No, don't worry, it is not me who is sick.
This is the first time I am visiting a hospital (the ward section) in North America and the first time I am visiting an ER anywhere in the world. I list this together with the things that I have abnormally avoided in all the many years on this planet, just only because I live the life of a gypsy, because I left my roots and flew; together in this list are things like, I have only seen a couple dead bodies and none of them my relatives'. I have seen, however, an above average number of dear dogs, goats, fish, birds, cats die - if I am not so abnormal in that aspect I don't know who is...
So, it is this friend, who is diet and fitness conscious, in general of stable positive attitude, almost as much as me, who has got Hep-A; yeah, so life is like that - I have so many overweight friends, so many friends who don't give a damn about what they eat and some mentally unbalanced friends, and this friend is the one to be hospitalized! I must admit it was a bit unnerving to see such a person in so much pain; but she is getting better now. And this hospital allows unparalleled views of downtown as you can see... so what can she complain about, yes? :P
Also here's the menu she got at the hospital - sounds like a feast, yes? But crappy hospital food nonetheless! In her words: 'I don't understand how they can take such great ingredients and make them so untasty!'
Visiting her in the hospital reminded me how much I really liked this act. I remember when I was in my early 20's my mom was in the hospital for about a week and even though I didn't like it that she was sick, I was having fun taking charge of the kitchen, cooking her meals, taking her food to the hospital, visiting her, watching the other patients and their visitors. Now maybe I wouldn't have felt the same way if I was visiting the burn unit or a similar unit where the illness manifests in a not-so-pretty way. I also remember that time two years ago, my mom finally could not take it anymore with my shoulder birthmark and took me to surgery in Sri Lanka; I had again such a fun time watching all the people and the equipment, the boiler room where they disinfect equipment etc as shown in this entry. Then also I remember going to China's Beijing hospital for my brother's injury and feeling like being his only savior from the mean doctors. I have visited my friend every day up to now and I must admit I find it kind of fun.
There was this Eastern European(?) grandma in the same room as my friend, who asked me to help her go to the bathroom and when I said I will ask a nurse, because I didn't want to hold her the wrong way and break her bones, she insisted I help her; I brought a nurse anyway and when I saw her nurse was a man, I wondered if maybe old immigrant women were not comfortable with a male nurse helping them pee and this made me ponder if, when I am 100, I will have the same openness about a nurse-is-a-nurse-and-who-cares-about-their-gender. Also as I was going to the 14th floor, some nurse brought an old East Asian woman in to the elevator of the 1st floor and said to her 'ah this is going to the 14th floor' and left her to ride the elevator alone; not entirely trusting the nurse, she looked at the floor-buttons for half a minute and pressed 1 and then 4!! Earlier, having stepped in to the wrong elevator that only went up to the 4th floor and hence had buttons from 1-4, the thought did flash across my mind if I should hit 1 and 4 to go to the 14th floor. I didn't, because my cognitive senses said 'that would be stupid' - so again I pondered, if, when I am 100, my cognitive senses would prevent me from hitting 1 and 4 to get to the 14th floor. I think about old people a little bit, just because I know I will easily pass 100, what with my life style (ok, so I might get Hep-A and the likes, but these don't kill people), and I would like to be graceful, at least till I am 110. I know, right? I am going to be that crazy old woman wearing a wedding dress and swearing up and down the street!! I saw one of these women in Montréal once.
Anyway, hospitals are such great anthropological amphitheatres: all the patients, some in visible pain, some in pain unexpressed, some that seem like they had no problem at all; the visitors, some there out of obligation, some there for love, some there as an outing - 'it's Sunday and let's go see grandma, oh wait she's in the hospital so off we go to the hospital' sort of way, some patients without visitors; the med students, prepping themselves to be the most arrogant group of professionals in the world, already walking a couple inches above the ground, the sexual/romantic tension among the young students barely contained; the doctors, now practicing the most arrogant profession on earth (I must admit though, they are only slightly more arrogant than physicists), the nurses practicing indeed, the second most trusted profession in the world (apparently teaching is the most trusted): so kind, so mellow and so aware of the limitations of their knowledge (like I think doctors should be also, since in my mind, their knowledge is so limited - in a way, arrogant physicists are kind of ok: annoying, but ok, since we are not playing with human lives).
Hospitals, whether in Sri Lanka, China or Canada are such expressions of love, I think; love expressed, love unexpressed or love never received. They have also been, for me, so far at least, places of hope - places people went in feeling sick but always came out feeling better and on their way to feeling as good as new. I guess at this point I must state that veterinary hospitals do not hold the same level of apeal to me - one of my earliest memories was one of our well loved German Shepherds (who actually gave us some top notch puppies that we sold and with which money we renovated our home), dying on the vet bed - consequently I associate vet hospitals with not much hope. I must say, so far, human hospitals have not disappointed me. (sorry if I come across as a selfish bitch - I feel bad for the people who were hospitalized and wish none of my friends would ever be hospitalized, just so to afford me an anthropological experience... I really do wish this!!!).
"When Gamini finished surgery in the middle of the night, he walked through the compound into the east buildings, where the sick children were. The mothers were always there. Sitting on stools, they rested their upper torso and head on their child's bed and slept holding the small hands. There were not too many fathers around then. He watched the children, who were unaware of their parents' arms. Fifty yards away in Emergency he had heard grown men scream for their mothers as they were dying. 'Wait for me!' 'I know you are here!' This was when he stopped believing in man's rule on earth. He turned away from every person who stood up for a war. Or the principle of one's land, or pride of ownership, or even personal rights. All of those motives ended up somehow in the arms of careless power. One was no worse and no better than the enemy. He believed only in the mothers sleeping against their children, the great sexuality of spirit in them, the sexuality of care, so the children would be confident and safe during the night."- Michael Ondaatje in Anil's Ghost
