Exhausted, I drove my girlfriend to a university hospital, believing such institutes would admit voluntary patients as sort of guinea pigs for training purposes. I was wrong. The number of volunteers, because of high medical expenses, is so high that they have no room for so many patients. They are no longer free; they admit patients just like any private hospital, irrespective of public funds allocated to them. Since this hospital was specialized on orthopedics, my girlfriend could be admitted as a private patient. We had no choice but to undergo the levied charges. In-processing took place; as I was male and she female, I was shut out of the ward. After waving goodbye to her through the grimy window panes, I left the entrance door and went back to reception desk.
Being tired, naturally I was seeking some rest, so I drove back home. Went to the fridge and took out a bottle of boiled-water, idiotically believing that the high percentage of the existing cesspool nitrate would diminish. It was weekend night and I had good reasons that doctors were away to the beaches, a 6-7-hour drive, where they do not mind to lavishly spend easy-earned high fees to buy expensive contraband drugs.
Sipping the nitrate-tainted water, I found myself unable to concentrate on anything. It seemed I had lost contact with reality. You may call this lethargic feeling 'denial', the same state that happens to a person who is escorted to the gallows-a scene that horrifies any looker-on. How could the victim walk so calmly toward the gallows or rather the crane with the rope noose hanging from its sheave?
I was in this state of mind that the phone rang and an authoritative voice said the patient was about to be operated. I was about to ask how they could operate without a regular surgeon, but treacherously hold my tongue. The reason they called was that I had to go to them and deposit a huge amount of money before they could allow the operation.
Well, did I have a choice? Took whatever cash I had plus money dispenser plastic cards and drove off to the hospital. Hospital workers are calm and composed. You may call this professionalism in the sense of being dispassionate. They are doing their jobs, just like any other trade: planting, harvesting, cutting, shredding, anesthetizing dissecting, sowing, bagging and disposing.
Financially set, I was told to leave, as the exact time of the operation was not set yet. Now, I fearfully remembered my girlfriend's abandoned car! Since traffic was a bit lighter than daytime, I decided to drive to the place where the car was left. How could I postpone such a crucial matter of life and death? Cars are stolen in every second. Yah, go shopping; return with your bags and vainly look for your car. It cannot be located! What a terrible feeling! I looked everywhere, but could not see any trace of the car. Who to ask? The only reliable source was the shopkeeper opposite the place where the accident had happened. I was right. He said the car was towed away by traffic police. He had no idea where it was taken!
(To be continued)