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This Tuesday we have experienced a certain police luster, of mystery. Sabotages in the best style of film noir that we knew months ago and that are now coming to light. Unscrupulous guys who do not hesitate to harm innocents to carry out revenge or transmit hatred; without qualms about consequences provided they can get away with it.
Health assumptions that during working hours are dedicated to photographic reporting, it is not known what; nor to what end, dark, gloomy, interested, cloudy. They will know. We and other ordinary, ordinary-minded people cannot understand it.
From the outside, it has been lived with shock and amazement: morning radios, tabletop programs, Twitter, opinions, debate, rebate and dribbles. The press in digital version and thimble to turn the page.
We, from within, are calm, undaunted. We live it as one more attack. This was on the waterline, from within, by someone on the inside or perhaps from the outside. Envoy or traitor. Does not matter. Time passed and here we continue, without moving an eyebrow. The numbers sing and our patients calm.
It’s tea time on a gray British day Brexi, in this puzzle of tetrabriks of controls well filled with patients that sprout like brooches caught in the brocade that upholsters each pavilion. And I can’t wait to leave. Long day today, full of zooms with faces that question me, artichokes that ask me, questions that are repeated, a little boredom.
A whirlwind that, from everyday life, has become a companion, almost a habitat, ordinary. The salt is put by people, the set, the mishap, the setback. And of course, the verb. I talk to everyone and everything. It is in my nature, the scorpion said to the frog. From the moment I enter until I leave this cave of resonance that is the Zendal, where a wind becomes a noise and a gaze that is too sustained into a rumor of romance.
It is not ours, but common to all hospitals that I have known in my career, big and small. They remind towns where everything is known, known and even sensed; always before it is even known by the protagonists themselves. Every detail, information, rumor, misfortune or fortune circulates at the speed of light and is shared by the great hospitable family. Moreover, the thing never reaches a major age, as soon as it spreads, it is forgotten and replaced by another.
Well, as I was saying, it is almost time for tea, these are Brexi, of closed borders. The one in my house, fortunately open, awaits me. Those of many others who work here are too. And there are people waiting, in them or somewhere. We have earned it. And by far. Tomorrow will be another day for us. Others stay here, 24/7, like some McDonalds and something else.
To be continue…
*** Javier Marco is medical director of the Isabel Zendal emergency hospital
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