THOUGHTS ON A HOSPITAL ROOM CEILING

Close up hand of elderly patient with intravenous catheter for injection plug in hand during lying in the hospital bedI really wish I­­­ were a much smarter person. I would make it my goal to try to figure out how people—all people—can somehow transition their brains to work together in a positive, supportive mode…and that negative, disruptive, combative behavior would disappear altogether.   Okay, it’s a given, we all exhibit both sides of this scale and I am just as guilty as you.  But there needs to be no in-between mode, no gray area. Yeah, I know, good luck with that.

My brain, along with my body, has just returned home to a semi-state of normalcy after another week confined to a hospital bed. These hospital visits seem to be getting more routine as the aging process inches its way into my welcoming body.   My late brother went through the same scenario to the extent that the calls notifying us each time he was back in the hospital no longer generated the surprise and panic they did previously.

Madeline, of Ludwig Belemmans’ famed children’s book, found herself in a hospital bed, staring up at the ceiling where there was a crack that “had the habit of sometimes looking like a rabbit.” My hospital room’s ceiling had no crack. While I had much on my mind—not the least of which was whether or not the antibiotics rushing though my body’s pipelines were strong enough and timely enough to postpone a crisis—I did find myself staring at the ceiling or out the window pondering the big picture.

Basically, TV filled in on all the latest elements of life here on earth. There were hours and hours of coverage of the effects of Hurricane Harvey on Texas. While I watched all the heroics and kind deeds of people who tried their best to help the hurricane victims, this incredibly super kind, super quiet, super simple, super human being walked about my room cleaning the floor with a Swiffer. You might of sensed I was a hurricane victim and this beautiful lady made it her responsibility to make my floor especially clean and worthy of my footsteps.

How what is that? I cannot even think of the word, let along express what it means. This lady, a black lady, I am sure has felt the wrath of prejudice throughout her life. Yet, if she had a race card to play, I suspect she’d toss it back in the deck and never draw it out again. Her care and concern about me probably did not particularly stand out in her mind. She treated everyone this way—hurricane victim, hospital patient, person next to her in line at the grocery store.

I know this question is asked a gazillion times but it is because the answer is so elusive. How can God produce a lovely person like this and on the other hand, have a nutcase running about North Korea threating the world? It makes no sense. I do not know how to handle it. All I can do is return to my new acquaintance the same sprit, the same sincerity and the basic humanity of goodness that she showers upon everyone—no pre-conditions required, no questions asked. And it would be with the hope that my Swiffer wipes away as many bad things as hers.

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About Marc Kuhn

I am a retired radio exec. I've worked at major stations in Philadelphia, Washington, D.C. and Miami. That was then. This is now: I've published seven books and this blog thingy. Need to know more? Really? Okay, I bare/bear all at http://marckuhn.com The other links are for the websites of each of the books I've written. I've been busy! Hope you'll stop by and check them out. Thanks for your interest!
This entry was posted in communication, Family, health, Poetry, of sorts and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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