A Rainbow of Party Hats
I was in hospital for Christmas.
I would spend just over a month in hospital that visit, and it was my fifth hospital stay in three years for the same reason, but being there for Christmas was a real sticking point. My mood was incredibly low. My wife, who usually came to see me every day when I was in hospital, had broken her leg and was unable to visit. I missed her terribly. I had already had two surgeries this visit and was expecting another after Christmas. I was hooked up to drips and drains. I was in pain. Everything I wanted to do required someone else’s help, and I hated it. It felt like my life was one big medical drama after another, and it felt like living in the drama was becoming impossible.
I wanted out. Not just out of the hospital, but out of my body, out of the pain, out of the indignity, out of my life.
The ward emptied out around me. They send you home at Christmas, if they can. But I stayed. And my mood got worse.
Even though we had discussed it beforehand, I do not think I ever entirely believed Christmas Day would come together like it did. But lo and behold, once their family lunch obligations had been fulfilled, five of my most wonderful, most beautiful friends descended upon my hospital ward. They were armed with delicious treats, and board games, and an abundance of festive cheer and queer joy. We ate mac and cheese from hospital mugs, and trifle from a huge Tupperware container. We cracked bon-bons and wore a rainbow of party hats. We played boisterous rounds of Munchkin in the patient lounge. We commiserated with the friend whose stepmother had been awful over lunch. We made plans to see the new Star Wars movie when I was released from hospital. We laughed, and laughed, and laughed.
I still missed my wife. I was still in pain. I was still full of drips and drains. I still needed help with mundane tasks. I was still in hospital! But those hours (and they were hours – ending long after the official visiting time) with my queer community reminded me that my life was more than these things. They reminded me that I had a life, not just “one big medical drama after another.”
That Christmas was almost 10 years ago now, and I am still very much living the medical drama, but whenever I start to feel like maybe it is all too much, like it is not worth the struggle, I remember party hats, and mac and cheese. I remember Christmas spent in hospital, and I remember my community.
Written by C
Six people sit huddled close together on a hospital bed in front of a grey curtain. They are wearing brightly coloured paper crowns (the kind you get in Christmas crackers) and have arranged themselves so that their hats are in the order of the stripes on a rainbow flag. Their faces have been obscured with animal stickers. Red Hat has a calico cat on his face, Orange Hat has a small dog sticking out its tongue, Yellow Hat has a platypus on her face, Green Hat has a hedgehog on theirs, Blue Hat has a ginger cat on her face, and Purple Hat has a dinosaur. In the upper left corner of the picture, a small Christmas tree ornament hangs from an IV pole.
