I sit with an IV in my arm looking at death. Behind my peppy friend, across the parking lot, and over the fence resides a graveyard. A huge graveyard that goes on for miles. The irony strikes me as funny, diseased people looking at their future (well, everyone’s inevitable future), but still it’s amusing.
Nurses joke, they say, “Oh we just think of it as a park,” they try so hard to pretend their view isn’t bizarre (for a hospital suite) that I applaud their efforts.
I reply, “Oh no, it’s a graveyard. Definitely not a park. There’s no getting around that. Just accept it and move on.”
Then I start giggling, which makes the nurses uncomfortable, apparently most people don’t find these tombstones amusing. I don’t see how they can’t, especially considering that rolling hills of dead people is what was chosen as their splendid view for the next three hours.
We find it funny, my father and I. A big ‘luxurious’ suite filled with snacks and entertainment with all the patient chairs pointing at death. Makes it easy to transport I suppose, you know, when someone kicks it. That’s a grim statement, I apologize. Still, I find it amusing, I can’t help myself. Overall the atmosphere of the infusion suite is pleasant, except for the one flighty nurse that I would never let poke me with a needle.
We play cards, laugh, tell stories, drink orange juice, and stare at death till it’s time to go home.