Hello, Universe. On this fine day I hail from a hospital room, luxurious enough to have internet access and a fold-out bed for one of my parents. As a warning, I have a feeling this blog post will remind you of a book that people recommended you to read but the author seemed so idiotic and scatterbrained you secretively stopped reading a chapter into it and just smiled and nodded when asked about it. That said, lets get into it. The hospital rooms here are really quite nice. They have a dresser, closet to hang stuff up, a bed that electronically changes shape to conform to your body position for maximum comfort. I can tell they put a lot of thought, but as little money as possible, into these rooms. What do you expect, state hospital. There is a large window in every room which usually looks out over a magnificent skyline of the Medical Center here in Houston. The nurses come within five minutes of being summoned by a remote-control type device right by my bed. Food is delivered "In 45 Minutes Or Less." Taking a walk outside is also very easy to do, because the patient-related facilities of the hospital basically cover one side, a few rooms deep, of the complex. So a short elevator ride down and you are but a few steps from the "rose garden," a favorite of ours for stretching legs and getting some sun. Weekdays are extremely crowded in the halls and waiting rooms, reflecting a statistic I heard once that said they had five thousand appointments scheduled each day. But being an inpatient has its perks because on the weekend the place is a ghost town. No one in any of the usual spots. Pick any chair you want. No looking both ways before crossing the drive. Maybe it's my introversion, but it's just a magical time for me.
What this turned out as looks like I am actually capable of concentrating mostly on something outside of my body. It's comforting to know that, because I'm afraid almost all of my interest is consumed by myself and my experience. Call it selfish. Why did I have to write this last paragraph? To flip me back to my usual self. Ahh that's better. I'm a psychology major but I think they are going to rob me of my intuitive understandings of the mind and replace it with universal garbage. If anyone has advice, please leave a comment. I think you can sign in with your gmail name. The next post will follow a more sane thought process. I hope.
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3 comments:
I can't post from another account right now - I can't figure it out. My email address is AnnetteGPC@gmail.com. So...this one speck of the universe that is me - says hey back. I understand the whole self absorption thing. Getting well, staying ALIVE can take everything, every moment, every ounce of strength and yet it leaves us lonely. I think about saying "no I can't do that," "Sorry I'll can't come to X" and then on the one day I feel good - where is everybody? It's lonely - for me anyway. I just have a chronic illness but I get what you are talking about. I got my masters in Psychology so I look a myself as a labrat all the time.
Also can you tell in your next post what friends do that helps and what they do that doesn't? I had a friend that just showed up and helped me unpack boxes. I needed help with basics and she was there. But you have your parents. Hanging out with parents isn't the same as hanging out with friends.
Everett,
I was so excited to come across your blog. I find though that I have been here before (comment history). I've been meaning to call you, but phone reception in MT is negative. I'll be on the road soon so maybe we can chat soon. I've been thinking about you and praying for you! Keep in touch, dear friend.
Ruthie
I'm so glad I can read your blod - you're a really good writer! Matthew loves the Colbert Report (as well as Jon Stewart's show) and is always quoting him to me. I hope you were able to enjoy last night's snow from your big window - too bad it was all gone by this morning. I also hope the docs have been able to get you some relief for your pain during your stay - 20 groups of doctors a day sounds exhausting! I've been praying for you.
Margaret Hornbostel
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