Two Fragments of Oddness.

All the other patients on my ward were of the older generation, most of them substantially older than me. As the week progressed I watched a succession of younger people, clearly family members, visiting to fuss around them or make forced conversation. It struck me that here in this little room of four beds was encapsulated the incessant flow of human life through the generations. I was the only one who never had a visit from a family member. Always the observer, you see? Never quite the belonger.

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One day I kept snoozing throughout the day, and each time I did I went into a brief and oddly static dream. I would be standing there looking at some object – a vase of flowers on a table, or maybe a tree or a curtain. And each time I did I would reach out to touch it, at which point I would wake up with my hand outstretched and the view in front of me empty. I wonder whether much research has ever been done on the psychological effects of being in hospital. I doubt they would ever include me in such an exercise. Far too untypical.