Warning: This blog post contains strong language
Thoughts From Inside The Ambulance
I have been inside an ambulance only once. This was in 2007 before I was diagnosed with Crohn’s Disease.
I awoke in the middle of the night with excruciating abdominal pain, screaming as if someone had stabbed me. No one had stabbed me but instead my small intestine was attacking twelve-year-old me. My mum dialled an ambulance and they arrived what seemed like hours later.
I chose to describe this night in my GCSE English Language examination; the question asked to ‘Describe a day from your childhood’, but looking back on it nine years later can be challenging. Having said this I still remember a couple of thoughts from that night as I was driven to hospital, including:
› Is this the gas and air they give pregnant women in hospital?
› This is what it must feel to be drunk.
› Why is it taking so long to get to hospital?
› Fuck. I’m dying.
I also recall thinking that I was lucky to have my mum. She sat next to me in the ambulance holding my hand. I cannot pretend to know what she was thinking. All I know is that I am grateful for having a wonderful mum. I am thankful for all the times she stayed in hospital with me; for when she calmed me down during my emotional outbursts; for the hugs and smiles; and for believing me when I said I was in pain. Thank you for being there for me.
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