Today I visited a friend who's very sick in hospital. He's on oxygen, bloody venflon protuding out of his arm, machines bleeping. The bay he's in holds five mostly unconscious looking patients, and he's the youngest by miles. Somewhere nearby a woman is crying and screaming, "I don't want to go anywhere, just let me die. Don't make me move, please. Just let me die." A white-haired corpse of an old lady next to my friend doesn't open her eyes the whole time I'm there, though a rasping cough speaks of life -just - hanging on in her veins.
I'm scared of hospitals. I find it difficult to sit in the doctors' waiting room without feeling faint. Today was a test. I just about overcame my fear with friendship. At various points myself and the other visitor are ushered out of the cubicle. We wait at the nurse's station, making small talk, and I'm overcome by a wave of nausea and have to sit down, head between my legs. It's embarassing and completely psychological. I think about leaving, getting straight into the lift and walking outside. Yet I know if I succomb I'll have angry tears cascading down hot cheeks. I feel stupid. My friend is here through no fault of his own, gasping for breath, sweating, nil by mouth, and I can't even last half an hour. The other vistor chats normally, as if we're at a cafe on a Sunday afternoon, and after a few minutes the feeilng passes and I'm ok again. We wait for the consultants to finish their ward round and then reappear at the bedside. We chat about insignificant things, my face must betray my fear. The boys chat about the cricket and I smile, I know nothing about wickets, overs and LBW. He looks better and sits up for a few minutes and starts reading a magazine. Things feel normal for half a second and I rub his feet under the scratchy hospital blanket. The conversation dries up and as if on cue his whole family turn up for visiting. It's 5pm, they must all have rushed here from work. I quickly gather up my stuff and stretch out a hand. He squeezes and our eyes lock. His say hope, and I wish mine could say the same.
Friday, September 09, 2005
Feeling faint...
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2 comments:
I don't even know if this is 'you' being Jules not beingjules, but I almost couldn't read the second paragraph as I knew it would make me cry - look, I know this isn't poetic or whatever (and that's the main reason I avoid (or feel inferior) commenting on this weblog), but I know exactly how you felt (or if you're just beingjules, which I doubt, it's exactly how I felt). Not only can I not last half an hour when I visit a friend of mine but after half an hour of leaving, I'm back to fast motorway traffic and life just goes on in my world.
Thanks for making me remember my friend's world, that he didn't choose either, even though it upsets me.
"Not only can I not last half an hour when I visit a friend of mine but after half an hour of leaving, I'm back to fast motorway traffic and life just goes on in my world."
Mate I completely agree - that's the irony of it, life just carries on regardless and I find it really hard to reconcile the fact that someone could be dying in their bed while the rest of us decide between a chicken avocado sandwich or a houmous wrap from pret for lunch. If I think about it too much it makes my head hurt and I can't think for fog. Let's chat some time :-)
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