Before we begin, here is something I would like to put forth about the book. Lasse Toft’s book is a darkly brilliant companion for hospital stays, offering not just laughs but a philosophy of survival as well. Its impracticalities are outweighed by its psychological insights, making it a worthy read for anyone facing the mental marathon of hospitalisation. It becomes even more relatable and enjoyable to me because I hope I could have used a few ideas shared by Lasse when I recently stayed in the boring hospital environment.
Having recently spent several days in the hospital recovering from surgery, I found myself confronting the unique psychological challenges of hospitalisation: the monotony of sterile walls, the loss of personal agency, and the creeping anxiety that accompanies prolonged medical confinement. It was only after my discharge that I discovered Lasse Toft’s 70 Things You Can Do While Being Hospitalized, a book that might have transformed my experience had I encountered it sooner. Reading it in retrospect, I was struck by how its unconventional blend of dark humour and practical mischief could have served as an antidote to the mental fatigue I endured. The book’s central thesis, “FEAR CAN BE A PRISON. HOPE AND HUMOR IS YOUR KEY OUT,” resonates deeply with me now, as I recognise how fear and boredom compounded my discomfort during those interminable days.
Toft’s perspective is forged in the crucible of his six-month hospitalisation, including time in intensive care, and his suggestions are equal parts absurd and insightful. While some proposals are intentionally outrageous, like Faking Your Own Death to test staff loyalty or Dressing as the Reaper to terrify fellow patients, others reveal a keen understanding of the psychological toll of hospitalisation. The author’s observation that “Humor really is the best – and sometimes the only – medicine” is not merely a quip but a survival strategy I wish I had embraced. During my stay, I oscillated between frustration and resignation, never considering that humour could be a tool to reclaim control. Toft’s irreverent approach, such as imagining staff muttering, “At last we got rid of the old fart in room number 4,” might have helped me reframe my moments of vulnerability with levity rather than distress.
One of the book’s most compelling themes is the restoration of agency in an environment designed to render patients passive. Toft’s suggestions, like Establishing Your Own Betting Company or Implementing a Smiley-Scheme to rate staff, are ostensibly playful but underscore a critical truth: small acts of autonomy can mitigate the dehumanising aspects of hospital life. I recall the profound helplessness I felt when reliant on nurses for basic needs, a sentiment Toft captures with dark humour in his admission of “near death experience with almost bursting bladder and intestines.” His proposal to Celebrate the Fastest Nurse with confetti cannons is exaggerated, but the underlying message—acknowledging and engaging with caregivers as human allies—might have made my interactions easier. Instead of stewing in frustration during delays, I could have channelled my energy into playful gratitude, fostering a more collaborative dynamic with the staff.
The book also addresses the isolating nature of hospitalisation, offering absurd but inventive ways to forge connections. Organizing a Concorso d’Eleganza (a wheelchair decorating contest) or Creating a Spooky Night at the Hospital are whimsical yet oddly practical suggestions for breaking the ice with fellow patients. In my case, the silence of my shared room was punctuated only by the occasional awkward nod to my roommate. Had I adopted Toft’s mindset, I might have initiated a darkly humorous exchange, perhaps borrowing his suggested devilish quip, “I have seen your Search History on Google. I’m sure you can make an excellent carrier down here.” While not all his ideas are socially advisable, the impulse to connect through shared absurdity could have alleviated the loneliness I felt, particularly during what Toft describes as “Saturday evenings, the worst to get through, when I really felt trapped and as if my life was over.”
Toft’s humor often veers into the macabre, as with his proposed tombstone texts (“It’s really dark down here” or “At last, I found that damn parking place”), but this gallows wit serves a purpose. Research on coping mechanisms shows that dark humour can help individuals process fear and mortality, and Toft’s unflinching jokes about death might have helped me confront my unspoken anxieties. His reflection that “the misery of other people doesn’t solve your problems, but you can regard them as cheap tuition” is a blunt but valuable reminder to find perspective in shared struggle. During my stay, I vacillated between self-pity and guilt over my relatively minor condition compared to others. Toft’s approach—acknowledging suffering without wallowing in it—could have provided a healthier middle ground.
Ethically, some suggestions are untenable (Making Money Selling Hospital Inventory), but even these highlight the desperation patients feel to regain control. More practical takeaways include the importance of small pleasures, as Toft notes in his footnote about finding joy in being moved closer to the exit: “Just see who’s sitting close to the exit as he’s not a total retard.” This echoes evidence-based strategies for improving hospital morale, such as personalising one’s space or setting micro-goals. Had I decorated my bedside table or created a silly ritual (like Toft’s “BABBA SHAH DANG DINGDONG HALLELUJAH” chant), I might have broken the monotony more effectively than staring at the clock.
The book’s closing chapter, “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH,” is a raw acknowledgement of hospital-induced despair, but its conclusion is unexpectedly uplifting. Toft’s insistence that “focusing on something other than your illness and being good natured to other people is actually key to healing” aligns with therapeutic practices emphasising altruism and mindfulness. His closing anecdote about the boy saving jellyfish (“Well, it made a difference to that one”) is a poignant metaphor for the book itself: small, unconventional acts can make unbearable situations survivable.
In hindsight, 70 Things You Can Do While Being Hospitalized is not a literal manual but a provocative exploration of resilience. Its value lies not in executing every outlandish idea but in adopting Toft’s mindset: humour as defiance, creativity as liberation, and connection as salvation. My hospital stay would have been profoundly different had I embraced this ethos earlier. Where I saw confinement, Toft saw opportunity for rebellion, however absurd. For future hospitalisations, I’ll carry his lessons with me—not the scythe or fake blood, but the spirit of finding light in the darkest places.
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Rahul for Literature News
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