Hospital Discharged Quotes

There's a fragment of some conversation, I'm remembering it. Someone is saying: "You have to understand: this is not your husband anymore, not a beloved person, but a radioactive object with a strong density of poisoning. You're not suicidal. Get ahold of yourself." And I'm like someone who's lost her mind: "But I love him! I love him!" He's sleeping, and I'm whispering: "I love you!" Walking in the hospital courtyard, "I love you." Carrying his sanitary tray, "I love you. ~ Svetlana Alexievich

The world is come upon me, I used to keep it a long way off, But now I have been run over and I am in the hands of the hospital staff. ~ Stevie Smith

Leaning her silly, beautiful, drunken head on my shoulder, she said, "Oh, Esther, I don't want to be a feminist. I don't enjoy it. It's no fun."
"I know," I said. "I don't either." People think you decide to be a "radical," for God's sake, like deciding to be a librarian or a ship's chandler. You "make up your mind," you "commit yourself" (sounds like a mental hospital, doesn't it?).
I said Don't worry, we could be buried together and have engraved on our tombstone the awful truth, which some day somebody will understand:
WE WUZ PUSHED. ~ Joanna Russ

A postscript on Ryan: Ryan did recover, but he was left permanently blind. His girlfriend Kelly stayed by his side through his recovery, and they soon married.
I'm happy to say that we all became good friends. Ryan had an indomitable spirit that infected everyone he met. He used to say that he suspected God had chosen him to be wounded, rather than someone else, because He knew he could bear it. If so, it was an excellent choice, for Ryan inspired many others to deal with their own handicaps as he dealt with his. He went hunting with the help of friends and special devices. His wound inspired the logo Chris would later use for his company; it was a way for Chris to continue honoring him.
Ryan and his wife were expecting their first child in 2009 when Ryan went into the hospital for what seemed like a routine operation, part of follow-up treatment for his wounds. Tragically, he ended up dying.
I remember looking at his wife at the funeral, so brave yet so devastated, and wondering to myself how we could live in such a cruel world.
My enduring vision of Ryan is outside one of the hospitals where he was recovering from an operation. He was in his wheelchair with some of the Team guys. Head bandaged and clearly in pain, he asked to be pointed toward the American flag that flew in the hospital yard; once there, he held his hand up in a long and poignant salute, still a patriot. ~ Taya Kyle

In this way unwittingly the Widow-to-Be is assuring her husband's death - his doom. Even as she believes she is behaving intelligently - "shrewdly" and "reasonably" - she is taking him to a teeming petri dish of lethal bacteria where within a week he will succumb to a virulent staph infection - a "hospital" infection acquired in the course of his treatment for pneumonia. Even as she is fantasizing that he will be home for dinner she is assuring that he will never return home. How unwitting, all Widows-to-Be who imagine that they are doing the right thing, in innocence and ignorance! ~ Joyce Carol Oates

... you know what was really messing me up when I got down there to Pittsburgh? Was how young he seemed. He kept asking me things like what did I think of Kanye West's music, and did I think he should hold on to Kevin Garnett in this fantasy basketball league he was in or trade him. And how he wasn't just in this league; he was commissioner of it. Like that was some big mark of distinction: commissioner of make-believe. And I wanted to slam him, one-handed, against the wall, the way he used to do to me, and scream in his face, 'Stop it! Act your age!' ... I didn't do it, though. I wanted to, but I couldn't. 'Honor thy father,' you know what I'm saying? So instead, I grabbed my car keys, got out of there, and took off. It was messing with my head, you know? You get out of there alive, more or less, wait for your father to come see you at the hospital you're stuck at, and when you finally go to see him, he's younger than you are. ~ Wally Lamb

According to reliable and never-named sources in the hospital, my situation was critical, then desperate, then critical but stable, then just stable, then uncertain, then (for twelve hours) improving, then uncertain again and then steadily bleaker with each passing day until everyone agreed that there was very little chance of my ever waking up. At that point I woke up, escaping the cul-de-sac into which I'd been written. ~ Gavin Extence

A cool white, wintry light glazed the buildings on the highest hill: Will's memorial, the unsightly chimney from the hospital, the modernist cathedral in Clifton. The jumble of styles and eras lent the city the semblance of a medieval Roman town. Laura drove the long way round, up past the Clifton Suspension Bridge, strung like an a engineer's dream over a river sinking into the mud. Leigh Woods was on the far side, the trees dark, bereft of leaves, clawing at the sky. ~ Sanjida Kay

