In modern times a trip to the hospital may convey the same feels a Jew might have received when the whisper of a German reached their ears in 1942. The author of this article demonstrates with much passion, loathe, and dismay the change a person with a clown-like personality may turn into a scared puppy while enroute to an operation.
Could lying helpless on a stretcher really trick the psyche of the mind into believing a place for help is now your prison? On the authors life-altering ambulance ride he becomes overwhelmed with the fact that his life is now under the hands of a stranger. By melodically losing his mind on the London streets he sympathizes a pathetic agenda over what could possible be no more than fixing a broken arm; however, the imagery of his thought process races emotions of the reader to a “what if that was me” level.
What really causes a reader to become interested in this essay is what happens upon entering the hospital. To hear the words “execution tomorrow” knowing in good health that the clerk muttered “operation tomorrow” still dug a knife into his imagination. Things began to come to life for this man and his tone began to dwindle to nothing. The fact of viewing things as more of a prison than a place of help tells that the author was now feeling anguish and/or hallucination. Nevertheless it does make one wonder that maybe the operation robe, nametag wristbands, and less life control makes you feel defenseless against your own possible thought.
What was once reality is now a grotesque misguiding of the stars to the white light. This particular writing is the type that would begin to make one tremble if ever they had to ride in an ambulance, because once they strap you down then you are officially an inmate. Not an inmate to the hospital, but one of your own cataclysmic thought.