I heard birds before I heard the hospital machines

Dear Delyara, I spent five months in hospital after a bone-marrow transplant. Machines became the soundtrack of morning: infusion pumps, monitors, trolley wheels, blood-pressure cuffs, staff conversations outside the door. Even when I slept, part of me was waiting for the next alarm. After discharge, I stayed with my sister because I was still weak and needed help with medication. This morning, I woke at dawn and heard a bird outside the window. A small, repetitive call, almost irritating. For several seconds, I did not know the date, my latest blood count, my medication schedule, or how many days remained until the next hospital appointment. I knew only that there was a bird in a tree making far too much noise. I smiled before I opened my eyes. Later, I sat outside wearing a mask because my doctor still wants precautions. I found the bird on the fence. Brown, tiny, completely ordinary. It jumped twice and disappeared into a hedge. I had spent months longing for extraordinary news: remission, engraftment, normal results, discharge. That morning, joy was much smaller. The first sound of my day had come from something alive that did not know I had ever been sick.