Hospital rooms are very comfortable places if you're one to exploit sickness to its fullest. He was. Let us imagine:
That the windows, which ordinarily bestow a pleasant view of expensive real-estate with green trees and a reasonably tended duck-infested pond, WERE TO SHUT WITH THE MANIFESTATION OF TONNES OF LAYERS OF IRON FORGED INTO AWESOME TOTALITARIAN BLOCKADES WHOSE VERY PRESENCE SETS AFLAME THE CURTAINS ONLY TO TESTIFY TO THE AWESOMNESS OF THAT WHICH HAS JUST SET IT AFLAME!
The seal on his windows by this sheet of collossal density appeared to have been constructed out of the carcass of a warship hull. The exact reason or unfortunate coincidence of this would dawn in a minute. Bolts intimidatingly tight prevented the passage water as well as air:
THOSE VENTS WHICH ON THE FIRST TWO DAYS MADE HIM UNEASY AND PARANOID ENOUGH TO SUSPECT THAT HE WAS BEING SPIED ON ARE NOW THE EXTENSION OF SOME INDUSTRIAL GRADE SUCTION PUMP.
And before the patient knew exactly what was transpiring, the air was sucked out his room. Completely. The grandeur of the flaming curtains lessened as the lack of oxygen extinguished them. They swished quite languidly, perhaps suspending their own disbelief: Hospitals usually use blinds.
What vaccuum could be conjured in such apocalyptic fashion being accepted for what it is, without question? The desire to breathe is a very motivating in dispelling curiosity it seems. The patient wasted no time in trying his door. It was open.
A long corridor, cinematically tainted a grim blue with a shimmering light?
We'll see how perceptive a pseudo-intellectual is when you cut his air off.