Janet and I visited a friend who has cancer.  

Years ago, Doris and I went to Helotes Methodist together and had children the same ages.  Fast forward all these years, and Janet was Doris' NIA teacher at Golds and they became close friends.

Doris was not glum or morbid.  "I'm not afraid of death," she said.  "I just want to be here for all the good things still ahead.  I hope people will miss me and not forget me." 

At one point, she got out of bed to go to the bathroom and joked about her appearance.  She was wearing, of course, the standard hospital fare, socks many sizes too big and a hideous olive green hospital gown. "I don't see myself in this person at all," she said.  

Since I had just been in Janet's sewing room and seen her array of beautiful outfits she'd made--some for herself, some for friends, even a red jacket she'd made for Doris for an event she didn't get to attend after all--I suggested a new project for Janet.  "You could start designing pretty hospital gowns!" I said.

Indeed, I wonder: do hospitals try to make patient rooms and attire ugly?  

How hard would it be to make gowns that would allow patients to feel less like patients? 

The room was tiny.  The lavatory is outside the bathroom, so guests need to move to allow the patient to wash her hands.  

The public spaces of the hospital are beautiful, spacious, and filled with light.  If I were a hospital designer, I'd do it the reverse way.  I'd make the public spaces less impressive and make the rooms beautiful, colorful, and spacious, with big windows.  

Why not hire manicurists and stylists for people who happen to be sick?  I'd have someone like Janet design gowns that are more than cheap wraps.  Patients should be able to see and be themselves in spite of illness.