Hospital, Day 2

While in the quiet of my hospital room, it has dawned on me that I've been privileged to enter into what I would call a "medical" monastery...

I don't know how else to describe it. After years of living in a perpetually noisy and chaotic environment known as "general population," here I sit in almost total silence. The only sounds I hear are those of the birds as they sing in the small yard that's outside my sealed window, or the occasional low rattle of a metal hospital cart as a nurse pushes it down the corridor outside my door. Then there's the steady hum of the ventilation system as it circulates and changes the air. For me, this is about as close to paradise as one can get without having to die.

I'm in lots of pain. I wonder, too, if this is what it feels like when a man is about to have his leg amputated. I don't want to find out. However, I've never slept so much in my life. Today I slept from breakfast to lunch. Then, shortly after lunch, I feel asleep again, only to awaken when the inmate orderly came in with my supper.

It's the start of the evening now. There's no clock in here, but I can see that it's getting dark outside. I'm forcing myself to stay awake long enough to write these words in my journal via pad and pen.

I'm very tired. I'm going to lie down. But this must surely be what it's like to be cloistered inside of a monastery. Nothing is stirring or moving but the air. Ah, peace and quiet!

D.B.