My name is Rose. I’m 76, and I’ve been living in a small cottage tucked behind the delivery entrance of the city hospital. From my kitchen window,
I have a view of the employee break area and part of the ambulance bay. Every evening, I watch doctors, nurses, technicians, cleaners, and other hospital workers arriving and leaving. They carry a level of exhaustion that is hard to describe, as if the burden of the day remains with them long after their shifts…