Orbits

You watch from your hospital bed, eyes analyzing the scene in front of you. Nurses take turns checking in on you - walking in and out with their shoes squeaks signaling they're near.

One shuffles in, checking your IV, your blood pressure, and adjusts your pillow. They walk out, as if they're in a hurry. Probably wanting to call it a day since there's a shift change soon. They leave the door ajar, allowing you to see all the commotion happening in the hallway.

You see an old man in a gown, rolling themself around on a wheelchair. You make eye contact as they pass, you smile a bit. They just look at you and keep rolling. That makes you chuckles a bit. The smell of the ER bothers you, reminding you of when you had to dissect a baby pig for biology class. You could never eat pork after that.

You sigh and try to move your body a bit more. You have several broken bones, a shattered pelvis, and your throat's so raw from screaming. You try to talk but it comes out in wheezes, so you don't bother.

All you can do it watch people. You notice how they're like planets. Each one rotating on their own axis, in their own little worlds. Often times you see one nurse get frustrated with another because they don't bother to talk to each other.

You continue to stare. One nurse comes in, with another chart in hand. They seem flustered, and call the other nurse who just walked out.

Some lady who's wearing a badge and heels, not scrubs, walks in and tells them that nurse left for the day. The second nurse, the one that walked in moments ago, storms out in a huff.

You feel like a forgotten book, left open and bare. People open you up wide open, pay attention for a second, then leave you behind.

You think back to work - when you shared similar frustrations with these nurses. No one talked to each other. You constantly were trying to bridge that gap between the boss, staff, and people in other departments so that work could get done. It was a constant uphill battle. You realize places like that never change, when the managers are so set in their ways. You can hope for change, but that's wasted energy.

You remember sitting at your desk, watching people buzz with anxiety. And the free coffee. Staring at their computers, rubbing their hands, typing away frantically. All also in their own worlds, but orbiting around one manager who everyone needed to keep happy.

People are like planets, separate but connected to keep life running. Every once in a while there's a collision, and pieces of that person shatter. Physically, or mentally.

You lie in your bed and feel both, shattered physically and mentally. But slowly gravity's pulling the pieces back together, and you're starting to feel whole again.

Don't people see that we all need each other. That these separate lives are an illusion? That we're all part of the same game, wavelength, timeline? Whatever you want to call it.

But you can't judge. You're often in your own little world. Distracted by the day to day anxieties that take up space in your mind. When will you learn, that the answer is to not be alone.

The nurses continue to come in and out, and you hear their frustrations about their co-workers. One nurse asks you the same question as another, and you can't help but crack a smile. Why is everyone so preoccupied.

Spinning, spinning, spinning, as the door opens and closes, as the shoes pound against the tile floors, as the planets continue to do across the universe.

An image of a seashell crosses your mind, and then a galaxy. You feel incredibly tiny in that moment. And a bit dizzy.

You sigh and close your eyes, hearing the steady beep of the monitors around you.