going home from the hospital
in some ways a hospital is a fine place. Shakespeare argued that in some ways a grave is. but a hospital is. you come in, and you basically agree to suspend your ability to choose or decide. I mean, you can say, "no, I want breakfast at eight o'clock!" all you want, but breakfast is still at seven-thirty. you can say, "no, I want bacon!" all you want, but breakfast is still cream of wheat. or you can surrender, stop being a three-year-old, and eat when it's mealtime, and eat whatever meal appears. you can accept that blood-drawings happen at the convenience of the laboratory. that the drip bag empties just as you enter REM sleep. that you only need to pee when the cleaning lady is mopping. it just works most easily for you if you enter a willess state. the hospital is going to determine what you must do, what you can't do, for however long you're there. when you leave, you can resume living willfully, making your own choices or decisions. (if you're in a hospital for a long time, resuming willfulness will seem like an unfair demand. "what do you mean, I have to choose my socks?") but you step past that too. goddam, air! wind! rain! sunshine! OMG! scents! traffic! and you get home and the oddest things seem wonderful. a comfortable chair. underwear. that stain on your wall that you've meant to do something about for a year. the ridiculous heap of computers, books, magazines, doodads, gadgets, dried-out pens, and keys you can't remember the use for. the oddball food you like. when you want it. peeing without observers. the television channels you like. doing things you useta take for granted, like using your computers. being able to construct two consecutive coherent thoughts! (I'm assuming you're no longer taking too many drugs to be allowed to live alone.) yes, a hospital is a fine place, and it's especially a fine place to remind you of how wonderful going home from the hospital is. yes, I appreciate going home from the hospital.
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