Leo’s family should have been home a long time ago, but Leo’s ventilator still has not arrived.
Complicated procedures, papers lost or without the proper signatures,
vacations and conferences, unsent and unreceived emails,
errors and mistakes—dozens of mysterious coincidences
that endlessly put off the long-awaited day.
The children in the neighboring incubator change.
New mothers hold vigil by their sides.
The days are monotonous, long, identical.
The routine of the hospital.
Leo passes time listening to music, getting to know the nurses,
looking at the bee hanging over his bed,
getting shantala massage and acupressure, bathing in a tub for infants, receiving guests.
He does not know that there is a world outside of the stuffy, tight room.
That outside it is spring.