To make an entrance

The walk to the front of the building is a bit circuitous because you exit the parking garage through double glass doors on the side of the building, then walk between the parking garage and another brick building with your eyes hovering at the level of holly-like bushes lining the cement path. I remember after the Atlanta tornado, the path was littered with debris, with one tree snapped in half, hanging over the walkway dangerously at an acute angle.

After the walkway, you have to cross this inconspicuous street through which no traffic is allowed, akin to the streets in Disneyworld, except you don't see the Electric Parade passing by with its tooting horns and dazzling lights all to highlight a incessantly happy mouse.

I cross the street towards Grady Memorial Hospital, which is easy, as I mentioned before, because of the absence of cars, ambulances or trucks. You just have to watch out for the occasional city bus, but those are so big that you don't have to worry about missing them. Crossing the street also may be a bit more difficult on rainy days when multiple puddles highlight the tar's lack of a smooth and straight surface.

Then, after you cross the street comes the decision. Should I enter through the revolving doors and help Grady conserve energy like the posted sign recommends, or open the swinging door to the side and allow blasts of air conditioning to escape?

The answer lies not within my eco-friendly id, or within the sleep-deprived soul that sags underneath the my body that's aged God knows how many years since I started residency. No, the decision is made on the path of least resistance. I may spot the Hispanic family of seven coming through the revolving doors, or the group of white-uniformed night shift nurses filing through the side door one by one, or the random very large man in a faded winter jacket smoking a cigarette. It just all depends.

Or, I may choose to ignore the revolving doors, or the swinging door that leads into a less than majestic atrium, where aged paintings of prominent figures in ceremonious clothing are hanging on the walls. Often, I make a sharp turn to the right after crossing the street, passing by iron park benches, columns of cement, oddly situated trees and lots of dried, crusted pigeon stool. Making this sharp turn, I head towards Mickey Dees, which in a former decade could be the Grady equivalent of The Max on Saved by the Bell.

But I don't succumb to the nonexistent temptations of McDonald's that a vegetarian has.... ha ha... no, I then turn to the left, where there are tall, automatic sliding doors leading into the side of the hospital. Here, there are more patients, patient families, nurses, residents, attendings, and, of course, more pigeons. The main difference is the number of people and the increased likelihood of you finding them clutching a greasy carryout McDonald's bag like it has a leprechaun in it.

What's notable about this door is the blast of air that combs through your hair and slaps against your face as you enter. You can smell it. The cleaning liquid used to sanitize the floors. The cigarette smokes that caries on people's clothes. The sweat of post-call residents. The all inclusive fire hose to your nose gale.

I've been choosing between the three doors since I started my pediatric residency. There's nothing symbolic in this choice. It's just the experience, one that you become familiar with and don't pay much attention to unless you're in one of two situations. The first is when you're driving along I-75/I-85, along the part they affectionately refer to as the "Grady curve," and you see that unmistakable sign in bright lights adorning the entrance to the hospital through which I have never entered that says, "The Fulton Dekalb Hospital Authority Grady Health System." I know that facing these words to start my day as I enter Grady would make my start to the day different somehow.

The second situation in which you think about your choice of Grady entrance for me just happens to be when you are completing your very last call ever at Grady.