[11-21-08] Ducks

[1:33pm]
     I definitely like the recovery phase much more than the treatment phase: getting better each day is far more agreeable than getting worse each day, no matter the initial conditions.
     It feels silly to say something so obvious, but I love feeling better -- I want this to continue more rapidly; I want to facilitate this. I want to run! I want to be in better shape than I was pre-BMT. Accordingly, I've decided to push myself harder and get some exercise. So, I got out today and went for a walk.
     The physical therapist recommended a walk of 20-30 minutes a day, but since I was new to all this, my target time was 20 minutes. I think there's some rules about being around a caregiver at all times while outside the home or something, but I figured that if I made a bee-line from here to the hospital that no one could really complain. I mean, what can they say? "What if you collapsed all by yourself?" Then I'd say, "Yeah, I'd collapse in a hospital -- that'd be real bad."
     The worst part about all this is that I had to put on my stupid HEPA-mask. Let me tell you, there is nothing worse than a runny nose while wearing one of those. Then there's the people looking at you strangely as you pass them... Now, I could lie to everyone and say that I don't care what people think of me, but that's not entirely true. I could say that I defiantly glare at those staring at the man in the mask, but that's not true either. On the other hand, I don't sheepishly avert my eyes either -- I'm certainly not ashamed about all this. The truth is in the middle ground: I don't care what random strangers think of me... as long as I don't notice it. So, my strategy: Look where you'd normally look; act how you'd normally act, but when you get the feeling that you're being stared at and you're about to make eye contact... just defocus your eyes. :P
     There was this kid that was running gleefully in front of his parents. As he approached me, he stopped dead in his tracks. He looked at me, then looked at his parents, then looked at me again. He simply stood there, waiting for his parents, unsure how to proceed in front of this strange person with a strange mask. Some defocusing was helpful there...
     Other than that, I was too distracted by the world around me to even consider people's reactions. I remember seeing a little finch on the side of the sidewalk, and thinking to myself: "I want to be as free as this bird from now on; I'll never be hospitalized again." And I looked at the trees and the plants and the nature and all the good outdoorsy stuff. I felt happy, and I thought to myself, "As much as I don't like the effort and difficulty of getting outside and going for a walk, I'm glad I did. That seems like a lesson I keep learning: life is about the journey, not the destination. I need to hit the textbooks." Then I stopped by the fountain at the main entrance to the hospital and watched the ducks...

     From a distance, it looks like a fountain, but upon closer inspection, you learn that it is really a duck playground. There's the larger fountains shooting water that the ducks like to hide under, and there's the smaller fountains that the ducks like to sip from or clean themselves with, and there's these little islands with plants to conceal the ducks when they feel like hiding from the world.
     Then I saw these two ducks playfighting with each other. They were relentless! Both ducks would bite each other's legs and they would swim in furious circles like a dog chasing its own tail. Then they would break apart, but you could always see this particular pair eyeing each other across the water. One would swim a little closer, and the other would veer away or pretend not to notice. And, suddenly, one of the two will furiously attack the other. This would repeat over and over again.
     And I stood there, just laughing and smiling at the ducks... with my sounds of joy somewhat muffled by the mask, but not prevented in the slightest. I'm going to go see those ducks every day.