Approaching a week in hospital today, this particular Monday has been rather shitty. I feel like this has been a hideous endurance exercise. Hours left on my own during the day thinking about my latest diagnosis, wondering about the future, while being surrounded by many other women less ill, but so dependant on others for help. To me they are hypochondriacs and big babies who aren’t on deaths door, but then I’m completely the opposite in terms of fuss I make. Crying like a baby all day is not how I roll. I know I sound bitter, but this is how I feel at the moment.
Anyway as much as it pains me to say, I’ve made friends. We’ve been swapping stories, food and sweets. I’m the youngest by miles, but we are all in difficult surroundings, without our loved ones just trying to make it home. One lady gave me her marmite this morning because I’d had enough of plain toast. That’s the thing about women, they really stick together. As much as they moan you have to admire their ability to stick together and support each other when it matters.
Although I can’t avoid people who are not dying and healthy, it’s a bit different when you’re stuck in the same bed unable to move away and escape.
I must commend myself on how well I’ve been coping the last few days. I decided that two days crying was enough; not that I’ll never cry again about the situation but I will not spend days on end doing so. I simply won’t wallow in this melancholy.
This is just the worst part of it all. Unable to walk and in pain, being moved about like I’m paralysed. Psychologically It all screams ill and dying. Once I’m up and about and start getting these mother fuckers zapped I will feel more able to cope.
Oh I ‘ve decided to ban words from mine and others vocabulary whilst around me but this is a new post..