Eyes are bold as lions,
roving, running, leaping, here and there, far and near. They speak all languages. They wait for no introduction; they are no Englishmen; ask no leave of age or rank; they respect neither property nor riches, neither learning nor power, nor virtue, nor sex, but intrude, and come again, and go through and through you in a moment of time. What inundation of life and thought is discharged from one soul into another through them! ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

There was, I thought, something calling to me from out in the dark.
It came from out in the tempest, even from the lights of the fishing boats a mile out at sea. You can be called to a last effort, a final heroic statement, because I doubt you call yourself to leave comforts and certainties for an open road. But the call is inside your own head. It's a sad summons from the depths of your own wasted past. You could call it the imperative to go out with full-tilt trumpets and gunshots instead of the quietly desperate sound of the hospital ventilator. Victory instead of defeat. ~ Lawrence Osborne

And so is another question that Sanderson's experience leads him to discuss: whether the mind is identical with the brain. He mentions a case of a man who died in a New York hospital, and who an autopsy revealed to have no brain, only "half a cupful of dirty water". This sounds, admittedly, like another of those absurd stories that are not worth discussing. But in the early 1980s Professor John Lourber of Sheffield University discovered a student with an IQ of 126 whose head was entirely filled with "water". A brain scan showed that the student's brain was merely an outer layer, only one millimetre thick. How can a person function with virtually no brain? Lourber, who specializes in hydrocephalis ("water on the brain") replies that he has come across many cases of perfectly normal people whose heads are filled with 95 per cent of fluid, and that 70 to 90 per cent is actually quite common. ~ Colin Wilson

Eating Primal Blueprint style for the rest of your life is much cheaper than long-term prescription drug regimens or extensive doctor visits or hospital stays for cardiac bypass surgery or cancer treatments. ~ Mark Sisson

The hospital, by necessity, may send a man home with one leg less: but it will not (in a creative rapture) send him home with one leg extra. ~ G.K. Chesterton

Welsh Incident

'But that was nothing to what things came out
From the sea-caves of Criccieth yonder.'
What were they? Mermaids? dragons? ghosts?'
Nothing at all of any things like that.'
What were they, then?'
'All sorts of queer things,
Things never seen or heard or written about,
Very strange, un-Welsh, utterly peculiar
Things. Oh, solid enough they seemed to touch,
Had anyone dared it. Marvellous creation,
All various shapes and sizes, and no sizes,
All new, each perfectly unlike his neighbour,
Though all came moving slowly out together.'
Describe just one of them.'
'I am unable.'
What were their colours?'
'Mostly nameless colours,
Colours you'd like to see; but one was puce
Or perhaps more like crimson, but not purplish.
Some had no colour.'
'Tell me, had they legs?'
Not a leg or foot among them that I saw.'
But did these things come out in any order?'
What o'clock was it? What was the day of the week?
Who else was present? How was the weather?'
I was coming to that. It was half-past three
On Easter Tuesday last. The sun was shining.
The Harlech Silver Band played Marchog Jesu
On thrity-seven shimmering instruments
Collecting for Caernarvon's (Fever) Hospital Fund.
The populations of Pwllheli, Criccieth,
Portmadoc, Borth, Tremadoc, Penrhyndeudraeth,
Were all assembled. Criccieth's mayor addressed ~ Robert Graves

My father was a doctor in Moravia, in the south of the country. There were a number of Jewish doctors in the hospital there, and at a certain point - almost too late, really, but in time - they were all sent overseas by their employer. ~ Tom Stoppard

I just graduated with a degree in economics, and I worked at a hospital for my past two summers. I'd love a job at a health-related website. I know you once worked for WebMD, and I'd really welcome a personal introduction. ~ Kate White

Notwithstanding a mendacious press; notwithstanding a subsidized gang of hirelings who have not ceased to traduce me, I have discharged all my official duties and fulfilled my pledges. And I say here tonight that if my predecessor had lived, the vials of wrath would have poured out upon him. ~ Andrew Johnson

You know, 97 percent of the time, if you come into a hospital, everything goes well. But three percent of the time, we have major complications. ~ Atul Gawande

Like Hillary Clinton before her, Mrs. Obama has always been a working woman. She is a lawyer turned hospital administrator turned political right hand. It is a unique resume. ~ Andre Leon Talley

