Hell employment for me would be sitting in a cubicle with a computer, contributing to the profit of my corporation.

Now I’m alone in a hospital room built for two.  Staff members in their masks and gowns attend to my needs, kindly and politely.  Very few of them make real contact with me as I search for the soul in the eyes above the mask.

How easily alone can become lonely.

Friends have sent me marvelous messages on Facebook and I’ve received one phone call … a loving human voice!  But I’m sagging in spirit.  I want to go home.

My doctor made one brief visit yesterday, standing at the door so she wouldn’t have to don the extra clothes.  “Home likely tomorrow” … and then she was gone.  The way I read it is that my problem has solely been food poisoning, rather than some extra infection.  May it be so.  May I walk out of Evangelical Hospital this afternoon to my Airbnb and tomorrow ride the Flixbus for four hours back to Gent.

How strange that my continued dullness of mind has me preferring the horizontal to the vertical.  “Guess I’ll just go back to sleep.”  Or “It’s too much work to shower and shave.”

I’ve thought of sitting in a chair and meditating (something I’ve loved doing since 2007 or so) but the mind says no.  As quiet as things are here, my mind bounces, twists and turns.  Thank God for writing this blog to you.  It comforts me.

***

Here’s some abstract art for you:

Do you see the ghost in the picture?  How symbolic … that would be me.

What you see are large tiles on my floor.  Yesterday I sat on the bed, taking the last pills I had brought from home.  I expected the hospital was going to follow through and provide me with more of my meds but they hadn’t shown up yet.

Anyway, I was taking the Candesartan when it slipped from my fingers, hit the edge of the bed, and zoomed off onto the floor.  A tiny orange pill on a grey floor of orange and white dots.

I couldn’t find it.  Ten minutes later, after pushing the bedside table far away to create a large search radius – still no pill.  Okay, I wasn’t going to die but my fragility was now emotional rather than physical, and I despaired.

So I gave up the search.  I pulled the table back to the bedside.  And voilà … the pill was revealed, standing on its wee edge.  If you can enlarge the photo, you’ll find it.

***

If indeed the answer is food poisoning, I will return to the scene of the crime and tell the restaurant staff what happened.  I won’t do it with antagonism, but rather in the spirit of service.  They need to know that something was wrong with Friday’s Farmer Pizza.  I’ve looked to see if I’m angry with the restaurant.  I can’t find any anger, and I don’t think I’m suppressing it.  I feel sad.

***

And so I wait for the doctor’s verdict

“All things come to those who wait”