It was the forth time this month I was sat in here. The forth. I was getting sick of it to be honest, not that I’d ever tell anyone that, of course. That would be insensitive. It was my mother, I wasn’t going to sit there and say; “Wow Mom really, can’t you last a week without being sent into the hospital?” My Mom’s a heavy smoker, you see, so she’s in and out of hospital a lot. Lung Cancer they say, not that I really understand, I’ve never really asked what it means, I don’t want to know. I know that Cancer is a killer and that’s all I really want to know. I don’t want to know about something that’s inside my Mother and killing her. She’s undergoing different therapies at the minute, which is why I’m here. I’m not going to school at the moment, the teachers understand. When I did go, all I did was sit in silence and stare at the ground, so they said to take some time off until I feel ready. Also Known As, “Take some time off, and when your mother has passed away you can come back.” I’ve seen the inside of this hospital more times than any fifteen year old should, I know the nurses and doctors on a first name basis, I know my way around the building by heart and I even have a pass that a doctor gave me so I can eat for free. It has my name and everything on it. ‘S SUMNER’ it reads. It’s kind of cool, but under these circumstances, it really isn’t.
When you’re sitting in a hospital waiting room for hours on end, you kind of work out the regulars. There is an elderly man who sits on the other side of the room, every Tuesday, Friday and Sunday between the hours of 10AM - 12PM, and occasionally 5PM - 7PM. I think he waits for his wife who’s undergoing therapy too, sometimes he would read the newspaper, or go for a walk. Other times I would see him sit with his head in his hands, I think he would cry, because his shoulders would shake and you could hear a faint low whimper. It’s horrible to watch and know that you cant to anything to take the pain away, but that’s hospitals.
There’s also a few more regulars I see in this waiting room. There’s a middle aged woman who sits far away from everyone else, reading. She comes in every week around 1PM, and would bring a different book every time with her. She must be a quick reader, occasionally I have an urge to talk to her and ask about her books; they seem interesting from the covers but she would glare at me if she spotted my looking at her so I would shrink away and decide against it.
There was also a teenage boy that used turn up occasionally. He’s quite attractive, with short dark hair, but a long fringe that was dyed red. He has a lip piercing and seems to have a good taste in music. I mean by his band shirts that he wears. I plucked up the courage to speak to him once, his voice was heavenly. I had quite a big crush on him, he was so polite and kept me company while my mother was in therapy. He told me how his grandmother was having Radiotherapy and talked me through what happens so I know what might be happening to my Mother. It sounded terrifying and painful but the boy; Kier his name was, reassured me that it wasn’t. A few months ago he stopped turning up, I saw him once at the reception crying into the shoulder of another boy. The other boy was taller than him slightly, and had slightly long black hair with a fringe that swept across his forehead. He seemed nice, by the way he was comforting Kier lovingly. It made me wonder if that boy was Kier’s boyfriend. That’s a nice thought, knowing that Kier had someone at what seemed to be a tough time for him. I never did see Kier here again. I hope his grandmother is okay.
As I said before, it was the forth time this month I had been here, usually we only came here around once every two weeks, but recently my Mother had to be here once or sometimes twice a week. I’m not sure whether that is a good thing or not. I hope it is, but I don’t see how coming to a hospital more often can be good. I was looking around the hospital at the regulars until I saw a boy, he looked a little younger than me, but I think that was because he was looking quite vulnerable. He was wheeling himself in a wheelchair looking around the waiting room curiously. I had seen him around a lot, always in different places though, so I couldn’t tell you why he was here. I know he was an in patient though, by the hospital gowns he was wearing. He seemed to have noticed me staring at him and began to wheel towards me.
