Shit happens. You don’t have to suffer because of it.
The friends you make in hospital, if you do make a true friend, are the sort of people that will stay with you for life. They are people that have been by your side through the darkest of days. They are the people you soldiered with, that you battled in the trenches of life with and fought for survival every day with. They picked you up when you faltered, and you them, you supported one another through the unbearable and came out the other side and you still managed to remind each other what it is to laugh.
I’m not a proper grown-up- I don’t have things like a mortgage, maturity or health insurance.
I will trill out the party-line; “I am blessed to live in a country that has free healthcare.” Sure, aren’t there women in America giving birth on the doorsteps of hospitals for the want of health insurance? Feel free to continue adding to this sentiment for as long as you please.
I may not be a proper grown-up that has health insurance, but I am a proper grown-up that’s worked and paid taxes from the age of sixteen. Apparently, those taxes pay for things like state pensions, government chauffeurs and our public health care system.
I entered 2017 on a slice of hospital and will be ending 2017 on a slice of hospital. Two slices of slightly stale bread, with 365 layers of much of the same crap in between. I want to be optimistic. I want to look back on this year and say that I reached some goals, did some things to make myself proud, got stronger and healthier, perhaps learned to love myself a little bit more. It didn’t turn out to be that way, as, I guess, sometimes these things don’t. Don’t get me wrong, in some ways this year was great. In one way, it was the best of my life. On balance? Put it this way, 2018 already has a head start.