What’s going to happen? What’s going on? I wish someone could tell me.
The waiting room is empty, and I take signout on five patients. The patients that typically line the hallways waiting for beds, for stress tests, for MRIs all stayed home. The familiar drunks still get their blister-packed turkey sandwiches. There’s a trickle of patients onto my side: a middle-aged woman who lost vision and a prematurely grey man clutching his distended belly that tightens like a drum as I lay …
What’s going to happen? What’s going on? I wish someone could tell me.
