I just stumbled over something I wrote while in hospital. This two hospital events ago,...they seem to be piling up.
"Every physical presence has a unique rhythm. Makes it's own music. Hospitals at night like ships make music. The sound of the sea cleaving beneath the bow. Decks creaking the ship's bell a call to prayer.
Hospitals at night. Soft conversations. Nurses orderlies gliding across polished floors. The monitors singing. The rustle of sheets as waves in this inland sea.
That, and the outside cadence. The heart beat of the city that cradles us."
Overheard by me at 2:00am as blood was being drawn yet again.
"Doesn't anybody have a key to the Narcotics locker?!"
I should hope so thought I.
I was lucky in that for most of my stay I had no suite-mates. Just staff, and a wide window. This showed the change of season from Winter to Spring. There was a tree which had snow on it's branches when I arrived an inch from eternity.
When I left the first buds were blooming.
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