He had felt trapped for two months. He had not felt sunlight on his skin for so long, his Vitamin D levels were depleted. The rest of his body had lost its reserves. Things had been touch and go during treatment for his first cancer, but this time around everything had been much worse. He couldn’t remember when he last felt himself. It seemed like everything that could go wrong had gone wrong. He had reached breaking point, he had to leave the hospital prison, even if it meant considering transfer to hospice.

He hadn’t had personal experience of hospice but people he knew in his homeland had given him a bad impression. He asked his wife and son to check the hospice out, to see if they would be suitable or not. They came back and have their approval, he decided to go for it. Then he had more bleeding, this held up his transfer a few more days. By this time he was ready not just to go, but to let go of life. All he wanted to was three things. To be outside and to feel grass underneath his bare feet. To taste his favourite fruit again, green apple. To eat an ice block. His digestive tract had been replaced by thousands of ulcers, gut rest had been ordered. This had been almost worse than being sick. Being ravenous but not allowed to eat or drink anything. Hunger and thirst tormented him night and day. Everything felt as black as what he had been vomiting up.

He wanted to go home, but everyone thought it was too hard. His family and the medical teams, they all thought it was a bad idea. He knew he was unstable, they had told him about how little time he had left. He had heard it all before during the treatment of his first cancer, but he had proven them all wrong. At the start of this new cancer he had been determined to fight it as hard as he had the other one. To hell and back, and then back to hell again.

That’s what it felt like this time around. Bad news, followed by bad news, followed by worse news, followed by the worst possible news. They thought he only had weeks left to live. They made him feel like they wanted him out of their ward as soon as possible. They had no treatments left for him. He was taking up a bed that someone else they could treat could make use of. Get out of here, you don’t deserve to be here as you have failed your treatments. That’s how he felt even though they had been polite enough when they had talked to him. The message in-between the lines was – you don’t belong here, please get out of our sight. You failure. You make us feel sad. Begone. Yesterday.

“Okay already, I am out of here as soon as possible.” He wasn’t 100% sure about hospice but they had sounded welcoming enough. He hoped they would help his family too. “Let’s get outta here!”