Chronically Different

Admission

The next morning

When my alarm goes off at 8 AM I stare up at the ceiling. You know, I didn't always used to be like this. So unhappy, anxiety prone, non stop negative thoughts. This was just me in the past year, or maybe less. Maybe I could get back to my old self, my healthier self. I find the strength to get up out of bed, even though my mind and body are telling me to lay back down. I push past them and feel the weight of the world, not only on my shoulders, but in my lungs. A surreal tightness sits on my chest, specifically, the most infected part of my lung; the right upper lobe. I cough, until I almost puke up yesterday's meal.. Blood tinged sputum.. Again... I suffer through my morning routine, feeling extremely fatigued and worn down.

Later at the hospital

After going over the million pointless questions that the Residents have to ask, I am finally alone in my room. Home for the next two to three weeks. Room 960. The silence is what can drive me mad, I decide to try to facetime my Mom. On Tuesdays, she watches my sisters little kids. If I can talk to them on facetime, it will put me into a better mood.

"Hey, Rowan. How are you?"

She begins to ramble on, some I can understand, most I can't. She points the camera to her brother just for a moment and then spins back to her once she realizes she lost my attention.

Talking to them was a nice break. But I still felt trapped and decide to escape my room for a bit and go to the hospital greenhouse.. My favorite place here. I bring my bookbag which contains: my laptop, sketchbook, and a new book my sister bought me for this admission. I take the elevator all the way down to the basement and pass through a few doors. That's when I bump into him. A construction worker. Tall, handsome, clearly muscular and cut. He's wearing a mask too, only to protect him from the dust and not from life threatening bacteria.

"Sorry, I didn't see you."

"Is that right?" He says with an arrogance. He lowers his mask and smiles. His crooked smile, hits me, surprisingly like a ton of bricks. Is he flirting... with.. Me?

"What?"

"You heard me, how do you not see me standing here?"

I catch his eyes looking at me, suddenly I feel self conscious all over. I know my face has to be red.

"I, was, uh, lost in my thoughts I guess." I look down.

"Really, what were you thinking?"

"Why does it matter to you?"

"It doesn't, but it could if you want it to."

I shake my head, a smile plays across my face.

"There's not enough time in the world for me to tell you what I was thinking, and what I am thinking."

I begin to dismiss him, and turn towards the greenhouse door.

"What room are you in?"

I take a moment, and turn around to face him.

"960. Everyone leaves usually by 7 if I have visitors."

I don't wait for his response, and nearly run down the hall into the greenhouse.

My safe place. I plop down on one of the chairs, take out my headphones and sketchpad. Today I decide I will try to perfect the beautiful lily flowers that are hanging. That's when I hear it, my name telling me to "return to my last treatment area" over the intercom. I hate that. I sling my bookbag over my shoulder and begin making my way to the ninth floor.