Otherwise, so far, there are more things Stanford Hospital has in common with Brigham & Women's Hospital than different. I have my own room with a bathroom, shower, and constant hum of medical equipment. You enter through a double-door system which attempts to reduce the introduction of pathogens and there are a half dozen vessels with alcohol-based hand sanitizers stationed around the room. Visiting hours are 24/7 and there is a cot here for my rotating roommates. We have wireless internet, TV, DVD player, and (soon) a Nintendo Wii. The walls are spartan and partially covered by medical nodes and wires, but I'm sure we'll do some decorating in the weeks to come.
But before the many posts to come, all about the hospital, here are some pictures of the time between relapse awareness and hospital admission/incarceration. I took my last days of freedom seriously, because I knew that not only would I be stuck in the hospital soon, but, far worse, I would be again stuck in a listless and sick body.
So, encouraged by my peeps, I danced a Russian jig,
had a party,
ate a farewell New England meal,
picnicked in the sunshine,
played Guitar Hero and Wii,
hung out with my family,
rode bikes across the Golden Gate bridge,
and yesterday, went sailing out on San Francisco bay. As my friend Josh wisely reminded me when I was whining about having to go into the hospital, these are the days for which I will suffer. In order to have another perfect afternoon in a sailboat with my best friends, that's why I'm here in the hospital. Here we go.