I had a big bay window looking out into the street and to my old high school. I could look outside and see people walking, cars passing by and the pine trees that gave UCC the infamous nickname “The Pines” everyday while laying in my hospital bed. Memories would fade in and out about high school whiling staring and counting each tree that lined the road. I had vivid dreams of going through the side doors to Xavier to go to my English classes and final days of exams, passing by at that time, the smaller row of beautiful pines. I forgot about the beauty of the campus, with the stained glass accents and of course the pine trees. At that time in my life I was always looking ahead, checking off boxes and not sitting in the moment, like many high schoolers. 

When I first got out of the hospital, every step, every experience that one month prior I hadn’t thought anything about accomplishing felt like I was drowning. It felt like I became a permanent resident at the hospital even though I had only been there a short time. I had been use to the smells, what was a new routine, even it was short, knowing when I would see the externs helping me with my food trays, when I would get blood drawn and re-bandaged. I knew what to expect, which was comforting for me. 

As the carousel door turned, swishing one after the other, Sid wheeled me outside and I felt a whole new world I couldn’t remember before. I wasn’t used to new smells or even sunlight. I had become accustom to the distinct smell of a hospital, and almost felt comfort in it. When I was younger my mom was a nurse in the ICU and whenever she came home from her shifts, she had this distinct smell. It’s hard to describe, a cross of linens, cleaner and flat ginger ale. I would always tell her, you smell like work but she didn’t know what that smelt like. That smell had become part of her after being there so long and now apart of me. 

When I finally left and went outside, anywhere I looked had a brightness filter overlaying everywhere I turned. From the cars in the parking lot, the bushes in the landscaping and the pine trees, all of the details jumped out at me down to the needles on the trees. My first breath of fresh air outside was both a sigh of relief and a full sigh of terror. I was out, and did not just escape for a few hours, but was released for good (hopefully). An overwhelming feeling of emotion fell over me as I tried to process what had just happened. Did I really come that close to death? Any movement came with immense emotion, feeling that I just accomplished something that two days prior, I did not think I would be able to do ever again. Walking from the wheelchair to the chair, even holding my head up on my own felt like I just won a gold medal at the Olympics. I went from a high of excitement and gratefulness of just being able to hold Sid’s hand again, wanting to show everyone how well I was progressing to a sudden onset of raging anger that I had no control over. I was on a rollercoaster of emotion that I needed to get off of but had no idea how. 

As Sidney drove home, I vividly remember commenting on the beauty of the outdoors, like I had never driven this route home before and everything was brand new. Pulling out of the parking lot, we stopped at the red light and I couldn’t help admire the pine trees that I spent fixated on while staring out my window. They were so vibrant, tall and strong. Then there was the grass and as we headed onto the highway the corn had grown so tall since I last passed these fields in late June. Everything was beautiful and delicate. It was like I saw a celebrity, ‘wow, look at that, wow, look everything is so beautiful’, I said over and over again. I was reborn and experiencing firsts all over again. Conquering stairs, even though it was just three, sitting up in a chair for more than fifteen minutes without help or shear exhaustion, shaving my arm pits by myself (this should be a post all by itself. Talk about winning a gold medal!), everything was a new experience but after I made it to the top of the mountain, overwhelming emotion would come over me like I made it to the peak and there was no going backwards. 

It makes me think about all of the small things in life that I missed by not paying attention, or by just going too fast and caught up in mundane things without appreciating the beauty around me. It is almost surreal to think that on this day in 2024, July 7th, I was going to experience a life changing and momentous event that would give me the greatest perspective in the world. Grateful for a second chance is an absolute understatement. Everyday when I drive to work, I drive by those pine trees, and everyday I smile at them, remembering to take in the details, count the needles, and know in my deepest of hearts that in an instant the privilege to look at trees can be gone in an instant. No one knows how long we have. Taking the time to count how high the trees are, even be able to wonder if I could fit my arms around those big pine trees. I guess you can call me a tree hugger now.