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Authors: Albert Espinosa
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product of a particular decision.
17
The power of contrasts
We’re not going to die of cancer; we’re going to die of boredom!
—one of our favorite chants
On the fourth floor of the hospital where I was always sent as an inpatient, we dreamed of things we didn’t have.
A long time after that I’ve given talks in hospitals, and lots of patients have said the same thing: There isn’t enough stuff in the hospital, there’s no fun.
We used to say in the hospital that we weren’t going to die of cancer but rather of boredom. It’s because everyone thinks that when you’re in a hospital your life has to stand still, that you shouldn’t have any fun. And the truth is completely the opposite. Your normal life stands still and so you need many more activities to fight against all this not living.
I remember when people were saying that the late-night talk show
The Martian Chronicles
was trash. I think that allthose critics must never have been in a hospital where they were showing it. Thousands of sick people laughed with that program, enjoyed it. It gave them strength; it gave them life. It made them participants in a world that had stepped away from them for a moment.
It’s always seemed to me that not much imagination goes into designing hospitals. When I started treatment, the chemotherapy rooms didn’t have any sort of entertainment at all. Later there was a little television set looking over the room, but you had to be eagle-eyed to see it.
But where were the chessboards, the board games, the cards, the fifty-inch plasma TVs, the consoles, the Wi-Fi connection? Yes, yes, no joke, there should be all these things in a hospital. Connecting people to the world is vital in helping them fight illness properly.
Sometimes people don’t realize how much life force patients have. I’ve always recommended that patients should give talks themselves. They’ve had experiences that would leave you astounded. In the hospital, I’m sure that if there was a talk given by someone from outside, then you’d go, so just imagine that it’s a proper talk, but it’s your roommate in his blue pajamas right next to you giving it.
When you’re sick your second life appears. A life that you can’t stop living, because however ill you are you’ve got to carry on being alive. I’ve had my life outside and my life inside. Now I’m living my life outside, but maybe my life inside will start again someday. Both lives have aspects in common but are very different in other ways. To carry on living is the important thing. Childhood, adolescence, adulthood: They all have to be lived through, even if you are ill.
But you need the track to be able to run, you need the stage to be able to act. Sometimes hospitals lack contrast, and the most important thing about life is putting contrasting things together. I’ve always thought that when you put two opposing things together, something magical happens. This is why lots of relationships are founded on the complete lack of common ground between the two members of the couple.
We should put more contrasting things together. These are a few that I hope will soon happen. The list’s not in any order; it’s a list that comes from years spent in a hospital and years spent outside one:
1. Olympic-sized swimming pools in hospitals. So many patients would get so much out of swimming! You can dive under the water and feel like a fish.
2. Bowling alleys in airports. It’s important to be able to let off steam. You’d feel great relaxing with a few lanes. Sports and airports, any sport would be good in an airport. (They are starting to build gyms in airports. They must be doing a whole lot of good.)
3. Hairdressers in cinemas. You could get a good haircut before going to see a movie.
I’m going to get a haircut and catch a film
. It would be great if there were someone who recommended a new style to you or a shave or just a massage and a bit of depilation.
What film are you going to see?
17
The power of contrasts
We’re not going to die of cancer; we’re going to die of boredom!
—one of our favorite chants
On the fourth floor of the hospital where I was always sent as an inpatient, we dreamed of things we didn’t have.
A long time after that I’ve given talks in hospitals, and lots of patients have said the same thing: There isn’t enough stuff in the hospital, there’s no fun.
We used to say in the hospital that we weren’t going to die of cancer but rather of boredom. It’s because everyone thinks that when you’re in a hospital your life has to stand still, that you shouldn’t have any fun. And the truth is completely the opposite. Your normal life stands still and so you need many more activities to fight against all this not living.
I remember when people were saying that the late-night talk show
The Martian Chronicles
was trash. I think that allthose critics must never have been in a hospital where they were showing it. Thousands of sick people laughed with that program, enjoyed it. It gave them strength; it gave them life. It made them participants in a world that had stepped away from them for a moment.
It’s always seemed to me that not much imagination goes into designing hospitals. When I started treatment, the chemotherapy rooms didn’t have any sort of entertainment at all. Later there was a little television set looking over the room, but you had to be eagle-eyed to see it.
But where were the chessboards, the board games, the cards, the fifty-inch plasma TVs, the consoles, the Wi-Fi connection? Yes, yes, no joke, there should be all these things in a hospital. Connecting people to the world is vital in helping them fight illness properly.
Sometimes people don’t realize how much life force patients have. I’ve always recommended that patients should give talks themselves. They’ve had experiences that would leave you astounded. In the hospital, I’m sure that if there was a talk given by someone from outside, then you’d go, so just imagine that it’s a proper talk, but it’s your roommate in his blue pajamas right next to you giving it.
When you’re sick your second life appears. A life that you can’t stop living, because however ill you are you’ve got to carry on being alive. I’ve had my life outside and my life inside. Now I’m living my life outside, but maybe my life inside will start again someday. Both lives have aspects in common but are very different in other ways. To carry on living is the important thing. Childhood, adolescence, adulthood: They all have to be lived through, even if you are ill.
But you need the track to be able to run, you need the stage to be able to act. Sometimes hospitals lack contrast, and the most important thing about life is putting contrasting things together. I’ve always thought that when you put two opposing things together, something magical happens. This is why lots of relationships are founded on the complete lack of common ground between the two members of the couple.
We should put more contrasting things together. These are a few that I hope will soon happen. The list’s not in any order; it’s a list that comes from years spent in a hospital and years spent outside one:
1. Olympic-sized swimming pools in hospitals. So many patients would get so much out of swimming! You can dive under the water and feel like a fish.
2. Bowling alleys in airports. It’s important to be able to let off steam. You’d feel great relaxing with a few lanes. Sports and airports, any sport would be good in an airport. (They are starting to build gyms in airports. They must be doing a whole lot of good.)
3. Hairdressers in cinemas. You could get a good haircut before going to see a movie.
I’m going to get a haircut and catch a film
. It would be great if there were someone who recommended a new style to you or a shave or just a massage and a bit of depilation.
What film are you going to see?
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