Writing about place

I had been looking forward to this day for a whole semester. My background had been checked and my shot records updated. The only hurdle I had left to conquer was the perplexing maze of hallways that weren't conveniently connected by a central corridor. Most of the walls are white. Some have huge windows that display large patios clustered with plants, fountains, and benches. The air inside is sterile, crisp, and cold. I find my way to the 600 wing of the hospital and the charge nurse there wants to know exactly why I'm there. "I'm a FACES student," I say with a quivering voice as the charge nurse inspects my badge. "Oh, right, FACES, what exactly does that stand for again?" I don't recall exactly what I mumbled, because I never really knew what it stood for. Without hesitation she reached for a phone and paged a nurse. Once my nurse arrived, I was introduced and shuffled off to a room towards the end of the hall. We passed several other nurses, all writing in thick binders on the tops of fold out desks connected to the wall. My nurse stopped me short of a room and told me she needed help changing a wound dressing. She handed me gloves and said, "this man is very sick." In the dimly lit room stood a family. The old man lay in the crisp white linens wheezing loudly, trying to pull air into his lungs. My nurse begins to unravel his face from the enormous amount of gauze. One by one the bandages come off. I fight with the latex gloves on my hands as i try to open a package of gauze. A mixture of ointment and puss loft in the air as we pass used gauze and new gauze back and forth. People are crying in the background, and all I can think about is sunscreen.