Count Your Blessings

Today I realised how lucky I am. I was visiting my sister at Southampton General Hospital and I realised what a bubble I live in. I am blessed with a beautiful home, two happily married loving parents, financial stability and a naughty baby Pug. There are ups and down – of course – but generally, life is sweet. And today, more than ever, my eyes were opened to that. And that is because all around me there was great sadness. There were young children, curled up on hospital beds with their anxious parents gently holding their little feet.

My sister, touch wood, isn’t seriously ill. She has ‘Quincy’, which is basically an abscess on the tonsils which has to be lanced with a needle (not very pleasant), and it is extremely painful and makes you feel awful. So it should be a quick recovery for her. For many children I saw today, I’m not so sure about that ‘quick recovery’. One little boy had a shaven head, and I couldn’t help but wonder if that had been done to save his pride before it fell out due to chemotherapy. Another young girl, around 16 or so, was having a conversation with a child psychiatrist about why she had attempted to commit suicide – again. What with the only barrier between yourselves and the rest of the ward being a flimsy piece of blue material, it makes for a great Trisha-like situation: where you’re listening to everybody else’s suffering and problems. The only glitch is that there’s no light relief in the form of adverts . Being at hospital screams to me thank your lucky stars you’re not in here. You are lucky. 

And I am lucky. And I must always remember that because all too often we don’t quite realise it until it’s too late; until we’re on our death beds, or we’ve lost something we were never grateful enough to have in the first place.

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