a chunk of foam wrapped in leatherlite with a clean white sheet covering it. There are no gorgeous rot iron bed frames only the cold steel gurneys.

I hope that we all transition into the afterlife without going through this hell.