Hola a tod@s my dear friends: non-stop.
I present to you the second candidate to Editor. Shee has contacted me thanks to El Blog Alternativo.
In her email she writes: ‘ It is one of the first times that I see that the voice of patients and family members is important, so I decided to try. My name is Alicia Martínez, I am 37 years old and I am a patient in the unit of dialysis in the Hospital General de Castellón; in the unit of Renal Transplantation of the Hospital Clínic de Barcelona (transplant reno-pancreatic with reject of kidney one year ago) and patient of the Ophthalmology service of the Hospital Provincial de Castellón (diabetic retinopathy and cataracts, so I can not see very well).
Alicia has probably more hospital experience that many of who works every day in a Hospital!. We want to hear from you, hear everybody!.
I present her post: A Lack in the bank in the changing room, that sums up that moment so personal and everyday for dialysis patients, always alert.
‘ I entered this morning in the changing room. Only Susana was ther, again she has changed the turn. Carmen and Celestina arrive later, with their features and disparate voices.
Carmen voice is strong and hard as an oak, although lately it breaks… Wrinkled brown skin, dark which is caught in the field picking lettuce.
Celestina is older but more cheerful… and from Teruel. She carries her deafness and her lack of vision with resignation, which I can´t understand but I like it.
Both of them are changed clothes while I watch them.I want, to see the same movements, no one more.
After the arrival of Fina, Josefa and Rosa, our group is complete and costume becomes small.
I see Carmen to go from one side to another: her chair is missing and she doesn´t find her place.
They begin with the complaints, stories, anecdotes, back complaints…
As they entered they come out. Seeing them disappear through the door I think about the brave women they are.
We say goodbye in thousands of ways thinking that time to see us again is too long.
Carmen and I talk about everything a bit. Squeezing the time, the waiting, the unexpected…
After the call, a listless step forward. It time.
I touch the wall bouncing us with the tip of my fingers and swear you to return to it. Safe.
The white room opens to us. We have reached.
Hemodialysis starts in 3, 2, 1… Puncture!
And I close my eyes moving me to the bench of wood that is on the seafront.
To your Breeze, to smell, to its whisper of steps… I sleep.
Even within 4 hours.
Have a nice day… thank you Alicia!