Read Online The Girl With Nine Wigs by Sophie van der Stap - Free Book Online

trouble mixing colors. The interior decorators of the hospital must have missed out on their color-matching classes. Apparently the primary colors divided up into square patches on the walls of the pulmonary ward have a psychological meaning. The yellow window frames set off against the blue contours are meant to bring me a sense of peace and calm. I seriously wonder which unrest came first in the days of Dr. K: the one caused by the colors or the one caused by needles. Here on the C6 ward they managed to keep this experimental designer at bay and opted for soft lilac and baby blue, a combination that strongly reminds me of the interior of my primary school. Maybe that interior was meant to calm down its occupants as well.
    I call C6 my resort spa, which isn’t really that far from the truth. It offers me everything a spa does: peace and quiet, treatments that (hopefully) leave me healthier than when I arrived, and nurses who dote on me hand and foot.
    This will be the last of my weekly chemo cocktails. After this stay, I get a new dose only once every three weeks.
    Bas is about to call out his usual “Hey, Baldy” when he discovers Sue on my head. “Surprise!” I call out. Nurse Pauke, another nurse, is not amused and immediately gets down to business.
    â€œHeart, bladder, and kidneys: those are the organs we need to keep an eye on. Do you have any complaints?” Her no-nonsense attitude does me well.
    â€œMy heart? Well, it could use a bit more romance, but that’s probably not what you meant,” I answer playfully. “Otherwise, I can’t hold my pee in as long as I used to. Sometimes I have some leakage issues.…” I trail off. Bas jokes that he’ll find me some Depends for old ladies and leads me to my room.
    I’ve been downgraded to a bed in one of the shared rooms. Until now I’d been protected from this fate. The four private rooms on the ward are reserved for patients who are dying, need to be in isolation, or are otherwise exceptional. I’d fallen into this last category during my previous stays, being the youngest and the most recently diagnosed, but unfortunately there are too many cases in the other two categories at the moment. So, as my condition gets better, I am condemned to a room full of cancer.
    Wedged in between Aunt Agony and Auntie Blah, I occasionally exchange knowing glances with my elderly neighbor across the room, who has been the unfortunate witness to their gossipfest for a few days now. The average age in this room must have been about seventy; I brought it down to fifty-eight and a half.
    â€œGood morning! Anybody thirsty?” The ever-cheery coffee lady is making her rounds.
    Not a stir.
    â€œNot all at once,” she jokes. Still no response; we vegetables are busy vegetating. She fills our tea and coffee mugs all the same. I’m hooked up to my IV pump, and an annoying new nurse is making numerous attempts at taking some blood samples.
    Next, the cleaning lady enters to sterilize all the cancer cells floating around the room.
    Mom sits in the chair beside my bed. Dear, loyal Mom. Not a day goes by that she doesn’t put on her red lipstick, even when she was going in for her own chemo treatments. She’s energetic and assertive, especially where her daughter’s health is concerned. She barely gives the interns the time of day, and even the residents are given a hard time every now and then.
    â€œAre you sure about that? Does Dr. L know about this?” is one of her favorite lines. Or when my IV is being changed: “Only if you can manage it in one go. Otherwise you can go and get your supervisor.” She guards my bed like a knight guards his castle. We share a lot in this awkward space. She sees exactly how my mouth stiffens when the IV is inserted and how my smile disappears when I’m sick to my stomach. When the hospital sucks and all the people in it are assholes. Sometimes that’s all it