Something just dawned on me today. I’ve spent the last 7 or 8 or 9 days sitting with my Dad in the hospital (the dates and days of the week have become a blur). As I order his meals, press the required call button for help or speak with the doctors, nurses and techs, the beeps and buzzers and pagers are muted from time to time by the moans and coughs and groans of his floormates.
I’m a fairly obnoxiously personable person, who likes to talk too much when given the chance. Technician Stephen used to bartend, and later owned a small restaurant in North Carolina. Kate was an English major before becoming a nurse. Student Kaitlyn is from Front Royal and will be graduating in December.
But, even I like a break from human interaction, so I’ve been taking walks outside of the hospital every few hours, just to recollect my thoughts.
And now, after a week of entering and exiting those front doors of the hospital, a thought finally made its way through my thick, hard head.
Several times this week, while re-entering in the hospital, I’ve witnessed the sight and sounds of happy families standing by a woman in a wheelchair holding a precious newborn child, the balloons and flowers all color-coordinated.
As I drove home this evening, I kept thinking that perhaps they should rename that massive complex.
The Winchester Circle of Life Center.
For those reading this that know me or my family, Dad’s doing OK and will soon be heading towards home with a stop for rehabilitation along the way.