Thankfully, I'm home, sitting at my dining room table as I write this post. My house is sea-facing and I can catch a glimpse of the ocean in the distance. It's grounding and humbling. Always moving. I spent much of last week with a similar view from my hospital room, after being admitted acutely unwell. My room was much higher up on a hill, affording me an expansive perspective of the port and local islands. I could even watch the fishing boats enter and exit the harbour. Many hours of my day were filled gazing at the landscape, a constant reminder of the life outside the four walls I was isolated to and not permitted to leave. I kept thinking back to my very first admission in July 2018 and remembering the many days I spend on a ward, in a bed, without a window. No view to the outside world, unable to orient myself to time or aware of the days passing. Having that experience early on really set the stage for how much my mental state could quickly deteriorate without stimulation or natural light. I have so much I could say about this topic, but another day!
I never got tired of that view despite wishing I wasn't admitted to
hospital - it was the best case scenario. I don't think anyone would want a different room otherwise (although I've heard the mountain view side of the hospital is also epic I'm happy to never find out). Given how alone, vulnerable and scary the time in hospital can, small liberties can be soul changing. I felt absolutely privileged to see the outside world, the glimmering ocean in the sunshine and its changing tides along with the kaleidoscope of colours - it finds a way to soothe you. The trees would sway with the wind and I'd eagerly await shift change so I could observe all of the health care workers rushing home, or chatting with their co-workers. It occupied my mind and imagination. I began to notice a large campervan parking up at the end of the lot each morning with a man getting out each time. (You can actually see the campervan in this picture on the left hand side!) On the second day, I looked across the hospital to a set of windows, two floors down. There was an elderly woman waving a small towel in the air, communicating with the gentleman who parked up. She looked so incredibly happy each day to see him. I think it was their special way to interact. Sometimes, I'd see them facing one another talking on the phone. For one reason or another, he never entered. It was really uplifting watching them together, because her smile was wide each and every time. There were a couple of us who would sit at the window for many hours of the day; we were the lucky ones well enough to not be bed bound. I'd often wonder what each of those patients were admitted for as I glanced up from my book to see what was going on around me. But I preferred not to think any further than that.
Four days is a very small amount of time to spend in isolation, especially given the current climate with COVID-19. I am not aware of the MANY individuals who continue to undergo periods of prolonged isolation and fully empathize with them and their loved ones.
When the huge WARNING signs came down on day four, a nurse walked in wearing just a mask - rather than the gown, glovers, visor and N-95 typically over their uniforms. I have to say I all of a sudden felt more human and less vulnerable. The chatter in the hallway stopped, the relief was felt around me and I was allowed to pop my head out of the door. I can only imagine how other more vulnerable patients feel, after recently hearing one of my patients go through a similar experience (prior to my own admission). He is partially deaf and was recently admitted without his hearing aids. How stressful this experience was for him and other patients alike. Imagine fearing you have COVID-19 and not being able to hear what anyone is saying and unable to lip read due to health care workers suiting up in PPE? It would be terrifying. Thankfully, we all found our way home and remain fortunate to not have contracted this virus.
My only hope is that if he couldn't hear or understand what was going on around him, at least he could enjoy the view and the serenity it provides. That in itself was enough for me.
