A small American flag stood beside the visitor badge machine, and the receptionist barely glanced up when she told me to take the elevator to the third floor.
I remember that flag because I was trying to focus on anything except the families waiting around me.
Hospitals make people truthful in a way ordinary life rarely does.
You notice who is sitting by themselves.
You notice who keeps looking toward the door.
You notice who is holding flowers because they do not know what else to carry.
I stepped out on the third floor and followed the blue signs toward internal medicine.
That was when I saw her.
At first, my mind could not make sense of what I was seeing.
A woman was seated near the corner of the hallway, a folded blanket across her lap, an IV stand beside her, and a clipboard half hidden beneath the blanket as if she had tried to cover it.
