(This is not a play, by the way)
These days whenever I listen to Regina Spektor (which is generally a fair amount) it never fails to remind me of hospitals. Especially Soviet Kitsch, as there are quite a few songs on that album that resonate with my situation. Spektor has never been regarded as the most linguistically profound of songwriters, but I've always marveled at the powerful meanings that are often embedded in her quirkiness. So yeah, maybe that's why her songs always remind me of hospital wards.
Then again, it could also be because I listened to her a great deal during my double hospital stint during August.
There's no sugarcoating the hospital experience. You're taken in, examined, processed and before you know it you're lying on a tiny bed in a boiling hot room, probably hooked up to some kind of drip, unable to go anywhere. Food is horrendous - even the off brand cereals provide next to no gratification as far as breakfasts go. Visiting hours are strict, so much of the time you're left to your own devices, which leaves you awfully isolated - made worse as you're feeling extremely poorly on top of that. And then of course there's the slow pace at which EVERYTHING transpires.
The thing about the Oxford Churchill is that it's quite clear as soon as you enter the main foyer of the building that an almighty amount of dollar has been invested into making the place look suave. Marble decor, waterfalls, all kinds of useless shit, really. Now of course, it's nice to be surrounded by pleasant aesthetics when you're feeling like utter faeces, but I can't help but wonder if that money should have been invested on something a bit more prudent. Say, I don't know, nurses' salaries perhaps? Or more on call registrars? Maybe a pharmacy that isn't 800 miles away would be a great start. Things such as these - the lack of nurses, the ineptitude of attaining prescriptions - it all delays the process of getting better and leaving. Don't take this as me slagging off nurses or doctors in anyway, by the way. The ones I've encountered are a credit to their profession. It's just that there simply aren't enough of them to cover a huge haematology ward. If hospital investment wasn't treated as business investment, then I feel there would be a massive increase in the morale of patients many fold.
Anyway, hospitals are shit. Let us move on.
Perhaps one of the most challenging aspects of self care is learning to get a grip on doing just that. Taking tablets, avoiding sick people, beating animals. The usual, you know. Being neutropenic (if you're unsure as to what this means, it basically means vulnerability to infection to such an extent that you have to be super vigilante about avoiding illness) adds an extra edge to keeping yourself out of harms way, especially when doctors and nurses are basically saying AVOID PEOPLE, KEEP OUT OF SUNLIGHT, INITIATE LOCKDOWN PROCEDURES and so on. It's a rather stern reminder of the danger I'm in when going through this treatment. Chemo... it's a life saver of course. I'd be dead without it, amongst other things. But my days, the mortal threat that comes with chemo truly is a ball kicker. It's another two years of treatment... roughly. And despite the fact that the treatment will mostly, if not all, be maintenance, we're not out the woods by a long shot. Not yet.
But fear not, my loyal lovers. Times are a changing. Tables are a turning. West Ham are a winning. Arsenal are a losing. People are a laughing. And points are getting a lost here I feel. Which is a great way to conclude this segment.
Keep reading or I'll be saaaaaad.
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