Pain. Disconcerted. Fear. Healing. Prayer. So much runs through my mind as I remember the scared feeling of being in the hospital. Of being separated from others I love.
Why is this site showing the same subject. Why can’t it have some other subject the second time you click on it. The word hospital brings out several not so pleasant memories in me related to my father’s death.
When I woke up I could hear an electronic tone repeating itself. I could not see anything in the dime light. I was lying down with a cover over my body and I felt something wrapped around my arm. All this was not reassuring.
I hate hospitals when you’re there to see a loved one that’s dying. My mother was in the hospital a lot when she had to have surgeries to remove cancer. I was a freshman in college when the first one happened.
sitting in the sunshine, darkness inside. light and dark, pain and deliverance, terror and professionalism. clean bright sterile, ringing with joy, recovery release.
He never liked hospitals. too creepy, made him feel like he was going mad or faint or even paint. Why paint, thought? He knew he should not have come up with a word like paint in his head doing this, more like pain. Only he didn’t like pain, either. Hated it.
He entered the hospital with a shooting pain in his arm. what was this? was it a heart attack? was it just his imagination? He was always afraid f hospitals. Was afraid of germs, sick people, and being sick himself. He always kept himself in his clean bubble of an apartment, but now the pain was too much for him to ignore. he needed help.
The illness seeps in from every inch of that dark place. Shrouded in sickness and death it is the home of misery. The home of bad news. We came in hopeful that day. Ready to hear hope and promises. We were ready to hear words that were safe. Words like “remission”. But instead we got a death sentence. Our family wasn’t ripped apart yet. We had months to go before that time. But we were broken. And only getting steadily more broken as time went on.
so this is how i die. i know how,
i choose it, every day – my world
is a hospital
waiting to happen
bloated belly, dead veins
organs abandoning the ship after years of
loyal service. no more.
the sharpest horizons shrink dull, like a butterknife edge
the brightest colours have a web of grey overlaid
like a veil of mourning dipping over the eye.
False sunsets narrowing
the perimeters
how far ahead you can plan
peripheral escapes
is shrinking
I don’t want to wake up in a hospital. I don’t want to step foot in one ever again. They don’t scare me, they just… repel me. I find them repellent, yes I would say so. They’re a place of stark human suffering, of death, of contagion, of sickness and… it’s the opposite of health and life and comfort and a bright future. Hmm.
As we shuffled through the hallway, we took in that familar hospital smell. You know that smell. Kind of industrial. Kind of sickening. Kind of anxiety-ridden. Absolute. Desolate. Depressing. We didn’t want to be here.
We listened to the screams that floated and bounced off the gurneys and bedsheets. Why did this have to happen every daggone week? It should be over by now. We should be done with this. this is not what I imagined my life to be.
There were buildings, old joined to new, with dissimilar architecture and irregular halls. I was looking for a sick friend, who, unknown to me at that time, was deceased.
He bit the pen until it cracked and paced until his soles were smooth and pushed his hand through his hair until it parted like a sea and talked to the beeping and the smell of bleach.
I find hospital kinda freaky, I mean if you are in the a room, you are possibly sitting in the same seat that someone sat in that died, or are in the same building that lots of people died in.
A hospital is a place where people either have the worst or the best moments of their life. They can either keep or lose loved ones. It is a sacred place.
this is a building of hope. the people here save lives. whether you are sick dying hurt, or a new born baby, the people here will help you. this is a place where lives get restored and people get healed. this is where God makes his miracles
i had a surgery last month, it was actually good to be pampered for a night but I am glad I was only there for one night. the staff was great and I am fortunate that my surgery was elective. I feel bad for people who have to spend a lot of their times at the hospital.
in the hospital is where the peeps are. and where they let you watch tv when you’re in bed. also youtube channels, and mine/my bro’s channel is JM&NM studios. please, like/subscribe
Hospital: a place where someone can die, even when the family is told
that she or he will soon be released. Happened to one of my relatives.
Also a close friend.
She went to the hospital, because she was in a lot of pain. While she was there many doctors and nurses helped her. She knows that whenever she is in pain she will go back to that hospital, because of the great help she received from there.
I once went to the hospital due to a severe injury.
It took the doctors more than 2 hours to fix me up.
I was under bed rest for 2 days, under heavy medication.
But I was cured.
The Wonders of modern medicine.
I have a friend who worked at the hospital before she worked with me. Now that I know her I am glad that she chose to leave the hospital or I never would have met her. I just hope that she is more happy where she is now.
It was the smell that did it. As soon as the sliding doors opened, and Carly set foot inside the hospital, she was transported back to that awful day. She closed her eyes tight, trying to dispel the memory, but it was too strong for her. But this visit today was a happy one, not a sad one, and she didn’t want it to be overshadowed by painful associations.
The smell of antibacterial chemicals, latex, and laundered sheets.The sounds of subtle beeps, distant coughs, and rushing wheels. The hope that you never have to be laying in the bed, the fear of seeing someone you love laying in the bed.
