august 23rd 2019 at 9.09 pm

my dad drove in a wheelchair down to say goodbye to my mom
without oxygen i sat in that chair, and i felt okay
it was like a reality shock, to get outside
i even shed a few tears, because now i’ve been isolated for the past 4 days, just lying in a hospital bed, getting pills ever 6 hours, and getting masks with salbutamol and sea salt to open up my lungs every 1 to 3 hours, and doctor visits, x-rays, blood tests, salvia tests, getting my pulse and oxygen saturation measured, blowing into this thing to see how many liters of oxygen i exhale per minute, sleeping for a bit in between medicine, watching some television and trying to find something exciting to watch on the hospitals 13 channels, where of those 13, 3 of them as German, and 1 of them are in black and white.
earlier this day i started to walk a bit, to get myself going again, besides when i go to the toilet, which is 1 step outside of my room.
i walked down to this glass room, with a staircase, and stood up on the stairs. two butterflies were flying around in the room, and it gave me a renewed sense of hope, because my favorite animals were flying around right in front of me.
and it was like looking out into the real world, and seeing my mom go home, was just a little bit too much for me. i’ve only been seeing the outside through windows, and now i felt the fresh breeze again, and i could hear the wind, and i saw the sky, and i even saw a helicopter. that helicopter i had been watching earlier, but i couldn’t figure out where it landed, and finally i saw it.
it was like those 10 minutes of freedom outside in a wheelchair, without my oxygen, and without the constant feeling of being in a hospital, was enough, to make me cry.