Thick Description

CAUTION. DANGER. WARNING. RESTRICTED. Amidst these words that sprinkle my view, the glowing and ominous EMERGENCY sign towers over all. A sense of urgency and foreboding seems to emanate out with the red glow and eerie hum of the letters.

I stand across the street staring- observing. I dare not cross the safe border of the street. The cold penetrates my shoes as I step onto the cool grass leaving behind the comfort of the warm sidewalk.

A girl is sitting across the road, mirroring me. She lounges on the hospital lawn engaged in a book as I in my notes. She looks comfortable next to the large building.

The red lights atop the hospital pulse to the rhythm of a heartbeat. Down on the ground, orange lights encircle the helicopter keeping the pathway lit and warm. The majestic hero sits front and center, motionless yet alert; ready at any moment to soar to the rescue.

My naturally curious mind is drawn to those coming and going from the hospital doors. An old man emerges from the door assisted by a walker. He takes his time making it across the parking lot. While watching his journey, I’m temporarily distracted by the noises of the vibrant young athletes running back and forth behind me. They sprint, jump, and yell as this elderly man clatters, struggles, and inches across the lot. My full attention is brought back to the hospital when a young man bursts out of the doors in a wheelchair. I imagine what possible misfortune could have sent him to that chair. A car accident? Bone disease? As possibilities and questions race though my mind, he jumps up out of the wheelchair and runs it up the hill playfully. I was wrong.

A rattling sound grows closer and closer until a car pulls up with a broken headlight trailing on the asphalt like the chains of Jacob Marley. They speed into the parking lot ignoring the large red ‘DO NOT ENTER’ sign. Why are they are in a rush? Is it a broken bone? Bleeding organ?

My thoughts are then brought into the building while I remain in the grass. I close my eyes and imagine all the terrible and wonderful happenings that are taking place. I hear babies crying and heart rate monitors chirping.  

I open my eyes to the many stars twinkling above us. We seem so large compared to the single dots in the sky.  Yet, falling on my back gazing at the expanses of the universe makes me shrink in size. I wonder if the stars are still breathing. They are so distant that their birth or death could take thousands of years to reach us. They seem so permanent and untouchable. I wonder how it is possible that creations so grand and immovable have a beginning and end just as we do.

I turn behind me again and can see the hustle and bustle dying out as the day comes to a close. The sun has hidden itself from view and the city lights washout the mountains and the world behind me. The shadows of the town stretch out reaching for the hospital doors. The drone of passing cars seems to fade out and an unnerving silence and stillness settles. The hushed world is soon awoken by the alarming screeches of an approaching ambulance. Another tragedy? Another life to be saved? Another story to be told. As I hear the sirens getting closer and closer, I pack up my things and prepare to leave. It’s not my story to tell. 

Artist’s Statement

The hospital is full of lives entering and exiting this world. Any imaginable feeling or emotion has been had behind those walls. Fear. Hope. Loss. Joy. Reverence. Chaos.

            I always feel one emotion when passing and entering hospitals –fear. When I enter the doors I take short and shallow breaths to avoid catching any disease and am locked and loaded with hand sanitizer. When I injured my arm a year ago, I talked my self out of an Emergency Room visit. Later that night, I was finally convinced by my worried parents and neighbors to go. I passed by this very hospital on a night just like the one I described. It was late and the streets were empty. There was an eerie atmosphere illuminated by the red glow of the emergency sign.

Once I got there and figured out how much money it would cost me, I once again decided that I didn’t need to go to the ER. I concluded that I would just visit a doctor in the morning. When I went to visit the doctor the next day, they told me that I should have gone to get stiches, but now it was too late and I would be left with a nasty scar and large wound prone to infection.

            Despite my fear and previous experiences with Emergency Rooms and hospitals, there is something beautiful to be said about them. Doctors and nurses dedicate their lives to saving others. That is a beautiful commitment. One of my fondest memories actually took place in a hospital. I remember waiting in the lobby watching Blues Clues with my family, anxiously waiting to greet the newest member of our family- my baby brother.

I choose the hospital for this project to help reconcile my fears and gain a better respect and understanding. One thing that really hit me while sitting across the street observing was just how delicate and short our lives really are. A bump or fall can leave us in pieces needing to be fixed. Our lives and the many lives we love and are surrounded by are of paramount importance to us. But when I looked up at the sky and thought about just how small we actually are, I felt like the grand nature of our lives could almost be a paradoxical notion.

We may not be like the stars and have a trail of light that remains after our death, but I feel everyone’s life has importance, purpose, and a story to tell. I was also drawn to the hospital for this project because hospitals are full of so many stories. I was so interested in everyone’s reasons for being there. Near the end of my stay as a few people came out of the doors with hands covering their faces, I felt that it was not my place to wonder and pry into their personal and intimate experiences. Their happenings good or bad, sad or joyous, needed to be treated with more respect, reverence, and the truth. I felt my welcome was overstayed so I left. After this reflective and observant experience I gained a greater respect for hospitals and the people there, as well as being able to come to better terms with my fear.