A visit to the hospital can give you more instances of love and its truths than an Archies showroom on a Valentine’s Day. I might be a bit morbid here (what’s new) but the truth is people don’t marry because they LIKE or even LOVE someone. It’s about finding just one person unrelated to you by blood for whom your life would matter just a little bit more than the million other strangers you pass by everyday.
Now, I understand the celebration of love is over. But this is a realization that happened today, just for a fleeting glimpse when everyone who loved someone sympathized with a worried wife. “I can actually understand what she’d be going through.”, my sister had said, “To have someone who means the world to you in the ICU.”
More morbid than the thought of actually being one of patients in hospitals (I’m shit scared of doctors!) is the thought of being the one holding the hand of someone who is sleeping through pain. It makes it worse to know they are in pain and you can do little about it except tell them it’ll go away….
Why do we do it, I wondered. Why in a corridor of white sobriety were 50 people crowded outside the ICU, waiting for that one hour when the visiting hours for the relatives are open. And why while we were asking her how he is, my worried cousin kept looking at her watch hoping to go back in to fully utilize the one hour just to watch her husband sleep to the lullaby of humdrum machines and powerful medication.
Everybody inside a hospital has a heart condition, the one that comes fleetingly disguised as a relieved smile at the end of a successful operation or even as a moment of intense anger (“why doesn’t he stop eating oily food when it’s not good for him?!) or a painful dejection at a loss of life.
So there you go, the moment you lose your faith in the goodness and love of the world, walk into the nearest hospital and you will realize that there are more relatives than patients in the vicinity of the ICU. Love, as they, is all around.