The Blanche Syndrome

It was Blanche Dubois who said, “I always depend on the kindness of strangers”. Although I wouldn’t say it’s a dependency I would certainly say there is nothing else quite like it.

When my mum was recently in hospital I got to experience it first hand.

My mum was in an all female ward with her bed located at the very corner of the room. Next to her was a Greek-Cypriot woman whom couldn’t speak English, in the bed opposite was an English woman whom couldn’t speak Bengali.

Now although my mum isn’t fluent in English like me (although some people would argue I speak it as though it’s a foreign language) she can fully understand it and still hold conversations with those who can. Even when my siblings or I are not present to help translate.

Yet despite the very obvious language and racial barrier the bond in which these women struck up with each other was heart-warming and extremely humbling.

This was all in the run up to the recent General Election with radical far-right fascist groups aiming to profiteer on the out-pouring of ignorant xenophobia. And where we live in East London, there had been a lot of flaring up of racial tension with Nick Griffin running for the nearby parliamentary seat of Barking and a brainless local councillor expressing Islamophobic sentiments. In addition, with an expected Tory victory the future certainly didn’t appear to be bright.

However, as depressing as being in a hospital can be it was also reassuring to see that despite the political and social backdrop, the wards of the hospital represented the melting pot that London is renowned for.

And the only type of London I know.

Patients of different races and languages finding ways to communicate with each other. Filipino, Creole and African nurses administering the wards with the Indian and Mediterranean doctors tending to their patients.

Where would we be without this? What could we be without this?

The lady opposite my mum, Nicky, was from Bedfordshire and rarely had visitors as the distance between where they lived and the location of the hospital was too vast. At the insistence of my mother I bought her a couple of bottles of Ribena when her supply ran short. This random act of kindness touched her and felt rewarding for me.

Being in hospital can be a frustrating time for both patients and visitors. The waiting around for results, being bed-ridden and that distinctive odour that all hospitals tend to have are not pleasant. But it’s these single moments of generosity that offset the feelings of fear or anxiety that one may feel.

I even gave a couple of cakes and doughnuts to the nurses in a shameless act of bribery so they’d keep an extra look out for my mum outside of visiting hours.

In this particular ward, the women were about to have or were recovering from major surgery. And some were still in very obvious discomfort. So for them to take the time out and find out how each other were doing was very touching.

The day my mother was allowed to leave was happy, as it was sad. It was great for me as I could finally bring my mum home to familiar surroundings.

However, the Greek lady couldn’t stop crying. Probably out of joy, that she’s going home and probably from that despondent empty feeling that you only tend to get when you have to say bye to someone after developing a profound friendship.

In a time where our differences are being amplified and scrutinized to a frightening degree it was heartening to see that the common bond in which strangers share can help to bring people together who may not have met under any other circumstance.

Which means there is hope.

And despite the Tories assuming high office the BNP were emphatically booted out and battered at the ballot box.

Which means there is hope.