You can see the beauty or the irony of the title the way you’d prefer it. I’ve been spending the past two weeks in bed, both mine and the hospital’s. The first thing that came to mind when I entered this room was how this one was nicer than the room that I had last week. It’s funny and a little bit sad at the same time, a revelation that I come here either recent enough or often enough to be able to compare the hospital rooms.
I have just recovered from a typhoid fever a week ago and now I’m back at the hospital due to an irritated stomach that had caused me some serious abdominal pain this morning. The nurses still remember me and warmly greeting my welcoming back. Again, the irony. Obviously, I don’t remember any of them because they all look the same inside their peach colored uniforms and little square hats.
But they remember me, which was not a bad feeling, to be honest. My days here last week was dreadful, I lamented over the fact that I had to be in the hospital bed like a sick person. Although this time around, I was able to see it from a different perspective. I thought of the hospital as a really big house, a place to rest, with rooms, bathrooms, kitchen, and people working around the house. I don’t know if I want to admit that being here is not as awful.
Another funny story today; my mom left to Singapore this morning so I am left with my dad and my sister at home. I told my dad I had stomach pain in the morning and he took me to the hospital where he works at, made sure I was being helped by someone at the ER before commencing to work. I concluded that my dad was too busy to look out for me that he’d prefer me staying in a hospital where I am supervised by a dozen of nurses every hour of the day. I thought that was the best, most efficient thing to do. I was occupied with my book all afternoon and didn’t exactly need someone to supervise me 24/7. But then it got me thinking, what would I, as a parent would have done? What would I want my partner to do?
I had a tall matcha latte and a glass of wine over dinner, and that was enough to send me off to the hospital. I never thought my condition was serious, other than having a very sensitive stomach. I can’t complain, not because of the whole toxic positivity implication, but because I have nothing to complain about. Okay, okay, one thing, IV is quite annoying, and it seems that the older I get, the more painful it gets.
But aside of this, I don’t think anyone is a hundred percent healthy, it’s just a matter of what it is, and how bad it is. I’m glad that whatever I have is always temporary, and there is almost always an immediate solution, and is is also very unlikely to cause death. I have got my own room, ordered a chicken rice bowl for lunch with a glass of boba, finished my half-read book, had japanese cheese biscuits and hazelnut chocolate balls sent from home and snacked on them for supper, watched a few episodes of Gossip Girl, and now I’m starting a blog just for fun. Life is good, even in the hospital.
People think being admitted to the hospital is like one of the worst things that can happen to you, which may be true for some people. But on the contrary, it can also feel like a staycation, living in a big house and sharing it with a hundred other people. A percentage of those people will take care of you and send you food, tend to your needs, and check up on you. There really are so many ways to look at things.
This is obviously not a hospital bed, but it’s a nice picture to look at don’t you think?
