Wow, I never thought I would be saying that. Seven days. I was there for seven consecutive 24-hour periods. To put it in perspective, when they removed my appendix, I was in the hospital for two nights; when they removed a tumor from my stomach by cutting me hip to hip, I was home by 10 AM the following day. But for seven days, I stayed on that ward, locked behind two sets of doors and two security checks.
I was so homesick I thought I would die. They took my phone, my hairbrush, and even my eyeshadow compact. I was required to use plastic utensils and hospital-provided Styrofoam cups. I had to get used to asking for permission to shower or being supervised while I washed my clothes. My room contained only a bed and a chair, with no decoration or windows—only a large plexiglass window in the door so that the nurses could keep watch over me.
The Surprising Sanctuary
But do you know what? Today, I miss that place. The ability to just decide I had had enough human contact and close my door. The security in knowing that nothing would interrupt the flow of each day. I had no responsibilities, no stressors—just time and predictability. For a mind that constantly races, that forced predictability was a profound form of sanctuary.
The people I shared the floor with were a real shock initially. Never, except for when I had toddlers in the house, have I seen so many bare rear ends running down the halls! But they soon became family. I spent time each day getting to know them, listening to their stories, and learning about their hopes and plans. The common theme through all our vastly different experiences was this: "I just want to be happy, be loved, be needed."
The First Tactile Rebellion
The day before my release, I was granted a two-hour pass. I used it to hunt through the various hospital gift shops. I wanted my surrogate family to know that I heard them—that I would carry their stories with me. This was perhaps my very first act of Tactile Rebellion.
I purchased new magazines for the ladies (as there were none from the past decade). I got a Tim Hortons coffee for a lady who used to stop and have one every morning on her way to work. And for one young woman, I bought a small purple monkey with big eyes (just kidding about the real monkey... insert your favorite Bare Naked Ladies hit!).
When I returned and handed out these treasures, I felt like I had been given a glimpse of what small gestures could do. In that moment, I was able to touch those people and show them I thought they were pretty great.
Hypocrisy or Healing?
On my last night, I made sure to walk a few extra laps with the elderly lady who had attached herself to me. I watched an extra episode of The Big Bang Theory with my young friend, did a Bible study, and helped a man practice his speech to ask his doctor for permission to apply for a job. Most importantly, I spent time walking with a young man who was convinced he had nothing to offer the world.
I gently pointed out all the wonderful qualities I recognized in him, reassuring him that he had so much to offer and encouraging him to have the confidence to let others see the real him.
Pretty hypocritical, huh? Yep, I can see it. Reassuring him of the very things I couldn't see in myself.
The Card and the Contemplation
He left the day before me. Before he left, he gave me a handmade Christmas card, created from a pencil crayon he smuggled from the dining room and a piece of scrap paper. On it, he wrote that he appreciated my friendship and that he hoped I could see how much positivity I bring to the world. Pretty amazing, huh!
One week on that ward introduced me to people who will have changed my thinking forever, giving me time to contemplate who I am and time to just recharge my depleted body. I am so thankful for the time I spent there (not that I ever want to go again!).
A Note from 2026: The Legacy of locked Doors
Looking back at this post today, I realize that this experience was the catalyst for the entire A World Outside My Window brand. That smuggled Christmas card proved to me that my voice—even when I felt hypocritical and broken—had power.
Every unboxing video, every review, and every shared "Friday Reset" in this empire is dedicated to that young man, and to everyone who has ever felt locked behind their own doors (mental or physical). We are a community built on the power of small gestures and the profound authority of connection.
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