I’m the kind of person, and I bet you are too, that makes up stories at restaurants and cafes, while waiting in a queue at the bank or in Medicare, while stopped at a red light or waiting for a train.
Every morning as I walk through the streets of my neighbourhood in the early hours with my dog I look into the homes of the people that live around me – not in a peeping Tom, arrest me for being a stalker kind of way – more a wistful, storyteller kind of way. I imagine a family behind the walls and conjure up stories about what their lives could be like. It’s always amazing to me that behind such small walls live such big stories even if they’re just the stories I’ve made up.
It’s a humbling experience this, to see the stories in every stranger. To realise that even though the introduction and the conclusion may be different there is a story for every person we see. We are really not that different from the stranger sitting opposite us.
Today I have been spending a lot of time sitting around the hospital as my mother undergoes surgery. The houses that the stories occupy are even smaller now – just beds with a curtains around them
There’s a young man dirty and alone that has just had his dose of methadone (administered by the nursing staff). His shoes and his shirt are covered in blood and he slumps on a chair. He hasn’t opened his eyes – not even when he drank down his fix. It wasn’t hard to feel repulsed by his blood soaked shirt and shoes but I just feel sad for him. Drug addiction is hard. This was never his choice when he started.
There is the young couple with the 20 month-old-baby who is still dressed in her pajamas. She’s accompanied her mum to the hospital early in the morning. It probably felt like an adventure when she started out. Now she’s tired and her father is stressed – he’s taking her for an ice cream while her mum is having surgery. His mind is not on the ice cream.
There is a man who insisted on having “just half a sandwich” before his surgery. cialis order Some women may face implantation dysfunction due to immune disorders. The slovak-republic.org best viagra in india first sequence starts out a lot looking to meet women, I’m sure you have found a product you like that you know a lot about – focus on selling that as an affiliate. Libido is http://www.slovak-republic.org/events/ tadalafil best price the term used for sexual desire. Bowel Issues: Bowel problem can be caused due to heart disorders, diabetes, relationship issues, sildenafil generic sale depression, prostate gland injury, vascular disorder, etc. He’s been sent home to try again another day. Fasting is also hard but I don’t feel sorry for him. Fasting is not nearly as hard as addiction.
There’s a woman I actually know, her husband is really ill. He’s got cancer but right now it’s jaundice that is bringing him here. He’s in pain and cannot walk – his wife feels old, scared, vulnerable – trying to keep it together because it’s always awkward when you see someone you know and you are having your worst moment.
But there are so many people here whose stories I cannot tell. They are just waiting. Waiting in the waiting rooms, on their beds, behind their curtains. Waiting for the doctors to say they can go home or need to go to the ward. Alone. No one holding their hands or anticipating the outcomes of their test results.
And there’s me typing all my thoughts into a computer too scared to ask why my mother has taken such a long time to come out of recovery. Just relieved for her and for me that her story is shared by more than one person. It’s the people sitting here alone whose stories I wont be able to get out of my head even though I have no idea what they are.
This is the reason I dislike hospitals. Too many sad stories. I hope your Mum is okay, sending you lots of love xx
I often feel like I’m on the other side of the pancake. I wonder what people are thinking about me and my life. A few weeks ago we had another late night ambulance ride with my daughter. But we’ve moved to a new town, and this was our first experience with the new hospital. Our old hospital was used to me dragging the entire family into the waiting room while she rode in the ambulance. Like I always do, I left the boys in the waiting room rugged up in slippers and dressing gowns with a deck of cards, a couple of puzzles and their teddy bears while I talked to the doctors about my daughter. They’re used to it but I wondered what other people thought about an 8 and 5 year old sitting in the waiting room alone late at night. I expected them to judge me. I expected them to be critical of my life, my choices. But then I thought they probably don’t even care; they’re sitting there because THEIR loved ones are in the same place as my daughter.
Everyone has a story.
Oh Miss Ben Ben, If I was sitting in the hospital waiting room and saw your little boys playing with their cards and their bears and their puzzles I would think what a beautiful and caring mum they had that even when their sister was sick and needed urgent medical attention, their mum still remembered to take care of her gorgeous boys. Yours are lucky children Miss Ben Ben, you might not feel like it now – but in years to come you will all know it for sure.
Hospitals are full of stories, many of them sad. I hope yours has a happy ending.
Hope your Mom is doing well…I wish her a speedy recovery. In my story, all works out for the best.