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The acute brain injury ward to which my wife was assigned the next day consisted of four sections, each having six beds. Whether it was dumb luck or some unseen connection, we ended up with a bed next to a window, through which we could catch a glimpse of the sky. Better yet, the window actually opened, which was also a blessing since the smells wafting through the ward were often overwhelming. When I covered Latin America for The Wall Street Journal, I���d visit hospitals, prisons and schools as barometers of public services in the country. Based on my Latin American scale, Queen���s Square would rate somewhere in the middle. It certainly wasn���t as bad as public hospitals in El Salvador, where patients often share beds. But it wasn���t as nice as some of the hospitals I���ve seen in Buenos Aires or southern Brazil. And compared with virtually any hospital ward in the U.S., Queen���s Square would fall short by a mile. The equipment wasn���t ancient, but it was often quite old. On occasion my wife and I would giggle at heart and blood-pressure monitors that were literally taped together and would come apart as they were being moved into place. The nurses and hospital technicians had become expert at jerry-rigging temporary fixes for a lot of the damaged equipment. I pitched in as best as I could with simple things, like fixing the wiring for the one TV in the ward. And I���d make frequent trips to the local pharmacies to buy extra tissues and cleaning wipes, which were always in short supply. In fact, cleaning was my main occupation for the month we were at Queen���s Square. Infections in hospitals are, of course, a HYLAND 6