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Show 299 should at least have names. But it is quiet and no one is speaking our names. No one is even speaking of us in room numbers or diseases. It is utterly quiet. I am watching the numbers on the heart monitor. Seventy-five. Seventy-eighty. Seventy-six. I do not remember the last time I saw my family. I do not know if they were here this week or last week or earlier this evening. Do they still remember me? I am feeling a sudden buzzing in my chest, a heavy boring, and then it is gone again. I am looking at the monitor to see if anything has changed there. Eighty-nine. Ninety. Ninety-five. I am hoping that the nurse secure in her station at the end ofthe hallway is also looking at the monitor. My chest is thumping now and I do not wish to see what numbers have caused this. I am turning on the TV to rid the air of its heavy silence but it is late and crude humor assaults me and I turn it off again. I cannot sleep. When they finally tear down this wing, I am wondering, will the anguish of all those who have lived, suffered, and died here also be done away? |