Surviving with Sisyphus
The patient in room 214 asks me and my attending if we can sit him up in a chair and bring him a Bible. He has a non-survival injury; wires and tubes tether him immovably to the bed. Even so, we tell him yes and leave the room. A medical student on a mission, I go in search of a chair.
Two doors down, the patient with no hands—they were amputated several days ago—yells out to the hallway:
“Hey! Hey! Is that Black man still out there?”
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