Doctors and nurses running down the hall with gurneys, one kneeling and performing CPR on a patient as others maneuver toward some big double doors that open on their own—yeah, right. I looked around the depressing gray room, almost every seat taken as people waited. And waited. Three women dressed in blue uniforms sat behind thick plated-glass windows, chatting away and drinking coffee. Two security guards stood at the entrance door. It felt more like a prison waiting room than a hospital. Two hours had passed with no updates. I walked to the reception window and waited, twisting my necklace nervously. The women continued to ignore me until one eventually looked up at me, annoyed. “Can I help you?” “My grandmother was brought in a few hours ago.” “Did we call her name?” “No.” “We’ll call her name when the doctor is done examining her and give you a status update.” The woman’s eyes stared above me, a non-verbal Next. I went back to my seat and finished picking the nail polish off my nails, then went to the ladies’ room.
