From a hospital reflecting pool

AUGUST 2023

The fountain is in a constant state of movement, the fat water droplets reuniting with the pool multiple times a second. The crickets fill in the gaps of noise. I was not aware that you could hear crickets during the day. Just above the hedge, I watch a group of blackbirds fly in and out of formation, somehow agreeing on an ever-changing direction without saying much at all.

I often wonder who they build these reflecting pools for: the patient or the patient’s family. I’ve been on both ends, which leads me to believe that it’s probably the latter. I think it's helping.

It’s not cancer, that’s good. But we don’t know what it is, which is not so good.

“Well why can’t you find out?”
“It just doesn’t work that way”

“But don't you go to school to be able to find these things out?”

“We’re doing all that we can.”

I pull up another WebMD page.

The hospital room was nice. Easy for me to say, I’m not patient. The nurses were kind, too. He was sitting up, holding a big foam cup of water and he looked better than yesterday. Still, I said I needed some air. My grandma told me that the garden was a very nice place to get air. She walked me to the garden.

“You know” I say, “the literature shows that nature is incredibly beneficial for healing”. She doesn’t say anything. I gesture to the rolling Pennsylvania fields outside. “A lot of hospitals are being built now with views like this in mind. It really makes a difference.” She still doesn’t say anything.

She leads me out of the elevator and into the courtyard. I say thank you before she turns around and proceeds towards the hospital entrance. I proceed towards the bench.

I sit and I listen. And I almost could cry, but my eyes just can’t seem to break the barrier. I feel like I should pray, but I’m not really sure what to pray about. I don’t want to be a bother, especially because there probably is very high call traffic from my location anyways. Maybe I could pray for the ability to cry, or maybe if I cry I will find something to pray about. How can I pray if I don’t even know what’s wrong? How can I pray if the only time I feel compelled to is when something is wrong? I wish I could cry.

The car ride home will be about two and a half hours, and I’m hoping that as soon as I get in the back seat I can fall asleep. The sound will be dense enough to lull me to rest, but too overpowering to allow me to dream, which is the medium I am truly seeking.

But for right now I am in this garden, listening to the fountains, watching the birds, and getting air. And I do not feel safe.