White walls and the mess they contain between them
It appears the emergency, while great, will not keep me away from Ottawa nor my blog for long, I'll be home tomorrow morning. I've been pacing around a hospital for the past 12 hours although its felt like a lifetime. Its amazing just how easily life can seriously become interrupted. One minute I was working, having a good time, catching up on all of the work gossip next thing I know I'm consoling my mother and rushing down to the Brockville General.
It's been a long two days and I haven't slept much. Eating and sleeping haven't exactly been my top prirority.
I was just saying to a friend the other day after watching the news that life is so unpredictable it's somewhat scary. One minute you could be walking to the corner store to pick up a carton of milk and the next minute you're the victim of a senseless act of violence and your family is attending your funeral. I mean, it's really quite disturbing that in a flash you could cease to exist. I know that we don't live forever, that one day we'll never see a sunset, or take in a movie and the world will keep going on without us.
I tell my friends all the time that the idea of death doesn't terrify me, it's the after part that I'm worried about.
I become really anxious in hospitals. I hate being surronded by depressing off white walls, by .25 cent coffee machines and ominous PA voices calling for doctors. The fact that I have a severe phobia of needles doesn't exactly help either. I hate being surronded by the sterile smell of waiting rooms knowing that no Lysol could ever rid a room of death, pain or suffering.
Being a sickly kid growing up I spent most of my time living in hospitals. You have no idea what its like to be so young and have an hour time slot per day in which you can see your own parents. Each new day brought a new stuffed animal and another heartbreak when the nurse told my parents that I needed my rest. My little 8x10 black and white TV hardly brought me any solice. I just wanted to go home and have the damn tubes taken out of my little body. Going back to hospitals these days brings me back to past where I slept for a good portion of my youth between cold metal bars tucked in by a person I hardly knew.
It's selfish to compare myself to them but I know that they feel the exact same way I did. Alone, depressed and longing for our own beds. Cringing each time the PA called for a doctor and hardly noticing our roomate in the bed next to us.
Hospitals terrify me too.
I feel like that Little Albert kid each time I go down the white and blue halls. You know, the kid that was conditioned to be afraid of white rabbits but eventually became afraid of anything white and fluffy? Thats like me and white walls. I hate them. Every place I have ever lived in since I have left for University has only had white walls. I hate these walls too. Being in the hospital today I seriously wanted to throw my coffee against them just to add a little color and to fuck them up just a little bit - to make them not so sterile.
I tried that once when I was a kid and in the hospital, apparently they don't take too kindly to 11 year olds Crayola-ing their hospital rooms. I thought it looked nice.
Now I sit at home in Brockville just staring blankly at the computer screen after I've showered the smell of nothing off of me. Everyone keeps telling me that things are going to be all right, that they "fixed her" before anymore damage occured.
But what they don't realize is that the damage is just beginning for tonight she will be resting between cold metal bars and she will be tucked in by someone she hardly knows and she will be looking at nothing but four white walls.
It's been a long two days and I haven't slept much. Eating and sleeping haven't exactly been my top prirority.
I was just saying to a friend the other day after watching the news that life is so unpredictable it's somewhat scary. One minute you could be walking to the corner store to pick up a carton of milk and the next minute you're the victim of a senseless act of violence and your family is attending your funeral. I mean, it's really quite disturbing that in a flash you could cease to exist. I know that we don't live forever, that one day we'll never see a sunset, or take in a movie and the world will keep going on without us.
I tell my friends all the time that the idea of death doesn't terrify me, it's the after part that I'm worried about.
I become really anxious in hospitals. I hate being surronded by depressing off white walls, by .25 cent coffee machines and ominous PA voices calling for doctors. The fact that I have a severe phobia of needles doesn't exactly help either. I hate being surronded by the sterile smell of waiting rooms knowing that no Lysol could ever rid a room of death, pain or suffering.
Being a sickly kid growing up I spent most of my time living in hospitals. You have no idea what its like to be so young and have an hour time slot per day in which you can see your own parents. Each new day brought a new stuffed animal and another heartbreak when the nurse told my parents that I needed my rest. My little 8x10 black and white TV hardly brought me any solice. I just wanted to go home and have the damn tubes taken out of my little body. Going back to hospitals these days brings me back to past where I slept for a good portion of my youth between cold metal bars tucked in by a person I hardly knew.
It's selfish to compare myself to them but I know that they feel the exact same way I did. Alone, depressed and longing for our own beds. Cringing each time the PA called for a doctor and hardly noticing our roomate in the bed next to us.
Hospitals terrify me too.
I feel like that Little Albert kid each time I go down the white and blue halls. You know, the kid that was conditioned to be afraid of white rabbits but eventually became afraid of anything white and fluffy? Thats like me and white walls. I hate them. Every place I have ever lived in since I have left for University has only had white walls. I hate these walls too. Being in the hospital today I seriously wanted to throw my coffee against them just to add a little color and to fuck them up just a little bit - to make them not so sterile.
I tried that once when I was a kid and in the hospital, apparently they don't take too kindly to 11 year olds Crayola-ing their hospital rooms. I thought it looked nice.
Now I sit at home in Brockville just staring blankly at the computer screen after I've showered the smell of nothing off of me. Everyone keeps telling me that things are going to be all right, that they "fixed her" before anymore damage occured.
But what they don't realize is that the damage is just beginning for tonight she will be resting between cold metal bars and she will be tucked in by someone she hardly knows and she will be looking at nothing but four white walls.
