The hum of fluorescent lights echoes over the sweeping sounds of monitors and machines in adjacent rooms. The emergency room nurses, like dive-dappers, fluidly dart in and out of each curtained room. 

I lie there, distracting myself with the small television in the corner of the room because they apologetically warned me there were “at least two people sicker than me.” As hours pass, I stare at the ceiling. I spent my time counting ceiling tiles, trying not to be distracted by the dust on the lone water sprinkler. But it’s hard not to see the bulb at the end of that telescoping light had been wiped clean. 

I still have no answers after these hours alone in this cold emergency room bed. I watch the healers of humanity swim a skilled ballet through the sliding doors across the hall, only tending to the deficiencies of those around me, leaving me feeling as neglected as that dust-covered sprinkler.