Too much information is key to a more diverse, non-deterministic future. Once we have information overload we have choice, we never know which instructions a computer or a person is going to load into their thinking. We look at our newborn babies in a hospital maternity ward, and newborn computers stacked on a pallet, and we never know what rhetoric they may encounter, which instructions or question/answer sets they will leave more permanently loaded in their mental processing. Even the variance of permanence is a dimension no one knows, and will shape them or the world they shape. ~ Lance Miller

Your ass is actually very nice. Well, at least what I can see of it. If your ass is that nice, no wonder they have an obsession with your - "

"Concentrate," I grumble, snapping my fingers in front of his face.

"I'm trying," he lies, still staring down at my ass. I start to turn to face him instead of sitting comfortably on the bed, just so my ass will be facing the wall, but the door flies open and slams into the wall.

Drake curses, then he grunts a, "Fuck me."

"The fuck is going on in here?" Drex growls, letting his eyes drop to my exposed back, and apparently my exposed ass. Not my fault this hospital keeps the ridiculous slit in the back of their gowns.

"We're having a conversation," I say with a sweet smile. "It's full of dirty innuendo and intriguing assumptions about my pussy."

"No the hell it isn't," Drake refutes, looking at me like I've lost my damn mind.

"But you were just saying that my - "

"Damn it, you crazy woman! Don't give him a reason to break my arms while I can't fight back!" Drake barks. ~ C.M. Owens

On this site we're going to build an Eye and Ear Hospital. This is going to be a sight for sore eyes. ~ Morrie Ryskind

Oh God just look at me now ... one night opens words and utters pain ... I cannot begin to explain to you ... this ... I am not here. This is not happening. Oh wait, it is, isn't it?
I am a ghost. I am not here, not really. You see skin and cuts and frailty ... these are symptoms, you known, of a ghost. An unclear image with unclear thoughts whispering vague things ...
If I told you what was really in my head, you'd never let me leave this place. And I have no desire to spend time in hell while I'm still, in theory, alive. ~ Emily Andrews

grew up reading books where vampires were scary. This novel is an attempt to make them scary again. When I thought of the premise that became DRACULAS, I knew it needed to be a group project. Take four well-known horror authors, let them each create their own unique characters, and have them fight for their lives during a vampire outbreak at a secluded, rural hospital. This is NOT a collection of short stories. It's a single, complete novel. And it's going to freak you out. If you're easily disturbed, have a weak stomach, or are prone to nightmares, stop reading right now. There are no sexy teen heartthrobs herein. You have been warned. ~ Blake Crouch

There are really only three things to learn in skiing: how to put on your skis, how to slide downhill, and how to walk along the hospital corridor. ~ Benjamin Mancroft, 3rd Baron Mancroft

Look, why don't you go talk to Ron about all this?" Harry asked.
"Well, I would, but he's always asleep when I go and see him!" said Lavender fretfully.
"Is he?" said Harry, surprised, for he had found Ron perfectly alert every time he had been up to the hospital wing. ~ J.K. Rowling

When we have had some of these slaves on board my master's vessels to carry them to other islands, or to America, I have known our mates to commit these acts most shamefully, to the disgrace, not of Christians only, but of men. I have even known them gratify their brutal passion with females not ten years old; and these abominations some of them practised to such scandalous excess, that one of our captains discharged the mate and others on that account. ~ Olaudah Equiano

So okay. C-section in the morning? Why not?
Chris still hadn't shown up when I felt the examining room. Nor had he answered my call asking him what was up.
I got in my car to drive to the hospital, then did what a lot of women do in that situation: I called my mom.
"Hey, honey, are you okay?" she asked.
"Yes." I burst into tears. Until that moment, I hadn't realized how close to panicking I really was.
"What's wrong?" she asked.
"I…don't know where Chris is. I have to go to the hospital to have the baby-"
"It'll be OK," she said quickly. "I'm going to the airport. I'll be there."
I didn't even get to explain the full situation.
Then Chris called. "Where are you?" I asked. I was somewhere between relieved and angry-or maybe I was both angry and relieved.
"I just had some stuff happen," he said. "I'm okay. I'll tell you when I see you."
"I need you now," I said, telling him about the baby.
If you've read American Sniper, you know what had happened to him: he passed out during what should have been a very routine procedure to remove a cyst in his neck. It was a freak thing that led to what we think was a temporary seizure.
Some "thing." But being a SEAL and being Chris, he completely minimized it. In fact, I didn't know what had happened until later. All I knew was that he met me at the hospital and was by my side when I needed him.
There is a bit of a funny story attached to the incident. A friend of Chris's ~ Taya Kyle

