Written 08/03/2016

Amazingly, my stay at the hospital was probably the best I've ever taken care of myself - that is, once I was able to understand my surroundings and get myself out of bed which, to be fair, didn't happen for the first week or so. But as soon as I could drag my wheelchair into the shower, I would spend at least two or three hours a day in there, making sure that every part of my body was constantly as clean as it could possibly be - and then some -, forever requesting that my husband bring me an endless supply of various creams and moisturisers. The shower became a haven from the outside ward, where you could hear death calling through the torturous beeps of all our monitors and where anyone was susceptible of receiving life-altering news at any given time. The shower w...

Please subscribe to keep reading.