Ever since I was a kid, I’ve always saw hospitals as a scary, evil place that takes away a person’s life. To me, once you entered, you’d never come back out. I thought of it as the grim reaper in the form of a building. The reason I believed this was because I would ask about one of my mom’s adult friends and she’d tell me that they went to the hospital but they won’t be coming back. Unexpectedly, my view on the hospital has since changed at the age of ten. It was a night that I heard a high pitched scream coming from my mom’s room. A few moments after this, I saw the flashing lights of blue and red. I was oddly fixated on them like they were a new shiny toy. I watched as the paramedics whisked away my mom into the ambulance. My mom had surgery and was completely fine within a few days. After witnessing this myself, I figured hospitals weren’t so bad after all. That it would be a place I wouldn’t mind spending hours in and with each passing year since then, my love for hospitals and being in them has grown significantly but specifically one day spent there in general.
As I walked into the weirdly shaped building, I took a moment to appreciate the familiar smell of cleanliness that I’ve gotten accustomed to. To my right is the waiting room which is accompanied by anxiety-filled individuals impatiently waiting for their names to be called. There’s a baby crying and his mother trying to calm him down, a woman rambling off on her phone in her native language, a man holding his sick daughter in his arms. There are others pacing around with their arms fold, clearly annoyed because the wait in hospitals are minutes that feel like hours and hours that feel like an eternity. “Can I help you?” was what snapped me back from my inspection of the people around me. “Yes, I’m here to volunteer in the emergency room,” I say. The receptionist quickly pointed to the door behind her indicating that was where I had to go.
I walked through the door and into the corridor where