The life in the diary – VIX



February 13, 2013

The other patient in the room now is moved to somewhere else. Despite her hopes, she had to undergo another surgery. No idea what happened to her after that. The room has been silent since then.

My nurse offered me to switch the beds; mine is closer to the door and the bathroom while the other one is close to the window. I said I was okay where I am. Plus, I get to see the hall from where I am. How else to spend time in a hospital room? I did not tell her that I did not want to have the space of the previous patient. Feels weird…. What happened to her? They will not tell me, the nurses I mean. Privacy issues. So I did not even bother to ask. I am keeping my bed, at least for now, and I am happy with it.

There are times I regret my decision though. Sometimes I see covered hospital beds moved silently on the hall. I kinda know what they carry. The floor I am staying in has many geriatric patients. I hear them sometime speaking with their nurses, doctors, or visitors. Young people usually, but sometime elderly visitors as well. They all have nice outfits, as if they are going to a special event. I like this in old people – the care they display. One lady had particularly captured my attention; she had gray hair neatly done, elegant shoes, and a red skirt. It was the loveliest skirt I have ever seen. The colour was just right; neither too light nor too dark. It dropped comfortably on her knees. Elegantly meshed with a thin, transparent belt. She usually came with a young man, I am assuming his son, to visit a patient. I have not seen her for a couple of day for now. I do not want to think why. Maybe she is on vacation, who knows? Not everything is bad news. It should not be.

I had some tests the other day. Ah, yes, these…. My pen does not want to bleed ink for them, but I force myself to acknowledge. Lying on cold tables, holding my breath, moving this way or that way with each direction by the technician. People are nice, but I keep thinking; I am just another patient for them; do they care about me?

This de-personalisation felt ridiculous at the beginning. Now I am grateful for it. Helps to convince myself that if nobody remembers me without it, then I should still be keeping my dignity.


The life in the diary – VIX

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