Grounded (Part One)

August 19

Hospitals are not calm, quiet places. Frantic staff rushing about trying to accomplish their duties amidst constant interruptions, genuine cries of pain, and the incessant buzzing of the call nurse button.

It's like a hotel in purgatory.

Adding to the cacophony of human activity, are the bleeps and drones of the machines mindlessly going about the business of keeping people alive. And behind all this, like a canvas of white noise, is the constant hissing, rushing sound of ventilation and air purification systems.

Then there are the smells.

Strong cleansers that tingle the inside of the nose. Dull, sickly medicine smells that linger at the back of the throat. And occasionally, the trace scent of a septic wound that heads straight for the stomach.

Naturally, I had entered in the wrong door. I wandered for some time before I found reception and directions to the appropriate clinic.

-----

I was young when my mother died. It was in a hospital much like this one.

It was the same year my brother Hector was killed in the service, and we were still struggling with our grief over his loss when my mother's illness became apparent. There were treatments, of course, but the disease was too entrenched.

When a parent dies, something solid goes out of the world.

-----

"Major Siamendes?"

The nurse indicated that they were ready for me.

I handed her my identification and health record card.

The holo monitor flashed into life displaying my file.

"Are you still residing at Fort Liberty?" she asked pleasantly.

"No," I replied. "I'm in Spinwheel City now. On Paquin," I gave her the address to Ceasar's apartment. Our apartment. It still felt new and strange and a little bit wonderful. One shining thought in an otherwise bleak afternoon.

She handed me back my cards and indicated the next area. "You can leave your coat in the cubicle," she said.

"The last treatment room on your right...."

"...The doctor will be with you shortly."