I don’t hate hospitals. I’m not especially fond of them…the air is always filled with antiseptic and anxiety and prayerful anticipation and the dour energy of the sick and the dying…but I don’t hate them.
Here and now this is a good thing since my best friend is in one…unmoored from the waking world for so many days by a medically induced coma…and the responsibility for decisions about his care is mine (a responsibility freely taken so that he didn’t fall into the control of a family he’s been long estranged from.)
So I’ve spent more hours in the hospital…with its chilled, antiseptic air…its briskly professional nurses and doctors…its buzzing, wheezing, humming electronic doodads and whatnots…its nondescript artwork on cool blue walls…than I ever have before.
So I’ve spent hours waiting for my friend to return to the waking world…spent hours waiting for my intuition to let me know that my friend won’t be returning to the waking world…spent hours waiting and hoping and steeling for myself to decide what I may have to decide.
So I’ve spent hours…will spend more hours…so yeah it’s a good thing I don’t hate hospitals…