Dirty window panes

I sit in my hospital bed. I look at the white board. The days on the calendar have slipped by. How many days have I been here? Each day blends into another day. My hair is extremely dirty. It has been two weeks since my last shower. Oh how I wish I were not in a high level care unit. There are no showers in the unit. Who needs to shower when you are critically ill? This girl does!

I am glad I have been extremely sick. I have sleep most of the days. But, every now and again, I have some energy. I look to my left. A window made up of nine rectangular window panes encourages me to look outside the hospital. However, the window panes are caked with years and years of black soot from the city’s pollution. Despite the obstructed view, I yearn to see what’s outside my window. To my amusement, my window looks into a hospital walkway just ten feet away. People are constantly crossing the walkway, going from one medical building to another. Where are these people going? The medical center is quite large. I have no idea where I am in the complex and have no idea what buildings this walkway connects.

I gaze and gaze at the walkway. Mothers pushing strollers with young toddlers playing in the carriage. Folks in white coats hurriedly whisk across my vision. Other medical personnel in scrubs meander slowly as they carefully balance a hot cup of coffee in one hand while texting on their smartphone with the other hand. Families visiting loved ones carry flowers, cards and/or balloons. Tired nurses shuffle along cradling a container of food in their arms. The procession of people seems to never end. Even in the wee hours of the morning, there always is someone crossing the walkway.

I enjoy my people watching hobby. However, storms roll through the area. As the rain falls, condensation collects on the window panes. Now, my view is completely obscured. My heart aches a bit. My connection to the outside world is hindered. I look around my tiny room. There isn’t much to look at. I click open my iPad and read Scripture. (I also pray for the sun to come out. I pray the condensation on my window panes soon evaporates.) Several hours later, the sun returns to the sky. My dirty window panes appear again. Once more, I can peer out my window into the outside world.

Although I lament being in the hospital, I praise God for these black encrusted window panes. I thank God for providing entertainment while I patiently endure another hospitalization.