Around St. Mary’s in a Wheelchair
There is no need to go into details, but I am currently unable to walk without the aid of a stick. My system flooded with analgesics from the hospital, the throbbing is tolerable. However, there will be no psychogeographic walking, cooking or vertical fun for at least 10 days.
This morning, as Surreal Girl pushed me in around St. Mary’s in a wheelchair, visions of Luke Haines crowded my mind. I would not want anyone to think I had jumped from a wall to get out of my upcoming journey to Australia. Nor would I plunge onto concrete to make myself so twisted with pain I could generate words as menacing as those found on After Murder Park. Yet as I faced the prospect of spending the next two months in plaster, I knew there are those who would have made such links.
Hospitals present a landscape of terror for me. Their architecture always seems designed to concentrate a sense of mortality, the walls between life and oblivion become paper thin. Recursive corridors with fractal linoleum are guaranteed routes to dread. Everywhere is filled with a cloying tang of disinfectant and the constant wheeze of machinery.
Today the fear was held at bay. Not since my mother would accompany me as the gurney was wheeled from the ER room to the oxygen tent during childhood asthma attacks has anyone been there with me. For the first time in years, there was someone to hold my hand. I will always love her for that.
This morning, as Surreal Girl pushed me in around St. Mary’s in a wheelchair, visions of Luke Haines crowded my mind. I would not want anyone to think I had jumped from a wall to get out of my upcoming journey to Australia. Nor would I plunge onto concrete to make myself so twisted with pain I could generate words as menacing as those found on After Murder Park. Yet as I faced the prospect of spending the next two months in plaster, I knew there are those who would have made such links.
Hospitals present a landscape of terror for me. Their architecture always seems designed to concentrate a sense of mortality, the walls between life and oblivion become paper thin. Recursive corridors with fractal linoleum are guaranteed routes to dread. Everywhere is filled with a cloying tang of disinfectant and the constant wheeze of machinery.
Today the fear was held at bay. Not since my mother would accompany me as the gurney was wheeled from the ER room to the oxygen tent during childhood asthma attacks has anyone been there with me. For the first time in years, there was someone to hold my hand. I will always love her for that.
Labels: Hospitals, Luke Haines
posted by David at 6:58 PM
25 Comments:
I wondered what had happened. Bad news for both of us.
I'm glad SG was there.
Good luck with the healing. Follow directions.
Congratulations! How fortunate you are to have someone help you through this difficult time. I hope you heal quickly. And get lots of signatures on your plaster.
Goodness me, you poor thing. You're right about hospitals, I too have a mortal aversion to them - loneliness echoes through them, so I am pleased you had company.
Puss
So sorry David-but I would not even need for you to post about Surreal Girl-she is loyal, a wonderful trait.
And my impression of hospitals in London, is pretty dismal and dim. Having only been in one, it make something out of the clockwork orange look like modernity at it's best.
Thank you David for your nice comment and for visiting my art blog.
I'm sorry my visit here finds you not well. I hope you recover quickly. And glad someone was with you. It is a dismal prospect being in one of those facilities alone.
Oh poor David! :( Such rotten luck. Do get better, and fill up on those analgesics.
You have every reason to fear hospitals and all of that... more now than ever before. Hope things are fine now
Oh my, I am sorry to hear this. Two months of plaster, egads! It is very reassuring to have someone with you for comfort in a "scary" situation. I'm happy for you to have SG. :)
PVs for rapid, smooth recovery!
Thank you everyone for your kind wishes.
Surreal Girl is my best friend. The world always feels better when she is holding my hand.
I hope you heal quickly and well David. Surreal Girl Rocks.
I don't like hospitals either having spent quite a bit of time in them with my father. Let me die in an open field on a warm summer day, or at home in bed unknowing.
Z – I agree with you. I have seen too much of hospitals and death. Give me sky kissing my face and grass caressing my skin when I face the end.
And yes, Surreal Girl rocks.
The only feint relief I can offer is to hark back to a classic blackadder triplet.
"Hostipals .... oh I hate hostipals. My grandfather went in a hostipal once and when he came out he was dead"
"Baldrick, he was dead when he went in there in the first place"
"Yeah, I know, horrible place"
Needless to say that my best regards are always there for you and yours, and not at all surprised by SG and her continued support ... she seems a real goodun, that one :o)
Get well Soon, he said imaginatively! Hospitals are in a difficult position as you normally only go there if you, a close relative or dear friend is ill and quite possibly dying. However, that is scant excuse for the appalling architecture and the HomeBase decor.
Hope you are feeling better today. At least you are able to type! Or is SG typing for you? ;-)
Dr. Bernie Siegel always had good advice for hospital patients - be a pain in the ass. Be a person with a name, not "the case of __ in Room __." I always feel sorry for the hospital staff, myself. As a patient, I get to leave at some point. They do not. I always smile and try to make their day brighter, because, poor things, they can never escape. They usually remember me for that.
Sorry to hear this David. Hope you're up and about again sooner rather than later. I too hate hospitals. I remember having a conversation with a woman who sat on some hospital trust quango, who talked earnestly about her desire to get more *art* into the wards. I think I said something along the lines of why didn't they just put a row of human skulls on pikes out front and be done with it.
I am sorry to read you are not well, David. I hope it will all get fixed soon.
The last paragraph you wrote is so, so beautiful, especially the words 'there was someone to hold my hand'. Your Girl is not only Surreal, she is also Magical!
i hope you are feeling better by now, david. and you are blessed to have such a wonderful friend as surreal girl.
sending big hugs your way. <3
I'm thinking about you today and hoping that you are feeling and doing much better.
Jody
Visions of Luke Haines can't be beat... hope you're up and about soon
Hope you feel better soon. Hospitals are not happy places. I had to visit someone in hospital recently and I got panic attacks just sitting in the car park. Glad you have someone with you.
JUst realised I have a book of yours...if you are that David Southwell. Couldn't concentrate on long tomes of books...so picked up "Conspiracy files"
Put two people together in a room and a thrid one outside and there'll be a conspiracy of sorts... my sisters used to say (we are five) don't leave the room you'll get talked about. Ha Hope things are easier by now
David, I'm sorry you were hurt! Many healing energies to you....may you be blessed with healing.
And may you be fortunate enough to block out the imagines of nurses clad in vomit pink and turquoise vessels for our humanly fluids. I shudder just thinking on it...
:0)
Yeah, I aint a big fan of hospitals neither! Take it easy. Don't let the doctors give you more shots than you can avoid.
Oh no! I'm sorry, hoping your feeling better
Dickon – You have met SG so you know firsthand, she is a good one.
Mathew – You are right and there is never an excuse for HomeBase décor.
Marvin – Normally, your advice is second nature to me, but if you had endured my nurse, an attempt to smile might have hurt as much as the original injury.
Nick – Fabulous to have a comment from you. Of course, they could only use heads of those who had signed a consent card saying: ‘In case of my death, please give my body to some ponce like Damien Hirst…’
Milla – Thank you. Yep, she is.
Veleska – Thank you. Very much appreciated.
Z – Thank you. Sorry I have not dropped by recently.
Misanthropes for Jesus – Visions of Mr. Haines can be truly terrifying, but they are always to be welcomed.
Helenmh – I know those panic attacks far too well.
Middle Child – Yes, I am that David Southwell…
Greenlee – Thank you. My nurse wore dark blue and luckily there was no fluid involved.
Daniel – Good advice, appreciated.
Shadow – Thank you.
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