Effective immediately, transgender Americans may serve openly, and they can no longer be discharged or otherwise separated from the military just for being transgender. ~ Ashton Carter

Who would have thought that the girl who was forced to go to the hospital because she's so skinny would one day be called too fat? ~ Tyra Banks

One of the things that strikes me most though is how some people don't realise they're self-harming. The phrase 'self-harm' brings up thoughts of 'cutting', but that's only a small portion of it. When you drink excessively to drown your sorrows to the point you throw up and can't see straight and/or, like a girl at my school, ended up being driven to hospital to have her stomach pumped, you've brought harm to yourself. If you take drugs to feel numb and it becomes an addiction that you can't break, you've self-harmed. When you starve yourself or binge eat to fit the latest fashions, you're pushing your body further than it can go.
We need to start treating ourselves how we deserve to be treated, even if you feel that no one else does. Prove to the world you ARE worth something by treating yourself with the utmost respect and hope that other people will follow your example. And even if they don't, at least one person in the world is treating you well: YOU. ~ Carrie Hope Fletcher

It didn't occur to me then, though it certainly does now, that it was years since I'd roused myself from my stupor of misery and self-absorption; between anomie and trance, inertia and parenthesis and gnawing my own heart out, there were a lot of small, easy, everyday kindnesses I'd missed out on; and even the word `kindness' was liking rising from unconsciousness into some hospital awareness of voices, and people, from a stream of digitized machines. ~ Donna Tartt

I used to love hospitals. That's another weird thing about me. I remember when my grandmother
so sweet, God rest her soul
was in the hospital, I always loved visiting her there. Very morbid memory! Most people hate hospitals. And I'm not a big fan of them now, but there was something about it for me back then. ~ Jennifer Aniston

Thoughts arise in the hostage's tormented brain. In the hospital, patients feel they are returning to childhood; in prison, they age. The gods blind themselves. ~ Elie Wiesel

The whole town's talking about the way Jax Stone sat in your hospital room and snag to you until you came out of your coma. Then he apparently wouldn't leave you alone for a minute. The boy sounds hooked. ~ Abbi Glines

I'm sorry," I say and the words start spilling out. "I'm sorry. I should have just talked to you and then you wouldn't have felt guilty and then you wouldn't have gotten into this accident. It's my fault. I'm so sorry."
I'm still holding his hand and he's looking at me with his beautiful blue eyes.
"You're sorry?" he asks in confusion. "You're sorry? For what? It's not your fault. None of this is your fault."
"I was being a baby," I tell him. "I didn't know what to say to you and I was trying to be strong but I was so upset that you were kissing Elena."
"Elena kissed me," he answers. "I just want to clarify that. And she kissed me because I had just told her that I can't see her anymore. Because I want to be with someone else."
"Someone else?" My voice is small in the large hospital suite and all of a sudden my heart is numb again. This time, it is numb because it is waiting hopefully for words that I am desperately wanting to hear.
"Yes," he nods. "Someone else."
My heart is still waiting.
There is a pause.
Then another pause.
He doesn't say anything so I do.
"Is it anyone I know?"
I look down and he looks up and our eyes lock.
"I should hope so since it is you," he says.
My heart stops.
And then starts again.
And then I bend down and kiss Dante Gili-bear-ti as softly and gently as I can.
"You want to be with me?" I ask this as I pull away and look at him. He smells like iodine an ~ Courtney Cole

Here I want to stress that perception of losing one's mind is based on culturally derived and socially ingrained stereotypes as to the significance of symptoms such as hearing voices, losing temporal and spatial orientation, and sensing that one is being followed, and that many of the most spectacular and convincing of these symptoms in some instances psychiatrically signify merely a temporary emotional upset in a stressful situation, however terrifying to the person at the time. Similarly, the anxiety consequent upon this perception of oneself, and the strategies devised to reduce this anxiety, are not a product of abnormal psychology, but would be exhibited by any person socialized into our culture who came to conceive of himself as someone losing his mind. ~ Erving Goffman