The whirring of machines.
The timeless ticking of the clock.
The drip-drop of IV lines.
The distant buzz of an alarm
Waiting for information. Waiting to go home. Always waiting.
I’m sick of hospitals, sick of doctors, sick of this disease, sick of being unheard, sick of not having answers.
But this place is one of hope too, of healing and people trying to do their best for us all. Hospitals are part of life – the start of life, the end of life, the sustaining of life. They are a reminder of the fragility of life and how in a split second your entire world can change.
That ticking clock is a gift, a gift not everyone within these walls has. But outside we rush around and we stress and we live our lives like we’re invincible. We should be cherishing the ordinary and the mundane everyday, holding on to the people we love and always telling them how we feel.
I find it hard not to sit in this hospital bed and still feel so grateful for all the wonderful people and happiness in my life, it’s that and only that that really matters when it comes down to it.
It’s about cherishing the little ordinary moments in life because one day you will look back and realise those moments were the most precious of them all.
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