L.A.S.H.

Double doors made of white construction grade plastic, with their fat red zippers to get in and out, stopped moving days ago. Whether from the large vents on the negative airflow machines, or the bodies of Docs, Nurses, Respiratory therapists bumping into them, they were always moving. The place was always full of the sounds of those zippers moving up and down as people hurried in and out, the crinkle of the plastic. Everywhere. 30 spaces just like this. Organized in days. 2 weeks maybe. A whole ICU thrown together to ease the burden of other hospitals E R’s and ICU’s. However the patients they sent here to the surge hospital, were the ones the other hospitals Docs decided were most likely not going to survive.

Anna grabbed the half full suction canister from the wall, mindlessly wrapped the tubing around itself, and tossed it in the garbage bin. She took the half full bags of pain medication, propofol for sedation, and other life saving medications that never made it into her patients body. She wrapped those tubing’s around the clear iv bags and tossed them in the red bio hazard garbage can on wheels. All mandatory medication waste regulations were out the window.

She stripped the bed, pausing as she reached across to get the opposite corner as her lower back tried to zap her with a bolt of pain. She paused, but didn’t flinch. She almost welcomed the reminder that she was still alive.

She tossed the linen in the large light blue linen bag, tying a large knot, ignoring her spinal drama, lifting it in one hand, rolling the garbage can in the other. As she neared the exit she stopped, her eyes drifting from one “room” to another. The stations where the Docs once sat. Dr. Bearn, with his bow-ties, came out of retirement to help. Multiple residents were scared out of their mind, kindly asking Seasoned nurses like Anna for advice. Her eyes went over to the row of the computers on wheels with their stools tucked under them. No nurses sitting there, charting. Anna doesn’t know why she was one of two nurses who were chosen to stay until the last patient was discharged, or in this case, sent to the morgue, but she was, her and Nurse Toby. Toby was calling the pharmacist to let him know their last patient left, so they can start their process of returning all the unused meds and closing their area down.

She left the temporary unit and walked the 200 feet or so down an empty hallway with only half of of its old fluorescent lights lit. A flickering here and there. There was a buzz coming from somewhere, Maybe the lights. But that was it. No other people, no phones ringing no call lights annoying short staffed nurses, no delivery tubes dropping into their collection areas, no smells. No smells. Except for the smell of emptiness.

An empty hospital has its own energy. Or maybe, a lack of energy. The thousands, maybe millions of people that have been here day after day, some year after year, are gone. As she walks through double doors into the next unit it looks completely different from the makeshift COVID unit. The Various shades of blues, vintage tile and shiny plastic chairs lined the walls. The old school beds with the cranks at the ends, lined up on the other side of the unit. Anna wished she could go back, before the fancy hydraulic beds of today. She didn’t care if those cranks would whack the skin off her shins again. Back to any time, before this time would be ok.

Most of the old, heavy doors to the rooms were closed. The faded light blue floors, with specks of 1970s brown. What a stark contrast to the faux wood floors, the faux marble tile, with specks of gold, Grand pianos, private rooms with two t.v.s that some modern hospitals spend millions on. The so-called non profit hospitals who waste millions to make the place pretty. Facilities didn’t care about aesthetics so much back then, they were built for patient care, cleanliness, for saving lives, for rehabilitation, or end of life care. Built to support its community, not cause its community to go bankrupt. Anna would usually be feeling some kind of anger in the pit of her stomach when she compared today’s healthcare to the past, but today there is nothing. No anger, no frustration, no shaking of her head in discontent.

Anna stands and looks around, wishing she could enjoy this vintage ward. Anna wondered what the abandoned, 150 year old hospital basement looked like. Any other time in her life, she would have found another brave buddy, and went down there for the thrill of exploration. She would have explored as much as she could before getting in trouble like a kid sneaking into their parents closet. Anna thought, How often does one have full access to a 150 year old hospital with no one watching? Anna wanted to force her self to even just look around this floor. Open some doors. She tried to feel anxious, She tried to feel curious and adventurous. tried to feel some fear, tried to imagine the ghosts, lost souls that still might wander the halls at night. But no emotions would rise.

