Ceilings

As a quadriplegic, I end up laying flat in bed a lot. While my caregivers do various cares, I don't have much more to look at other than the ceiling. Therefore, I get rather familiar with the ceiling of wherever I'm at for an amount of time.

I remember the bunks of Recreation Unlimited in Ohio, where CHAMP Camp used to be held, very well. They were made to resemble an unfinished structure with wood beams and plywood left exposed. Through the many years I attended camp in Ohio, I almost looked forward to the familiar ceiling view. I can easily remember the different knots and filled wholes with small differences in color from the surrounding wood. As I lay getting ready for bed, or getting up in the morning, I could listen to the campers getting their cares done while my familiar view of wood became burned in my memory.

Hospitals have entirely different ceilings depending on where you're at. Some are just plain drop ceilings with a smorgasbord of stuff sticking through the tiles. Ceiling vents are full of small wholes from one end to the other making for a great way to take up time by counting every dot. Hallways are lined with lights and tiles with the operating room being consumed by huge lights that can move at all angles.

Too many years ago, when I was in my mid-teens, I was Craig Hospital near Denver, CO. They are one of the top hospitals for spinal cord injuries in the country, and I was there to evaluate the seat on my wheelchair. Unfortunately, they didn't do some of my cares as I needed and I ended up with a collapsed lung. That meant I had to move from my friendly, apartment style room with bright, friendly tiled ceiling, to the general hospital in a room with four other patients. This was a dark room with tracks for curtains blocking wondering eyes. Directly across from me was a kid a couple years younger than me who had just been injured. He didn't know what to expect in this new life and was flat in bed frequently. One time when he was gone somewhere, friends came and taped a poster above his bed. When he returned, I could see him grin from ear to ear at the new scenery he had been given.

Of course, the most familiar ceiling of all for me is my room at home. I can quickly spot the shapes in the popcorn texture and know each scratch, and frequent spider webs, in the track for my lift. In the two decades I've lived here, it is definitely home. With just over two weeks left, it's still uncertain where I will be living after May 7. If I will get familiar with a new ceiling, I don't know. The unique perspective that God has given me wherever I'm at will continue.