Waiting for a breath – chronic illness and the fear of hospitals

As a student with multiple chronic illnesses, I am forced to spend a lot of time in hospitals. I always say being chronically ill or disabled can be one of the biggest inconvinences of your life. One day you have plans and suddenly you have to be back in hospital again. Through having complex health issues, I have been through a lot of medical trauma and suffer massively from panic attacks whenever I am trapped in there again – but I hate showing that fear.

At the end of January, I was back in hospital but was very lucky to have a friend on video call speak to me almost the whole time! One time where he had to go, I decided to try and write all my thoughts down, I’ve written poetry my whole life, but have never shared anything until now. A group of very good friends I have made through The Open University have now heard this poem and have encouraged me to share it.

Being disabled or chronically ill can feel isolating enough, let alone when you are a distance learner. But if this helps even one person to feel less alone, fearful and that awful panic that you feel in hospital, then my job is done. Being the Disabled Student Representative means I have (and always will) care incredibly deeply in making sure all disabled people don’t feel alone in their thoughts. People often don’t talk about the more raw, real and dark side of our lives, so I want to do that today, to shed a fraction of light on the hidden side of being disabled. Whilst you can feel so alone, know that you are far from that. There are so many people here who truly understand and will always listen. You are not alone and you will be okay.

Waiting for a breath

The waiting room is wide and loud, a sea of faces in a crowd.

Tall blue chairs in perfect rows, a place my anxious body knows.

The floor is blue with specks of white, of black, like stars that blur my sight.

Above, the ceiling, harsh and plain, that well known classic hospital frame.

There must be 40 people in here, and every sound sharpens my fear.

A cough, a chair scrape, someone sighs, and panic starts to rise and rise.

My chest begins to ache and burn, my stomach twists, my vision blurs.

My heartbeat pounds against my ribs, like something wild that never gives.

I try to breathe, but air feels thin, like I’m too trapped within my skin.

My hands go cold, my body shakes, my mind fractures, my focus breaks.

I cannot let them see me fall, not here, not shaking in this hall.

I swallow down the urge to cry, pretend that I am passing by.

Because they wouldn’t understand, they’d think I’m weak… They’d think I’m dammed, to overthink.

To be untrue, but they don’t know what I’ve lived through.

This room is more than waiting chairs, it holds old terror in the air.

Hospitals don’t feel safe to me, they feel like places I can’t flee.

The walls are bright, the noises blend, and suddenly I can’t pretend.

My throat is tight, my breath is gone, my body screams that something’s wrong.

So I escape, I run away, across the tiles, down the dim darkened hallway.

To bathroom lights that hum and glare, to lock myself inside of there.

I press my palms against the sink, I try so hard just not to think.

To slow the storm, to feel what’s real, to breathe through something I can’t heal.

Outside, they wait. Inside, I shake.

I’m doing all I can to make it through this moment, through this place,

With panic written on my face…

But hidden, silent, held in place.