I had a series of creative breakthroughs this morning while sitting in a hospital gown, awaiting some testing. A flurry of insights broke loose into how to improve my novel-in-progress, quite welcomed after a few weeks of feeling stuck at 50,000 words.
And then, the time came for the nurses to wheel me back. The testing required me traveling off to la-la land for a short while. They began to administer the anesthesia through my previously-installed IV, and within seconds I was mentally someplace else.
And then I woke up. And all was good.
I slowly became aware of the recovery room and the various activities taking place. The nurses briefly interacted with me as they multi-tasked. I felt a river of peace inside of me, its current gently lapping against the banks of whatever conscious or unconscious hopes, opportunities or fears with which I have been grappling.
As one of the nurses, Dawn, drew near I commented to her, "A recovery room is a lot like a coffeehouse."
She chuckled, looked a little confused, probably a bit battle-hardened by hearing lots of strange utterances from patients just waking up from some serious legal drugs.
I continued, "You go to a coffeehouse dragging all this stuff with you. Then, you sit down with a good friend amid all the great scents and tastes, and you have some authentic conversation about things that matter. You're awakened to new insights."
The nurses smiled and nodded. "Yeah, the ambiance can do that for you. I like coffeehouses too." She then admonished me not to drink any coffee today while the effects of the testing were still wearing themselves off.
I'm not sure exactly what happened within the deeper layers of my subconscious as I lay on my side while the doctor shoved a tube down my throat to carry out his test. But I awoke to a certain ambiance indeed, a brewing, gradually consuming sense that things were ok and going to be ok. I felt in a way like I was recovering from something, and that the breakthroughs would obtain.