Dear Hospital,

It’s crazy how five days could end up feeling like three weeks. I guess the days kind of blur together when they’re all pretty similar and you’re spending the majority of them wallowing in loneliness and self-pity.
After the EMT escorted me to one of your rooms, she left me alone with my thoughts and a criminally prepared meaty dish. The sunshine blasting through the window made me both glad not to be enduring the Georgia summer heat, but envious of everyone who had the freedom to do so.

Over several months in early 2020, I noticed several unusual changes in my body that no one had answers to—at least, not for a while. One night, on a road trip home from a family reunion in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, I was worried my already not-perfect vision was worsening. The traffic lights looked unusually blurry, and the words on the road signs looked as if they were fused together. I assumed it was time to return to the optometrist and maybe get a stronger glasses prescription. It wasn’t that simple.
Before my family and I left Pittsburgh, I spent more time than I was used to napping whenever possible, and my movements started resembling those of a baby deer. I remember being terrified that going down the stairs of the Airbnb would be the death of me. The constant fatigue certainly didn’t help either. Maybe I should eat more? Maybe I should eat better? Maybe the summer heat was sucking up all my energy? No, it was more than that.

After partaking in several doctor’s appointments, it was decided I should stay with you for several days so they could figure out what was really wrong. Aside from the obvious symptoms, what was wrong was having a bed that alerted nurses whenever I got up. What was wrong was having my regular whimsical wardrobe replaced with unflattering hospital gowns. What was wrong was being too wobbly, so I couldn’t shower without a nurse nearby to catch me if I fell. What was wrong was only eating fruit and drinking water, ginger ale, and orange juice, because nothing else I was given was edible. What was wrong was not being able to fall asleep at night because I was alone and scared. What was wrong was not feeling like myself because I wasn’t wearing my signature long braids. If I knew I was being hospitalized, I would’ve braided my hair to my liking way before.
Every day came with a new surprise during my stay with you. Certain events were pretty consistent, like the nurse check-ins, temperature and blood pressure checks, and the blood draws. But one day, a woman entered my room with a pamphlet on Christianity and briefly spoke to me about God. On another day, two doctors came into my room and took cerebrospinal fluid from my lower back. Then, I was wheeled out of my room to get put in a much colder room while my brain was examined.
After every encounter with a medical stranger, I was always brought back to my room to sleep, read, scroll through Pinterest, or talk to my friends or family on the phone.
But no matter who I spoke to on the phone during those five days with you, they all felt far away. While I was getting poked for blood, they were engaging in family dinners. While my hunger was diminishing due to the smell of the food your staff prepared, which was killing my appetite, they were eating takeout. While I was being supervised while taking a shower, they were going to the pool.

While my stay with you might’ve been necessary to give me a proper diagnosis of multiple sclerosis, being with you definitely messed with my brain. I was stunned to find out I was only with you for five days when it felt like three weeks. It took me some time to get used to eating decent food again, waking up every day in my own bedroom, and being able to get out of bed without setting off an alarm. It also took a while for my clothes to feel like they were mine again after not being able to wear any of them until my final day with you.

And yet, as I sat by the window in my mother’s car on the way home from my time with you, wearing my red dress and matching knit hat, I felt the edges of myself start to settle again. The time with you had taken five days, but the time left behind a strange echo—like I’d stepped out of time and back into a life that needed reassembling.

Sincerely,
Amanda Glover