You'll have to pardon me for not having prepared a post ahead of time, but we've had a rough few days here at Casa MFA.
The local Major Teaching Hospital here is the place you most want to be if there is something really, really rare and really, really wrong with you, but it's also the place I least like to go. The place is in my blood; my grandfather ran it during its "boom" years, my mother went there for nursing school, my father spent weeks in-patient when he had his stroke and all of his heart surgeries,...I can say without resorting to hyperbole that I or an immediate family member has used the services of every single world-reknowned specialty clinic there and you'd think I would have some sort of affection for that accursed institution (probably I do on some level) but mostly? Its hallways are where possibilities go to end in dead ends and in its basement is a morgue full of dreams.
From the Life Flight landing pad on the roof down to the cavernous ambulance bay two stories below street level, the entire campus, every brick and pebble of it, is full of places I have slumped sobbing and helpless, bloodied or splashed with vomit, barefoot in pajamas. There's a surreal quality to going there, even if it's just to take my husband for bloodwork, walking casually hand-in-hand with my youngest child past the genetics department that finds him so fascinating, through the hallway where my own five-year-old self played hopscotch in a flowered nightgown waiting to see if my father would live or die, years and moments of fear, choppy like scenes from Kubrick film, fucked up like a bad acid trip.
That's the thing about having kids, parents, spouses with special needs: you have to keep going back into the arenas of your nightmares. Do any of you have a visceral reaction to a particular hospital or doctor's office? Feel like sharing any coping strategies? I've got to go back there next week, and I'd pretty much rather have a boil implant.