Thug Life

The hospital my dad is at is a level 1 trauma center. The patients here are the worst of the worst. They don't just have an injury or illness, they are also addicted to drugs, have ongoing health problems and have had rough lives. According to the nurse who explained all of this to me, that's a good thing.

"You don't want your dad to be the sickest person the doctors have seen. Yes, his injury is serious, but it's pretty basic compared to some of the patients they see. These doctors are used to complicated, and so your dad is in good hands."

I hadn't thought of it that way and her logic was comforting. I'm not sure how accurate it was, but it was comforting. The hospital is in the middle of downtown and every time I walk inside, I have to pass by the creepy people standing outside (why so many people are standing outside a hospital, I have no idea).

Walking inside today, a thug-ish, potential gang member was hanging out and as I approached he said, "hey girl". Judging by the way he put his hands up and backed away, I'm guessing the look I gave him fully conveyed my feelings of rage and potential for violence. I've been at the hospital 6 days in a row, my dad is 45 pounds heavier than when he arrived (his abdomen and legs are filled with fluid because his liver isn't working) and I'm not sure how long it's going to take for him to get better. I'm scared, I'm tired, I'm stressed out and I am not happy about being at this hospital with all of the riff raff in the city.

I carry pepper spray on my key chain and I wouldn't hesitate to use it on my best day, so today is not the day to try me. Don't let the khaki pants and pink shirt fool you- I am the most threatening person out here.