The awful food and the amazing gift shop. All of the attention you don’t want and none of the attention that you do.
I am not happy
cause you’ve stopped loving me
if you ever did
well, is that it?
fucking splendid
the whole hospital
is now pitying me
what a shame
what a loss
of the “we”
the abandoned hospital stood on the edge of the back road, a forgotten pile of cement and rock that society was now just waiting for it to finish decaying. People around those parts believed the inside to be unstable, but that hadn’t ever stopped youth from going inside in search of old narcotics left behind and for blank surfaces to practice their graffiti on.
She was devestated. Never in her life had she thought that she would have to face such tremendous loss. she felt a mixture of shock and anger.anger at herself. she could have prevented this outcome. she could have made things turn less terrible. but she had just standed there, dumb struck, unable to move. she had watched a tragedy happen. she had let that tragedy happen. she had no right to be sad. it was all her fault, that now her little sister was about to die at such a young age in this hospital.
she exided the hospital, tears streaming down her face. the rain was pouring down, so no one could tell, but she was crying as she waited for the bus. her sister, her older sister that had helped her trough anyting, was dead.
Standing in an empty hospital hallway, I hear the hum of the florescent lights. It is the loudest sound in the world in that moment – all the beeping and buzzing of machines, and the bustling and bumbling of people: gone.
Sierra didn’t know how long she had been in the hospital. And when she asked, the nurses and doctors didn’t seem to remember. They acted as if she had always been there – always a part of the scenery, with the IV needle stuck deep into the crook of her emaciated arm, the continuous beeping of the heart monitor drilling itself into her brain like a parasite. She wanted to call her parents – but she couldn’t remember what their phone number was. Or where they lived. Or what they looked like.
When I woke up that frigid January morning, my boyfriend was gone. I didn’t know it yet, but he was dead, tucked away in a hospital bed with his parents and his sister crying over him and asking themselves what they had done wrong to make him want to die, to make him step in front of a train and let it hit him.
The dreary walls of the hospital room brought little cheer to Little Lou. He kept waiting all day long
Pain. Disconcerted. Fear. Healing. Prayer. So much runs through my mind as I remember the scared feeling of being in the hospital. Of being separated from others I love.
Why is this site showing the same subject. Why can’t it have some other subject the second time you click on it. The word hospital brings out several not so pleasant memories in me related to my father’s death.
He walked in, all bloodied. The people walked him in the emergency room for surgery.”Help me’ he said.
hospitals are where people go if they get really sick or hurt and a normal pediatrician wouldn’t be able to do much…
When I woke up I could hear an electronic tone repeating itself. I could not see anything in the dime light. I was lying down with a cover over my body and I felt something wrapped around my arm. All this was not reassuring.
I hate hospitals when you’re there to see a loved one that’s dying. My mother was in the hospital a lot when she had to have surgeries to remove cancer. I was a freshman in college when the first one happened.
sitting in the sunshine, darkness inside. light and dark, pain and deliverance, terror and professionalism. clean bright sterile, ringing with joy, recovery release.
A hospital was where I worked.
That hospital was where my nephew was born.
That hospital was where I changed. One month of a loved one in critical condition was all it took to change everything.
I hate this hospital. Old, maybe a Victorian building. No parking, depressing. I fear this place with the threat of death, long
He never liked hospitals. too creepy, made him feel like he was going mad or faint or even paint. Why paint, thought? He knew he should not have come up with a word like paint in his head doing this, more like pain. Only he didn’t like pain, either. Hated it.
He entered the hospital with a shooting pain in his arm. what was this? was it a heart attack? was it just his imagination? He was always afraid f hospitals. Was afraid of germs, sick people, and being sick himself. He always kept himself in his clean bubble of an apartment, but now the pain was too much for him to ignore. he needed help.
The illness seeps in from every inch of that dark place. Shrouded in sickness and death it is the home of misery. The home of bad news. We came in hopeful that day. Ready to hear hope and promises. We were ready to hear words that were safe. Words like “remission”. But instead we got a death sentence. Our family wasn’t ripped apart yet. We had months to go before that time. But we were broken. And only getting steadily more broken as time went on.
so this is how i die. i know how,
i choose it, every day – my world
is a hospital
waiting to happen
bloated belly, dead veins
organs abandoning the ship after years of
loyal service. no more.
the sharpest horizons shrink dull, like a butterknife edge
the brightest colours have a web of grey overlaid
like a veil of mourning dipping over the eye.
False sunsets narrowing
the perimeters
how far ahead you can plan
peripheral escapes
is shrinking
I don’t want to wake up in a hospital. I don’t want to step foot in one ever again. They don’t scare me, they just… repel me. I find them repellent, yes I would say so. They’re a place of stark human suffering, of death, of contagion, of sickness and… it’s the opposite of health and life and comfort and a bright future. Hmm.
