A BASIC HUMAN RIGHT. Waiting rooms in Government owned health providers

Wow, breaking the trespassing order again. Got sick of stitches under eye, so waiting in eye department for nurse… Tried getting stitches pulled by nurses at my doctors office, but no way. They looked, they didn’t even go “uhm” or “ahh”…

They told me to move on.


Thus, here I am. The low building between Ward Services Block and generator building chimneys is Mental Health Ward 27 where I once did community work by talking to inmates about their drug use.

The chimneys once would not have been visable from here as there was another block where rear carpark is now. Mum worked there for years. I spent hours and hours when four years old making myself home there. Ambulance bay at bottom with all the smokers was a favourite spot. Friendly sorts.

I am on floor 9 of Grace Neil block. Ten years ago my daughter was born 8 floors below me. I spent a month in this building looking out upon the same view as the photo… Only six floors down…

You can see some of the offices where Professors and very respectable people I know in this photo. For fear of losing their advice and subtle help they remain anonymous. Have known these people since my mums workmates started marrying surgeons and doctors in the seventies. I cannot cash in favours with these people as they don’t need cash. Short favours and words in ears are free.

Maybe they get a laugh out of it all. But their kids whom I grew up with are not much better.

In the background of photo are trees where I used to walk my pit bull dog and have outdoor activities with girlfriend.

In fact you can even see two ex’s houses.

Newtown, Wellington, New Zealand. I think it likes me.

CCDHB Capital Coast District Health Board and Wellington Regional Hospital has done me proud. I can walk, control my own urine, chew on gums, all because of this place. This place even paid for all the food on my plate and the roof over my head until I moved on from Mums care.

This place had been good. I had a say in my daughters care. The specialists and doctors listened, argued and deferred to my experience with opiate withdrawal management.

The winner at the end of the day was my daughter and a few neonatal specialist types who do things a little differently now.

My sister died with dignity and little pain right next door. I cared for her like my daughter. Mum mentioned at funeral that my sister had not talked of death with anyone.

She had.


Cancer, pain, addiction… If you want advice, help or thoughts from outside the old school fascist box, you could do a lot worse….



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