The Hospital 

Against the backdrop of the festive decorations twinkling across the river stood the large, brightly lit building with its wards, theatres, stores, consultation rooms, reception areas, x-ray department, pharmacy and a warren of seemingly endless corridors, closely resembling a thriving, orderly termite mound. There were people everywhere. There were doctors, surgeons, nurses, physiotherapists, assistants, administrative staff, porters, cleaners, meals ladies all in their different coloured uniforms and none, carrying the instruments of their profession round their necks or in their hands. Many were bustling, busy and purposeful, some were chatting, others waiting, all part of a complex machine and driven ultimately by the desire to help and to heal.

There were wheelchairs, wheeled beds and specialised cots; monitors, complicated equipment plugged in and flashing and banks of computers; drug trolleys, drip bags and trays of food. Everything was there to support the patients who were in wards, in theatres, waiting in queues and shuffling down corridors. The building hummed with activity - the steady buzz punctuated by beeping screens, ringing phones and the clatter of shoes on tiles.

A steady stream of visitors - family, friends and others made their way to the entrance. They moved around the hospital some uncertain of where to go, others old hands, some bearing gifts, others bringing the requested items to make the stay more acceptable. Their faces showed hope, worry, relief, anxiety, excitement, despair or happiness. This ‘termite mound ‘ was there to mend, to heal, to build, to ease a passing and to bring new life into our world.

Creating a grim silhouette against the glare of the bomb blast in another, distant part of our world, stood another hospital – or what was left of it. For the present most of the building still stood and lights glimmered from some of the windows. There were theatres but only half in use, there were wards but these were overflowing with the ill and injured lying on beds, on stretchers and on the floor. There were miles of corridors but many were cordoned off and doors locked to hide the devastation on the other side. There were people everywhere. The chaos at the entrances created by young men and old pushing and pulling their way through the throng carrying their stricken relatives and friends, searching for anyone in any kind of uniform. Confusion filled the air. Sirens wailed, people shouted, cries and groans came from every side.

Doctors and nurses tried in vain to restore some order but the urgency of the crowd overwhelmed them. The lights flickered and dimmed causing more panic. Further into the building the exhausted surgeons struggled on. Patients or their supporters pleaded but there was nowhere for the nurses to turn - the drug trolleys were bare and the few dressings were running out. Visitors hovered everywhere, their faces full of anxiety, hope, relief, despair or blank masks. The hope was because the doctor had operated and spoke of a future, the relief was for the child who was not dead, the blank stares could no longer face reality. The present task of this place was to help others to survive, to patch up, to keep going and to wait for sense, help and peace to arrive.