She found what appeared to be a soiled utility room. Opening the large solid heavy door, She looked to the left and saw the laundry shoot. She went over and flipped the latch with one finger to the right and pulled it open towards her, the squeaky moan of the 150 year old metal filled the dead quiet air space. Anna heaved the heavy linen bag into the opening and with a quick motion, pushed in through then jumped back as the SWOOSH of the air back drafted and the fading swoosh of the heavy load swiftly traveling down to the basement. Her jumping back was usually based on her fear of getting sucked in with the bag. Now it was just muscle memory, because she didn’t feel scared or paranoid about falling 5 stories down. She didn’t feel anything.

As the chute door was stuck in the open position, she stopped and stared into the emptiness. Just the three walls of century old metal that has seen millions and millions of sheets, blankets and pillow cases. Some carrying tears, blood, tears. Tears upon tears. She leaned in a bit and noticed the chute was splattered with rust. She glances down as the bag disappeared from view and she heard a faint plop as it landed on what she imagined was a huge bin or pile of similar bags. Bags with what remains of lost hope and lost time, lost love and lost fear, lost families, lost future families, lost future children and grandchildren, Lost moms and dads, lost Doctors, All of the patients Anna, and everyone else working in the Los Angeles Surge Hospital couldn’t save no matter what they did, how hard they tried.

Anna stood there staring into the abyss of the chute, not feeling anything. Just empty, like the ancient space within the chute. Oh, how she wanted to feel. She wanted to scream, and cry, be angry, and cry again. But she cannot because she already did, almost every day for the past 4 weeks that this place was temporarily reopened. Anna and her new co workers who started as complete strangers, and bonded during their initiation into the world of COVID 19 suffering, panic, and death.

As she returns to the COVID unit, the only place in this large hospital that was open, she passes room 9. The room she and a few other nurses played Salsa music, and sang to a patient who, if she couldn’t stay awake, would have to be re-intubated. They held her weak arms up and danced with her. They all had so much hope, a glimpse of happiness, it had been weeks since so much joy was had by anyone there. Anna will never forget that woman’s smile. Her last smile, as their attempts to belt out Marc Anthony and Frankie Ruiz failed. That smile turned into sleep one last time, the blue oxygen saturation alarm on her monitor went from 90, to 88, to 82, to 70… Anna stepped back to call the Doc, while the sweet woman’s nurse shook her yelling her name, telling her to please open her eyes and sing again. Nothing worked. She was re-intubated and died 3 days later. The team thought it would bring comfort to her family to know that she fell asleep for the last time being danced with, and sang to, with her favorite songs. It didn’t. Maybe it did later, but when the nurse had to face time the family to say goodbye, they screamed. And they cried, asking their God, why. Whyyyyyy whyy. Like so many before her and even more after her.

Every room had a memories, and she stood in silence to remember them all.

Anna said goodbye to the pharmacist now on the unit solemnly placing unused bottles into large blue plastic bins, patting him on the arm and thanking him. He nods, eyes sad.

Anna took the creaky elevator to the 1st floor elevator and walked over to the empty locker room. The rack of scrub sets wont be used anymore. She shook her head in disappointment as she thought of the reason the had to close the recently reopened hospital. Another greedy businessman. Who, in the middle of bankruptcy bought this hospital and received millions upon millions. When the judge found out he ordered him to shut it down immediately. At least that’s what rumors were. Anna changed, grabbed her bag and left that locker room for the last time.

As Anna walked the dimly lit, faded yellow tunnel to the parking garage, she watched her tired feet take one step after another. She remembered the feet she washed over the past four weeks during their last bath, feet that will never take another step. The feet of some dads that will never walk daughters down the aisle. The dances that will not be danced, and the baby that will never take first steps, because her mama could not stay awake. Anna wished she could cry, but she left behind her tears, part of herself on the fifth floor.

Anna took a deep breath, finally feeling something, maybe a glimpse of relief that this period of her life was over.

Anna had no idea that this was just the beginning.