The team of doctors don their plastic aprons and nudge open the curtain.
They greet me kindly and turn their attention to my mum, slumped exhausted in her hospital bed.
Her temperature has been spiking over 39 degrees for 10 days. They have her on a cocktail of intravenous antibiotics but they can't get the fevers under control.
She's also neutropenic which means she has no white blood cells to fight infection.
They gently ask her questions: has she got a cough, a sore throat, any irritation when she urinates.
They pummel her tum, check her heart, looking for clues as to what is causing the high temps.
Heather bustles in with a new antibiotic. Mum brightens; she likes Heather.
Despite being in Australia for 25 years, Heather still speaks with a clipped South African accent.
Her uncle also has leukaemia and she has been talking to Mum about the progress of her illness.
Heather is busy and efficient but stops to have a chat, commenting to me: "You're up from the South Coast; your mum has been waiting for you."
Mum begins to rally, the temperature easing with the help of paracetamol.
"The nursing staff are wonderful," she says. "Malcolm was on during the night, such a nice young man. He's going to the Hunter Valley for the weekend."
Then there is Kelly from Cambodia. She has a sweet, caring manner and as I leave reassures me she will watch over Mum.
Nefertiti is from Egypt. She tells Mum to call her Neffy.
Christian harks from Austria. He refers to the drug Vancomycin as "the antibiotic" because his "v" comes out as a "w", which has resulted in some merciless teasing.
We have been regular visitors to the hospital for three months as Mum fights her disease.
In the ward where she receives the blood transfusions she is cared for by Mary, who comes from the Philippines but now lives with her husband and children in Campbelltown, a three-hour round trip to the hospital.
Mary is cheerful and encouraging, happy to share her life story and help us pass the time of day.
Helen is from England and loves scuba diving; Kyle is a trainee nurse who is mortified when he spills blood as he tries to insert Mum's canula.
Margot (with a hard "t") is from Spain, Lucinda from Peru.
One of the registrars is John from Papua New Guinea. He tells us he is studying blood diseases because he wants to return to PNG to help fight the AIDS epidemic there.
One day my sisters and I are reminiscing with Mum about our childhood in Fiji and spontaneously begin singing the Fijian farewell song Isa Lei.
A head pops around the door and joins the chorus. It is Lani, a Fijian nursing sister who has fled the turmoil in her home country.
The hospital, with its bustling routine and fascinating cast of characters, is a microcosm of the outside world.
The wards are old and crumbling, the lino is scarred, the furniture chipped and broken, the ceilings stained. But the treatment - from specialist doctors to highly skilled nursing staff - is first class.
The medicos give of their time and expertise with gentle, caring humanity.
My mum is home now, but she knows that when she has to return she will be made welcome and be cared for by some truly wonderful people.
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