I live just beside a government hospital. To say there was a view, would certainly be true, questionable however, whether it is a view you would wish to see everyday from your kitchen window.
There are drips flung from the windows, empty water bottles cascading unto the floor below, any forms of unwanted food begin to make a patchwork of rubbish from the ledges to the ground, and of course least forgetting the crows and rats that feed on the discarded matter. I try not to look, imagining that i were looking out of my window at Frieth Court, seeing the kites flying overhead, hearing the dogs prowl the perimeter with their friendly barks.
You cannot always escape though, especially when you hear the screams and cries from the people inside.
At night i hear them most, sometimes anguish is uttered in muffled sobs, and sometimes i hear the most blood curdling of screams, as though the bearer had, had their hearts riped out.
I wonder to whom do the voices belong? Is it a mother screaming for her child's loss, is it a husband crying for his wife's demise, is it a sister weeping for her brothers illness, is it a grandmother watching her child suffer?
I begin to imagine the state of play just a few meters from me, i try to distinguish between their differing emotions by listening to the volume and pitch of their unease, speculating about the cause of the disturbance. I catch myself doing this and think I'm a rather morbid person, curiosity claiming the better of me. You cannot however block out the noises or the smells, it's part of your environment, and as you lay exhausted in an air conditioned room, you begin to question how fragile human life really is.
I've always taken the NHS for granted: yes that rather impressive but highly critiqued institution we have in Britain. You would think it a marvel though if you had ever stepped inside a poorly run Indian Hospital. Allow me to just clarify, many hospitals in the city are clean and well maintained, but there is no quality assurance in place to ensure all hospitals are maintained to a high standard.
So by accident i found myself in a government hospital in India, i cannot quite put into words, the smells emanating from the wards, something between a strong iodine and the smell of rotting flesh. These people were dying and receiving the limited means of healthcare available to them. If at any point in my life have i ever though euthanasia a good thing it was in this moment. How i wish i could have wielded the hand of God and stopped so much suffering, but all i could do was watch and place a hand over my mouth to stop the bile rising in my throat. In that instance i forgot how to place one foot infront of the other and continue to move forward, i was so consumed by rage, fury, sadness, emptiness, sorrow, feelings that cannot be contained by merely words alone.
I've never seen anything like it apart from on the t.v. and then it's never quite so real is it? We are able to move from our chairs, turn the t.v. off and go about our daily business with little thought for the atrocities we've seen, but when it's real, inescapable, the images flow freely into your dreams, becoming permanent nightmares.
Harrowing? Most certainly. Real? Absolutely......unalterable? No, Of course change can happen but it will take time and care.
No comments:
Post a Comment