I so hope the two elderly ladies in the room I’m in get to go home for Christmas. They both have to have chemotherapy, as does a third younger lady who went home late this afternoon to be with her husband and children.
She has lung cancer. I’m not sure where the cancer is on the two proud, fierce and tired women opposite me.
They both struggle with their purple gowns with the white rubber buttons. These buttons have this cunning way of making you feel like a trapped bird, which sucks me back to Bukowski – there’s a bluebird in my heart that wants to get out.