A Cancer Hospital (The Olive Fox archive)
I'm
not sure when I realised. When I realised where I really was. I
thought it was just any old hospital. It wasn't.
I
think it was when I saw the fifth couple enter the waiting room, both
well past middle age and stooped slightly as though evil was bearing
down on them...a mysterious intense evil, a demonic hardship, that
everyone in my immediate vicinity seemed to be at the mercy of.
I
looked around again. Purple and green shiny chairs lined up in rows,
abstract paintings on the walls, various bright white corridors
branching off in different directions. A very uninspiring space,
really.
But
there was a distinct energy in the air; something bright and vivid
and unrelenting pressed against us as we sat there amongst the
immense yet silent pain. It was a power, charging us all and beaming
out through the windows and up into the sky above. It was born in
this hospital, and couldn't be contained. It was warm, gentle and
soft, yet also stubborn, violently buzzing and unyielding. It was
fighting with the invisible evil attacking us all.
It was...hope.
I'd
been in quite a few hospitals before this, but never one with quite
as much aggressive hope bleeding from within it, nor this many
patients clinging on tightly to it as they left their livelihood at
the doors, in the hands of the professionals. I think that's what
gave it away, and when I realised.
This
was not an ordinary hospital. This was a cancer hospital.
It
was a building designed and operated within almost exclusively for
the treatment (and killing of) cancer. I'd guess that more people who
enter that building have cancer, than those who don't. In all the
time I've been treated there, I am constantly looking around me
trying to pinpoint where the cancer is, who it's preying on, which
kind face I'm seeing will be the one who gets rid of it once and for
all – and who won't be so lucky. Yes. It's a building full of
cancer. Absolutely brimming, spilling over, with this odious disease.
And yet...it's equally full of positivity and determination and
courage. You feel it in the air, everywhere. I find that truly
astounding, and cannot get enough of it. I just hope it's the same in
other cancer hospitals – because honestly, that level of hope will
help in curing.
It's
World Cancer Day.
So
right now, all I want to do is shout-out and send infinite love. To
the truly inspirational sufferers; the valiant families; the
hard-working carers and the medical professionals. The doctors who
have to tell patients what's in them; the toddlers who can only
breathe properly through tubes; the mums who tear their eyelashes out
in the waiting rooms; the dads who have to tell their line managers
they need time off; the older folks who can't quite explain their
illnesses to their grandchildren; the teenagers who race each other
down hospital corridors in their wheelchairs; the children attend
school in the funkiest headscarves. The people who see cancer
hospitals time and time again.
But
also the supporters. The ones who grow their hair long enough to cut
off and donate ponytails; the ones who volunteer in charity shops or
at table sales in the hospital reception area; the ones who run or
walk or swim or sit; the ones who have the JustGiving process down to
a fine art; the ones who read stories to the kids in the beds; the
ones who contact celebrities to visit and make dreams come true; the
ones who will never give up the fight for those they love and for
afflicted strangers, too.
Thank
you.
Trust
me, this hideous illness would be even worse without your help.
This post was originally written for The Olive Fox, in 2017.
I am devastated to say goodbye to that wonderful website, where I made some gorgeous blogger friends, read some fantastic posts and was always able to send my own pieces for publication.
Thank you, Beth + Suzy.
x
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