Lowell Amos Hospital - We wipe the dirt from our shoes after our tortuous and sandy explorations. Behind us, fences, walls, and wire mesh have now been crossed. The imposing structure still stands, one of the few remaining from this disastrous rehabilitation project.
Inside, the administrative rooms are bright but completely deserted. Bare tables, empty hangers, and unused filing cabinets are the only remaining traces of these offices. On the upper floors, the rooms, devoid of any furniture, confirm the hospital’s deplorable condition.
We then reach the chapel, bringing with us the inquisitive guardian of the place. A medical sister guides us to contemplate a Christ against a deep azure background, the last remnant of the past grandeur of the building that houses it.
Then, we begin the ascent to the top floor of the hospital. Unknowingly, each step we climb pushes back the hands of time’s clock. On the landing, one must face their fear of the darkness in these abandoned rooms, frozen in time. Plutarch’s words echo in our minds: "Medicine prolongs death."
The descent into the dark and chaotic basements leads us to the archive rooms. There, hundreds of reels of medical imaging and personal medical records are stored, defying medical confidentiality.
