One night in the emergency room, by Clara Sanchis Mira

I write supported by the corridor of the emergency zone of a public resistance hospital, in Madrid, I hope that crooked phrases are understood. The guy with a mobile dropper beard wants to give me his chair, he has been watching me for hours. Worse the lady who is here from eight, waiting for the results of her tests, and already gives her, half crazy, scaring newly arrived patients. I have been here all day and I don’t care, he says with my eyes like eggs to a girl with a disruption. At first you are in a hurry because you think you are going to be here for three hours, when four you get angry, but two later it does not matter everything. The Gentleman del Gotero insists that he feels. I am only a companion, I have no right to chair, there are patients standing. LV In this area called Box 3, it has given us an attack of humanity, it has become fashionable to give up seats without stopping, so because. Instead, we have heard that those of Box 4 almost reach the hands because a companion is being passed through a patient to catch a chair. You are not a sick. Not even a doctor, you hear scream. In Box 4 a companion is being passed through a patient to catch chair is saturated emergency zone is the living image of political abandonment that our hospitals suffer. Because they are ours, of you and mine. Like politicians. The hall of waiting or exploration rooms is no longer distinguished, people are placed where they can. Health personnel, very young and effective, makes its way with the diagnoses or the street cart of analytics, singing precious names of patients. Pure luminite. Pilocho angel. Have you done the radiography? I don’t remember. Luis Limón. It is an indefinite place, crammed with patients and companions, with chairs shortage. You would go home to bring some but there is either where to put them. María Magdalena Carro. There is much to see patients stacked in the heads of companions, all women, by the way. Lee also Clara Sanchis looks in fact, before arrived a tiny old woman accompanied by a man and we were about to applaud him. Although then she took two yogurts from the bag, sowing doubts about who takes care of who. Thus things continue, no matter how many men who feel that feminism attacks them complain. Quiet, we continue to clean up to death, to say something beautiful on Women’s Day.

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