The ER Hallway

A True Story

The ER hallway makes a sharp turn. That turn creates an angle that connects the ER to the rest of the hospital. I grab a plastic, folding chair and sit in that corner.

From there I see down two corridors of despair. Two doors down, to my left, there is a room with a sobering sign over the door: "Family Consult." I can see that it's wide open and I watch a young couple walk in.

The ER seems busy for a Thursday, but I'm not a nurse, so what do I know about it? Still, I'm surprised to see the hallway in front of me lined with wheelchairs, IV carts, and faces pained with despair, exasperation, or just resignation.

A group of three sit along the wall, bored as me, to my right. Two of them are very old and one I take to be their son. But he calls the old man "Tom," so for some reason I think he must be a pastor. His black hair is taking on an iron tint and he’s combed it into a stiff helmet that hovers over his head. His mustache is even grayer.

As I'm trying to decipher the trio in front of me, I hear a sharp and quick bang to my left. A young woman hustling out of the Family Consult room kicked a chair as she was hurrying past, talking on her cell phone.

I look back at the puzzling trio and see the younger man's eyebrows raised. They are white and puffy and signal disbelief. Following his eyes, I see that he's staring down the hall at a young black man carrying a sleeping child. With them is a white woman who kisses the boy's forehead, gently, as if measuring a fever.

The man signals with wide eyes for the old woman to join his gaze. I cannot hear most of he says. I have my earphones in. I remove one just in time to catch a phrase. "...imagine telling your mom you were having a black baby..." The man and woman, who had been so kindly to the hospital staff that put them in the hallway, shake their heads in disgust. The old man is slumped in his wheelchair, sleeping. I reason that the younger man is in fact not a pastor after all. But then again, how can I know?

The girl with the cellphone passes me and walks out of the ER, her pace quick, though her steps are short and choppy. Her sneakers chirp across the tile every few feet.

My eyes follow her out the door and then I look again to my left, at the open Family Consult room. Fluorescent light spills into the hallway from that room. I’m suddenly aware that the hallway is darker than I had thought.

Looking back down the hall, I stare for a moment at the sometimes sweet, sometimes cruel man who may or may not be a pastor. His eyes shift to me and we briefly sustain eye contact, then I re-direct my stare.

I see an inmate emerging from an x-ray room, hands cuffed and feet shackled. He is accompanied by two middle-aged men who can only be prison guards. This I’m sure of. I'm surprised at their easy rapport. If it were not for the yellow jumpsuit with "D.O.C." printed on the back, I would think the three were old friends from high school. Perhaps that’s true.

I can feel the judgmental eyes of the preacher still on me. Whether he is judging me or contemplating his own shame, I will never know. I won't look at him again tonight.

The young woman with the cell phone returns, this time with a slightly younger version of herself. Sisters? How can I know? They approach and I look down at their feet. I hear the word "intubate," and I glance up to see the red eyes of the young new arrival. They pass me and I watch them enter the Family Consult room.

A minute later, a bearded man with exhaustion on his face appears. He wears pale, blue scrubs and he slowly walks by me, entering the Family Consult room. He closes the door behind him.