Hospital Nostalgia

Listening to a sample of patients outline their experience of our health care system, each account being uncompromisingly different than the others, I recalled the old Hindu parable about six blind men describing an elephant resulting in six descriptions of six very different beasts. Here was a menagerie of opinions: some friendly, some not so friendly, and some that were downright poisonous. Alas, since these various opposing viewpoints are so divided and dogmatic, any public discussion of the subject eventually descends into a cacophony of incoherent yelling that sounds more like feeding time at the zoo than a serious debate.
My own experience, by comparison, has been reasonably peaceful: a docile panda quietly chewing on a bamboo shoot in its Qinling cave. But then I have extensive health insurance, so I suppose I can afford to be philosophical. In fact, as post-operative time goes by, it might even be suggested that I've developed hospital nostalgia.
Whenever I'm passing Massachusetts General Hospital, for instance, I always feel compelled to stop in and say hello. It seems absolutely necessary that I should stay in touch with the place, as if the hospital were an old comrade whom I fought beside in a long and bitter war. I miss that satisfying degree of excusable self-importance and deep sense of personal value that invasive surgery confers. I miss the doting nurses, confident doctors and reassuring specialists in their white coats and pastel scrubs. I miss the spirit of purpose and determination that glides along the spotless corridors. But most of all I miss the science-fiction sights and sounds of modern bio-technology in motion. Anyone might imagine that an omniscient and infallible computer-brain was supervising every bed, supported by an ultra-serene, dome-headed staff wearing silver togas and hover-sandals.
M. G. H. certainly radiates an aura of a World's Fair "City of the Future": a perfectly landscaped amalgamation of international hotel, travel node, unisex spa and shopping mall, all connected by a gleaming spider's web of glass-covered sky-walks leading to an endless array of color-coded lobbies, vestibules and mezzanines. Consequently, visiting the hospital feels rather like a lengthy layover at Frankfurt airport (although they don't slice your chest open and fiddle around with your heart at Frankfurt airport, well, at least not anymore). But I'm sure that many malcontents simply consider the place to be a grubby bunker full of creaking wheelchairs and stone-faced staff. Some people are never happy, even if their health care is paid for with someone else's taxes or covered by a fully contributing company insurance plan. Personally, I'm just filled with gratitude that I'm still alive, so I don't complain.