Lowell Amos Hospital - We wipe our shoes, soiled by our tortuous and sandy explorations. Behind us, the fences, walls and wire mesh are now 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 vestiges of these offices. On the upper floors, the rooms, devoid of any furniture, confirm the deplorable state of the hospital.
We then reach the chapel, taking with us the inquisitorial guardian of the place. A medical sister guides us towards the contemplation of a Christ with an azure background, the last vestige of the past grandeur of the building that houses it.
Then, we begin the ascent to the top floor of the hospital. Without knowing it, each step we climb will set back the hands of the clock of time. On the landing, we must brave our fear of the darkness of these abandoned rooms, frozen in time. Plutarch's words resonate 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.
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