Home is sometimes the littlest thing. Frank Powell has a small calm in the bustle of the ward. On his bedside table is a stack of CDs, a newspaper, a book, a carton of juice.
"Do a crossword, something like that. Or read. I reminisce many times, thinking of the past. Each thought is different."
Everybody deals with the experience of hospital in their own way. And the reasons for being in are as varied as the people.
"They cope with it as differently as themselves. The life in here, you need to ease it. Crosswords, reading, it's like ordinary isn't it? It's a bit annoying the noise here but not as bad as some. Just cope that's all. Pain? Grin and bear it. Good luck with the weather."
Being with Frank, I have a strong sense that he has created his own space, a bubble of concentration and inner life. But he doesn't especially stand out, it's not a big statement, quite the opposite.
"Got my CD. Newspaper, book. I fit in. When in Rome..."
I often wonder: how I would deal with all this? The pain, the strange space and strangers, my own body a stranger too.
"Make it close to your ordinary life. Try to make this unusual thing as close to your usual as possible."
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