Scribblings from hospital #1

Two days and no post! Nothing wrong here folks, just been taking it so very easy that I didn't deem it necessary to post about more pyjama days and television watching.

But here is one of the first cohesive scribbles from my time in hospital. Enjoy.

"I'm being encouraged to socialise.
My doctor, the nurses, they all want me to be engaging with others. They encourage me to attend group sessions or spend time in the patient lounge with the other patients. One nurse even went so far as to suggest I talk to people while I'm out in the smokers courtyard but he did follow that up by saying smoking is bad for my health.

I've found group sessions to be of little use since they're full of patients with limited insight, facilitated by health professionals who treat patients like kindergarten children (and provide information at that level too; "bipolar disorder is typified by two states; elevated and depressed!") and anyway, the sessions are usually hijacked by some middle-aged housewife aggrieved by the time her neighbour didn't say hi to her in the street.

And as for the patient lounge, the only thing there is a television, the remote for which is ruled over by a stony-faced woman who seems determined to watch whatever is the very worst thing on television at the time. Besides, I have a television in my room.

I prefer to watch the other patients, not interact with them.
I have favourite patients to watch too. There's Janette, a depressed lady who never gets out of her nightie but instead pulls a long, black, elastic-waisted skirt on over the top, right up to underneath her pendulous boobs, when the nurses tell her she needs to get dressed. I've heard the nurses entreat her to shower but I don't think they have been successful lately. Her pink, cotton nightie ironically has a decal on it which says 'fresh as a daisy'.

There's Francesca, a diminutive woman I first encountered when she was throwing a hissy fit over her hair straightener at the nurses station. She's made a friend now, Keryn, a nervous wreck who Francesca bosses and dotes on. You'll see Francesca ordering Keryn where to sit in the cafeteria and then bustling off to get her some jelly, like a mother rewarding a well behaved child.

There's Michael, a great mountain of a man who lumbers through the corridors seemingly unaware of his surroundings, eyelids drooping and his large mouth perpetually open. His massive body is hunched towards his enormous, protruding and often exposed pot belly, perfectly round like a basketball. I'm curious about the crucifix he wears around his neck. I wonder what comfort he finds in Jesus in a place like this.

No, I don't think I'll socialise, I think I'll just observe."