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A Nightmarish Event…..(My experience at a cold hospital location)

March 21st, 2015 · No Comments

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A Nightmarish Event…..(My experience at a cold hospital location)


11:26pm, I arrived home moments ago…the ending of very strange and eventful day. I was asked to write a poem for a very sweet lady, someone I care for deeply. She looked at me the other day in the hospital and said, can you write a poem about me, you know my life. I immediately answered, yes of course, I’ll do that for you.

I started that poem a couple of days later and wrote three stanza’s, not my usual way to write, I usually finish what I start but I had some questions, I wanted answered about her first. Two days later the poem was ready and in early morning I drove to Staples to have it laminated after pasting one of my favorite red roses on it.

I wanted the poem delivered today as her operation is booked for tomorrow and I wanted her to read it prior to the operation. I was pleased with the outcome and hoped she would like it. My friend was the driver and we headed out in rush hour to drive across the city in the grueling heat of a car with no air conditioning. Crazy drivers going in and out of lanes, the slamming of breaks, loud screeching noises on the way. It was unnerving to say the least. My eyes were like saucers, though I kept my calm as not to upset my friend and make things worse.

We finally exit Deerfoot Trail and head toward the hospital, a huge, beautiful building on the outside with its very artistic flare and in my favorite colors of blues. What a delightful building I remarked and my friend shook her head in agreement. We entered underground and for the first time, I felt quite uneasy, as if we were entering a tunnel of doom. I didn’t like how I felt at all…she kept driving through open parking spots and I wondered why, girl just park this dang car, I’m thinking. Finally she stopped the car and I looked at the car next to me and there were two men peering into our car. Why did she park here…still I’m calm but concerned as most women would be…they drove off and we began to take that long walk to the

Upon entering the building, I had a rather eerie feeling and remarked, I don’t like this place. Long corridors, seemed unending, everywhere we looked, there were large doors. You had to swipe the black square in order for the door to open, ok no big deal there. We walked so far and then it dawned on me, we left the poem in the car. I stopped and exclaimed, oh nooo and my friend immediately turned around and said “the poem”. She told me to sit on one of the cold, uninviting couches and wait for her, placing her purse beside me, she got on the elevator. A long while later, she returned and had gotten lost looking for her car.

We once again began to walk toward the elevators and entered one, there were a set of three, we took the one on the far right. After the doors closed, we experienced a rather pungent odor, it was horrendous and I knew, it was the scent of “death”…Oh my imagination began to soar, where the heck are we. The doors opened and a man dressed like a doctor walked on, well that certainly seemed normal. My friend noticed there was no floor number three and she was concerned. She asked him, excuse me, can you tell me why there isn’t a floor number three. He looked at her with a blank look on his face and then began to purse his lips, pushed his chin forward and shook his head while saying, I don’t know, I never take these elevators and now he’s outwardly laughing and still shaking his head. He arrived at his floor and walked off, while my friend was still trying to talk to him. He turned again and stared with that fiend kind of look and let out a rather hairy sound of laughter and quickly walked away. I looked at my friend in dismay, she raised her hands, not knowing what to do.

In seconds, we arrived at another floor and a very tall, blond lady walked on. I stood by her side, she had a rather stern look on her face and my friend questioned her as well. I’m growing more nervous by the second and I’m questioning where are we, what have we gotten ourselves into. I think we have crossed over but when. We arrived I thought safely at the hospital with no accident so what happened, are we still on earth. She gazed at me when I dared to laugh with that nervous tension building up inside, my throat dry and my lips sticking to my tongue, I’m getting scared now. You don’t belong here she remarked, you are not allowed on these elevators. I asked her, are we really here, she continued to gaze at me. You need to get off of these elevators, do you understand, you don’t belong here. At that point, I knew I didn’t want to ask about the horrid stench. I knew then we were beside the morgue and the odor was formaldehyde. I didn’t need to be told twice, I wanted off “NOW”…She was wraithlike, I knew she was dead and roaming the hospital intimidating the visitors. Who let her out, I know they’re looking for her. We got off the elevators and I wanted away from this

vampirish woman. My friend kept getting directions from her and I kept saying thank you and bowing my head while walking backward.

We didn’t listen to a word she said, we continued to wander looking for the proper elevators. Finally the receptionist decided to acknowledge that we were standing in front of her needing help. She looked like she needed a blood transfusion. I stepped back and wanted to run out of that hospital, but I had to deliver the poem. My heart is racing and I’m asking myself, did you take your blood pressure pills today. Yes I remembered taking them, we are now on the correct elevators, deep breath. We’re both bemused as we arrive at floor number three. Off we go and ask for the room number of the patient. The receptionist seemed a little off but finally was able to direct us through the huge set of doors. My friend cautions me to wash my hands again and I go through the motions, weary, scared and tired after such a long, long walk.

Finally we find the cubby hole with three walls and no windows, where our beautiful patient is sitting on the bed, distraught with saddened eyes. She explains the horror she feels inside and can’t stop talking about her discontent. After several moments, I decide, it’s a good time to present her with the poem which took over an hour to get through the hospital into her hands. She focused on the poem and I felt like a school girl waiting for my marks after an important test. But what took place, shocked me, she began to weep, I looked over at my friend who was sitting on the other side and called her name, wanting her to act, do something I thought. My friend stood up and tried to softly talk to her, she placed the poem in front of her, took her glasses off and apologized to me, explaining how horrible she feels in there and the tears were falling and falling while she kept trying to wipe them away. I didn’t know what to say, she cried awhile , then put her glasses back on and finished reading the poem. She then beckoned me over and hugged me and kissed my cheek, thanking me for her release. She said the poem gave her the release she needed to make her feel better about the situation she was in. I knew then why I had that urgent feeling of getting it to her.

My friend mentioned the obstacles we went through while trying to bring the poem to her. I realized it too and knew we made it through some unknown darkness, but still, many questions are at hand. Who wanted to detain us and why, we left after hugs and kisses and ended up in a forbidden area, walking every which way and couldn’t find an exit. A loud voice asked, what are you doing here, are you lost. We turned and saw a heavy set gentleman standing with his hands on his waist. How did you get in here, he asked and my quit witted friend answered, I swiped my hand over the box and the door opened. With a harsh voice he explained how to leave the hospital. His eyes were mysterious, a ghastly individual. He didn’t resemble a hospital person at all. I think his day job might revolve around collecting items for sale at a rather grim location, indeed he reminds me of mungo person, having the characteristics of a real jerk.

Written by: Melvina Germain
Date: July 16/2014

Tags: Spirituality

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