Fun in cancer wards

My direct experience in cancer wards has been pretty limited so far, but over the last two or three years Cro and I did build up a lot of shared experience of the world of the places you go when you have cancer, from the big walk-in day centres for chemo and radiotherapy, to the places where you need to be admitted and closely monitored.

Although these are not places anyone would choose to go, I have to report that they have lovely people working in them and Cro and I at least engineered plenty of enjoyment within them. Cro even ended up writing a poem about them (The Kindness of Cancer Patients), which will be in that collection of her poems when we publish it.

First, the staff: anyone choosing to specialise in cancer treatment or care knows what they are taking on. Our first oncologist was a lovely man (he also has an anonymised poem in the collection) and was particularly direct, which suited Cro and me right down to the ground. In our first meeting he stressed it was important to Cro to 'get your affairs in order', which is as clear as you can get.

The support staff and nursing specialists are great too, in my experience, and you know that they have seen dozens, hundreds, thousands of people in your shoes, so can empathise with all the ways you might be reacting. I was very struck that the nurses in the busy chemo unit on Ipswich - which treats over a hundred patients a day - will remember to ask "How is your daughter getting on?" if you talked to them about her the last time. 

The patients are also, in our joint experience, nicer than most. I suppose they are aware that they shouldn't 'sweat the small stuff' and they also extract enjoyment from wherever is resides, because extracting enjoyment is important.

Cro and I made sure that we extracted as much as we could, and always got visitors into the ward for Cro with picnics and time to talk, old photos to laugh over, old shared times to re-share. And I can now admit that those little thermos flasks with 'cold lemonade ' inside actually contained champagne. Cro was very committed to her 'vow of opulence' over the last few months.

One afternoon early on we actually absconded to our favourite local pub with a bottle of oxygen. They were a bit teacherish when we returned but I have no regets.

I think the important fact, especially when it is clear that time is limited, is to make sure that you live as fully as you can. Cro was in a side-room of her own over the last three weeks and we all have so many memories of time that we shared there, making it as lovely and homely as possible, with flowers and books and treats. And with way too many visitors , but Cro knew that more was better at this time, even when she got tired.

And the other thing you need to take from it is time. You don't have to be doing something all the time. Sometimes the person in the bed will not always have the energy or need to talk. But they know you are there, and some of that time you spend together can be the most important in your lives.