Everywhere else, the battle between life and death is fought. With antibiotics and IV lines, scalpels and stitches, and when all else fail, breathing tubes and epinephrine. A cacophony of sounds sets the background theme, the OST of hospital life. The gasping breath and the hum of ventilators... quiet conversations interspersed with wails of pain and anguish... the paging system calling "Code 89, Emergency Room."
But at the end of the second floor, there's a hush. A neat line of empty beds occupy the floor. The nurses' station is unmanned. No mothers screaming in agony. No babies announcing their grand entrance into the world.
Fumigation. A sweet word.
For eleven days, we rested. For eleven days we had peace and boredom.
Tomorrow, all hell will break loose.
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