Everything can change in an instant. One moment the floor is spattered with blood, another moment it’s sparkling clean. It is like jumping into a huge vat of water... In an instant, the volume of sound can change from being so high that you cant think to becoming nonexistent. Occasionally people are crying, but most of the time people are just waiting, quietly. The quiet is always the most frustrating. It decreases patience and faith. It doesn’t last forever though. Once you get through the waiting room, the atmosphere changes dramatically. The hallways are wide enough to fit two gurneys side-by-side and then a couple of nurses with IV hangers. But even with all the space there never seems to be enough room. Someone is always crossing the hallway covered in bandages, not knowing where they are going. It seems that sick people like to take their time while walking. They never notice the nurse carrying a couple bags of O-negative blood, in a rush to save a patient. Apparently all sick people have time to think about is their own pain. In the end, five nurses have to slow down their typically brisk pace to let the old man, in a half-open hospital gown, cut in front of them to use the bathroom.
The hallways are always painted a soft, yet cold color. Sometimes they are Carolina blue or light olive green but never red. Apparently red walls make people think of blood or death and hospitals typically like a calm atmosphere. The tiles on the floor match the walls. So do curtains and the counter behind the nurse’s station. Everywhere. It all matches. Even the nurses wear matching scrubs. It is one way for patients to see that everything and everyone is one their side. Although it is supposed to create a feeling of security, the matching also generates a feeling of chaos. In a way, the synchronization helps to exaggerate an emergency. Its like seeing cranberry juice spilled in a completely white room. The contrast is significant.
People fear hospitals because of the death. Superstitions travel around saying that death comes in sevens and threes. Hospitals are sometimes avoided all together because of these silly superstitions. What people don’t realize is that although death does occur, so does new life. 3-West is the wing in Virginia Hospital Center that’s brings the most joy and happiness to families. You always feel safe as you walk out of the elevator on to the third floor. The first thing you see is a door, light brown, big enough to fit a pregnant lady on a stretcher, holding her husbands hand. Right behind the door is the first nurse’s desk. No matter what, at least one nurse will always look up to see who is entering or leaving the wing. Surveillance cameras are positioned at every angle in front of the door. Expecting mothers always feel safe by the fact that their soon-to-be-child would be very hard to kidnap from this secured department. The main color is pink, which is intended to sooth mothers. The farther down the hallway you go, the more intense the pink becomes, and the louder the shouting and screams. The hospital staff most likely decided that in the farther back sections of 3 west, aka labor and delivery, people would need to be more calm than in the post and pre deliver section. Lining the walls are pictures of animals, always a mother with her baby. When you enter a delivery or post-delivery room, containers are sitting, waiting, filled with diapers and wipes. This area is what makes a hospital special. The bonds that are created in these rooms last lifetimes, if not more. The pale colors and sparkling clean floors, although symbolic, are only the first and most simplistic part of a patient’s journey. In the end however, these details will shape their memories and change lives.
