I need to get out of here

I am cracking up.  I’ve tried to put it off but that isn’t working anymore. 

I need to get out of hospital but I really need to get out of this ward.  Since Ward A (paediatrics) is under construction we’ve been accomodated in Ward C (oncology).  I hate, hate, hate this ward.  The people are great, the rest not.

It is too quiet.  This ward is for adults with cancer.  And if you are an adult with cancer you generally get your chemo as an outpatient in a chair in the chemo room and only end up in the ward when you are really sick.  In other words, when you are terminal and busy dying.  People here don’t laugh at each other’s jokes.  They are too sick for that.  They are in pain.  They are emotional.  Their families are emotional.  It isn’t a pleasant ward but it isn’t the patients’ fault.  They don’t want to be here either.

The visitors are another ball game.  I am so fed up with people walking by and looking surprised when they hear a child laughing.  And then they stop and stare at this bald child before they walk away, shaking their heads, whispering about how shocked they are at children with cancer.  We aren’t monkeys in cages.  And my child isn’t dying just yet.  So take your pitying looks and whispered comments and shove it wherever you want to, as long as it isn’t in my face. 

Our doctors don’t want us to move back to Ward A because there are too many children with too many germs.  The risk of the onco-kids contracting something is higher than in Ward C.  But the risk of this oncomom chewing through her wrists if we stay her isn’t just high – it is a certainty.

In the paediatrics ward Boeta will be just as sick as he is here, but there are noises and movement and it feels like home.  There are pretty rooms, the staff are like mothers and I am allowed to complain about Boeta being moody without constantly feeling like I should be grateful that he is alive for one more day.  Ward C feels like a hotel.  A very nice hotel, but still only a hotel.

And through all of this the staff of the oncology ward is wonderful.  They are friendly, they are helpful and they understand the ups and downs of cancer and chemo. 

It feels like we are visiting distant family – we are friendly with each other and they gladly share their space with us but there comes a time for us to go home.  To Ward A.  And our family.

6 Responses

  1. Thinking of you. Not a good place to have to try and care for your child. Too depressing. We would find it tough too. Hope you’re soon back on Ward A

  2. Hope you get back into Ward A soon

  3. Loop kou eerder ‘n chocklit as jou pols Vriendin. Intussen sal ek vir julle bid.

  4. Suzanne, ek bid vir julle!

  5. Love and strength to you.
    I hope you’re out of the hospital *entirely* – the sooner the better!!

  6. Liewe Suzanne, ons dink aan julle. Hoop julle dag “af” gister was baie lekker! Ek kom binnekort vir ‘n “cuff-a-tea”! Groot drukkie!

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: