Okay, now I am convinced that this week of glamping is a doomed exercise. After RV tire failure, a power outage at the campsite, and the hottest August I can remember, yesterday afternoon, at Hollywood Studios, Diane fell going down a steep ramp, and sustained a gash above her right eye. We spent the afternoon at Osceola Regional Medical and Trauma Center. Fortunately, a few stiches were all that was required, and she didn't have a concussion. As with everything this week, we are rolling with the punches, and it is pretty amazing that we have a more memorable camping trip than we ever have had. I don't like hospitals, however, and, sitting there in the waiting room brought back some pretty awful memories. Writing about it always helps me, since it puts into perspective the fact that life happens, and the only variable is how we react to it. Back in our peaceful little peace of paradise, we are sharing moments that we will always cherish. Hugs are always sweetest after you have suffered together.
He didn’t like hospitals.
Imposing buildings filled with humans
They were surrounded by suffering;
but, they didn’t know anything.
The buildings were strong and tall.
What did they hide inside?
He got up from the sterile chair.
He walked on the carpeted floors.
He looked for more comfortable furniture.
He wasn’t calmed by the soothing music.
The waiting room felt like a furniture store
trying vainly to look like a home.
The nurses and doctors looked like aliens.
He was in a landscape populated by green gowns
and white masks.
The metal jewelry hung from their necks.
Every now and then someone screamed like a sailor
trying to keep calm
in a storm.
He heard the disembodied voices coming from loudspeakers
gave instructions to strangers
whose lives hung in the balance.
He told himself that this elaborate show
was a necessary preparation
for the inevitable.
He tried to remember his mantra
that we all die.
Instead, he only remembered
that he was in a hospital
and he didn’t know
whether she would ever come out again.