I’ve been sick…bronchitis again. The last few weeks are an impressionist brushstroke of grey rooms, the silver sheen of ambulance doors, and the blue-green checkered misery of hospital gowns.
It’s solitary business, being sick. It is foreign hands on your body and cool, detached voices. It is thoughts of mortality and isolation as the world goes on without you.
It is loneliness. Hours of loneliness and empty time…time to consider the betrayal of your body, the kindness of a solitary friend, the stretch of time from one labored breath to another.
Sometimes there is not enough easement to belie the burden of time.