As we shuffled through the hallway, we took in that familar hospital smell. You know that smell. Kind of industrial. Kind of sickening. Kind of anxiety-ridden. Absolute. Desolate. Depressing. We didn’t want to be here.
We listened to the screams that floated and bounced off the gurneys and bedsheets. Why did this have to happen every daggone week? It should be over by now. We should be done with this. this is not what I imagined my life to be.
There were buildings, old joined to new, with dissimilar architecture and irregular halls. I was looking for a sick friend, who, unknown to me at that time, was deceased.
He bit the pen until it cracked and paced until his soles were smooth and pushed his hand through his hair until it parted like a sea and talked to the beeping and the smell of bleach.
I find hospital kinda freaky, I mean if you are in the a room, you are possibly sitting in the same seat that someone sat in that died, or are in the same building that lots of people died in.
Spooky.
the hospital is a place very boring.
A hospital is a place where people either have the worst or the best moments of their life. They can either keep or lose loved ones. It is a sacred place.
this is a building of hope. the people here save lives. whether you are sick dying hurt, or a new born baby, the people here will help you. this is a place where lives get restored and people get healed. this is where God makes his miracles
i had a surgery last month, it was actually good to be pampered for a night but I am glad I was only there for one night. the staff was great and I am fortunate that my surgery was elective. I feel bad for people who have to spend a lot of their times at the hospital.
in the hospital is where the peeps are. and where they let you watch tv when you’re in bed. also youtube channels, and mine/my bro’s channel is JM&NM studios. please, like/subscribe
Hospital: a place where someone can die, even when the family is told
that she or he will soon be released. Happened to one of my relatives.
Also a close friend.
She went to the hospital, because she was in a lot of pain. While she was there many doctors and nurses helped her. She knows that whenever she is in pain she will go back to that hospital, because of the great help she received from there.
I once went to the hospital due to a severe injury.
It took the doctors more than 2 hours to fix me up.
I was under bed rest for 2 days, under heavy medication.
But I was cured.
The Wonders of modern medicine.
I don’t ever want to have to go to the hospital again, especially if it is my family that is there. I would rather get hurt than my family.
I have a friend who worked at the hospital before she worked with me. Now that I know her I am glad that she chose to leave the hospital or I never would have met her. I just hope that she is more happy where she is now.
It was the smell that did it. As soon as the sliding doors opened, and Carly set foot inside the hospital, she was transported back to that awful day. She closed her eyes tight, trying to dispel the memory, but it was too strong for her. But this visit today was a happy one, not a sad one, and she didn’t want it to be overshadowed by painful associations.
The smell of antibacterial chemicals, latex, and laundered sheets.The sounds of subtle beeps, distant coughs, and rushing wheels. The hope that you never have to be laying in the bed, the fear of seeing someone you love laying in the bed.
The awful food and the amazing gift shop. All of the attention you don’t want and none of the attention that you do.
I am not happy
cause you’ve stopped loving me
if you ever did
well, is that it?
fucking splendid
the whole hospital
is now pitying me
what a shame
what a loss
of the “we”
the abandoned hospital stood on the edge of the back road, a forgotten pile of cement and rock that society was now just waiting for it to finish decaying. People around those parts believed the inside to be unstable, but that hadn’t ever stopped youth from going inside in search of old narcotics left behind and for blank surfaces to practice their graffiti on.
She was devestated. Never in her life had she thought that she would have to face such tremendous loss. she felt a mixture of shock and anger.anger at herself. she could have prevented this outcome. she could have made things turn less terrible. but she had just standed there, dumb struck, unable to move. she had watched a tragedy happen. she had let that tragedy happen. she had no right to be sad. it was all her fault, that now her little sister was about to die at such a young age in this hospital.
she exided the hospital, tears streaming down her face. the rain was pouring down, so no one could tell, but she was crying as she waited for the bus. her sister, her older sister that had helped her trough anyting, was dead.
Mum went to hospital, me, for it was a machine on my arm to measure my heart rate. Hospital is the time of the passing traffic.
there are alot of people who go to the hospital and its so fun
Standing in an empty hospital hallway, I hear the hum of the florescent lights. It is the loudest sound in the world in that moment – all the beeping and buzzing of machines, and the bustling and bumbling of people: gone.
Gone.
Gone…
Sierra didn’t know how long she had been in the hospital. And when she asked, the nurses and doctors didn’t seem to remember. They acted as if she had always been there – always a part of the scenery, with the IV needle stuck deep into the crook of her emaciated arm, the continuous beeping of the heart monitor drilling itself into her brain like a parasite. She wanted to call her parents – but she couldn’t remember what their phone number was. Or where they lived. Or what they looked like.
When I woke up that frigid January morning, my boyfriend was gone. I didn’t know it yet, but he was dead, tucked away in a hospital bed with his parents and his sister crying over him and asking themselves what they had done wrong to make him want to die, to make him step in front of a train and let it hit him.