My friend Ruth said that I am no longer just my parent's son, but their guide through all the mystery and terror of old age. I'm no Virgil, but the simile is not lost on me. Those in pain, those lost in confusion, those too frail (who face only ghosts of their former self), those crying in witness to the collapse of their bodies and their souls are all here in hospital. The complex equipment here (either comfort-colored or fleshtoned) fool no one and speak to the fact that this land is foreign and dark and strange -there is no hiding their mission here. Indifferently penetrating flesh and organ, they remit cold reports and advance like picadors to the next patient. Headsmen.
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