Despite It All

Chapter 40

Day +26

This is all just so... surreal.

Red. Red everywhere.

Stark, bright red hues flash before my eyes, a swaying sea of anger and solidarity. It moves in unison, ebbing and flowing with the wind, unaffected by the harsh might-as-well-be winter breeze. Its color is relentless in its austerity, shamelessly augmented by red and blue flashing lights. The lights strobe brightly, duplicitous in their optimistic illumination of the chaotic scene unfolding before them.

Signs of all shapes and sizes are thrust in the air with gusto, held up by gloved hands. They flow along with the current of people, all of whom are adorned in red attire. Varying in creativity and professionalism, the signs attempt to verbalize what has been so long felt by this group of people—once respected—but are now cast aside.

Megaphones sound loudly, competing with one another to capture the last word, their musings barely blanketing the disorganized murmurs of the crowd.

Strike. Strike. Strike.

The chants form the steady beat that propels the feet of all those in attendance—nurses, policemen, firemen, teachers, local political figures, union leaders, and even some patients—all united by common ideals. Representation from other frontline, first responders serves as a pleasant surprise, their presence reassuring and humbling. At least... at least someone recognizes our worth.

I would be surprised if those around me didn't notice my disassociation with... all of this. My feet move without instruction, my lungs continue to take in oxygen, and my heart continues to beat, despite the fact that the other half of it sits anguished and shrouded in despair within those hospital walls.

Unfocused eyes take in my surroundings as I walk aimlessly, my soul resigned to total purposelessness. Colleagues, close coworkers—friends, even—are animated and invigorated with this opportunity to stand up for what they believe in. I can't help but dwell upon the knowledge that this is just one more experience cancer has stolen from me.

Selfish.

The ball of self-loathing that dwells within me pulses with disgust, alarmed that I could at all consider myself burdened while Mia—beautiful, sweet, smart, precious, never-even-got-a-chance Mia—rests distressingly upon a thin line separating life and death.

Determined to be too critical to transfer, Mia lays blissfully unaware of the chaos that surrounds her from within the confining walls of her PICU room, her care now in the hands of a strike nurse. She's unbothered by the knowledge that yet another machine is charged with maintaining her body's most basic functions. The ECMO machine ebbs and flows that dangerous hue of red, much like this sea of people.

At exactly midnight, I was escorted out of Mia's room by a security guard sent by the PICU manager—my desire to cry only outweighed by my desire to maintain my dignity. Logan's expressive face said it all, he was pained, saddened, frustrated, annoyed, and upset by my leaving.

And I can't go back for another four days—after today, of course.

The hospital 'campus' is composed of five buildings nestled together in the center of the city. Large, orange roadblocks stand between those protesting and the people they are protesting against—although, it's unclear which group of people the roadblocks serve to protect, as each group is fueled by anger and frustration. Security guards stand at each entrance, pacing the perimeter of the hospital to ensure no one enters without their approval.

A large stage was constructed—when, I have no idea—and sits tall and sturdy in the middle of campus. Lined with microphones and speakers, union leaders take turns sharing statistics and facts about the hospital's profits, mistreatment of staff, and misappropriation of funds and supplies. Cars honk and journalists roam, television crews hustle with their giant cameras to catch a glimpse of this rare moment in history.