And I Still Hate Pyjamas

'Just start from the beginning. And tell me what happened.' 

'It was the middle of the night. Monday. July 8th - I think. And I was in my -

'Take your time. I know this is hard.'  

'I was in my pyjamas. And my stomach hurt. Like Really hurt. So I asked-' 

'Here. Have some water. Take a deep breath. I’ve got all day.'

'I pressed the button for a nurse to come. She came and asked me what was wrong. I told her. And she went away. She brought me back some medicine for the pain. Then she left and - 

'Breathe Sophie. Breathe. In and Out. That’s it. Whenever you’re ready.' 

'I sat there for a bit. I was too sore to lie down for a while. It was dark. Except for that one light to my left. The tablet room. And the nurses’ desk. That was when I saw - '

'You’re doing so well Sophie. I’m so proud of you.'

'I saw him. By their desk. He just leaned against a wall. Like he owned the place. He was watching me. And he wouldn’t -

'Sophie?' 

'Yeah?'

'Have you tried writing this down instead? Might be easier than saying it out loud. Then, if you’re comfortable, you could read it out to me. They would still be your words. But instead of digging for them in the moment, they would just be there - On the page. 

Ready for you. 

Whenever you needed them. 

To share your story.'

'What do you think?'

'Do you want to give it a go?'

'Yeah.'

'Ok.'

'Fantastic.'

'Here, use this pen. I’m sorry it’s a bit tattered, I'm afraid. I also write when I can’t speak too. So it’s seen a lot in its life.'

'It’s fine. Seems fitting for the way my story feels anyway.'

'Here’s some paper too.'

'Just let me know if you need any more.'

 'Ok.'

'Now, I’ll just sit here and daydream. And you write down everything you want to say. Ok?' 

'Ok.'

'I’ll try.'

'That’s all I could ever I ask for.'

'Just let the pen light your way.'

'Sorry?'

'You’ll see what I mean.'

I spent my 14th birthday with a hole in my head. It was drilled in. I didn't put it there. And it wasn't planned either. I should probably explain that it was emergency brain surgery. Although leaving that bit out adds a certain intrigue I think.

I lived in a fishbowl. We all did.

I have never related more to an animal at the zoo in my whole life. We were there to be watched, studied, examined. I could count on one hand the number of times I was spoken to by name. Just nods, pointing and clipboards. The sum of my soul.

The day after my 14th birthday, my head was cut open. Drilling and cutting. My two birthday gifts.

There was a lump on my brain that apparently shouldn't have been there. An alien on a foreign planet.

They called it a raspberry. I guess they thought 14 year old me could only relate to fruit.

It was all very matter of fact. This was there. Now it's not.

But I think that raspberry held more of me than they realised.

I lived a fortnight in pyjamas. Not a highlight as I'd once have thought. You wear pyjamas when you go to sleep. When you switch off from the world and expect to be safe.

There, I was awake, in tears, sleeping, walking, being scanned. All in my pyjamas. When you're in hospital, people bring you pyjamas. It's the weirdest housewarming present I've ever heard of. And grapes too. I'm not sure what that's about.

Staying in a ward is like living in a cul de sac. You get to know everyone. Whether you want to or not.

Although the walls of our houses were curtains and everything got through. Every morning we all got the same cold callers. They didn't talk to us. Just stood at the door, read about our peeing schedules, stared at us, whispered and then left. And then it was on to the next house. We watched this all with a heavy sense of inevitability. Put your guard up. Poker face. Don't give it away that they treat you like dust. After they left, we went back to our chores. Straightened the table, fluffed the pillow. Or pillows if you were lucky.

Now I can't say it was all bad. I once had a race in a wheelchair.And one neighbour gave me chocolate everyday. Who her secret source was I still don't. One nurse fought for a Quiche for me and another spent hours brushing out the dried blood and iodine in my hair.

It was the worst time of my life. And definitely not the best. But it was a time. And it is my life.

And I still hate pyjamas. 

'Helen?'

'Yes Sophie?'

 'I did it.'

'I wrote it all down.'

'Sorry about all the tear stains. I can explain the blurry words if you can’t read them.'

'And the shaky parts too.'

'It’s perfect Sophie. Would you like me to read it now?'

'Could I do it? I think I’ve found my voice again.'

'Oh, and here’s your torch back.'