Life After: Week One

Huh. This has been a bit of a crazy week.

I've been trying to think of what to write. And there have been little things that would have been great to write about if I'd had a computer on hand and two hands to type with at that time, but I didn't or couldn't or chose to sleep instead and now they're gone into the ether of sleep deprivation.

At the end of our stay at the hospital--on Thursday--a nurse came into the room and was all, "Soooo... we're at capacity in the labor-and-delivery unit and we have some women coming in and if they can't get a room here they're going to have to be diverted across town and they won't get to work with their OB and... your name came up as possibly being transferred to an overflow room?"

Yeah, I'm going to say no after she puts it that way.

I can't say it didn't make sense--I was being discharged at 10 the next morning. How much of a hardship could this be?

So the room we got transferred to--holy cats, was it small. Made me realize how completely pampered we'd been in our kingdom before, what with a full-size couch and closets and chairs and what-all. The new room--and that's using the room "new" quite loosely, as it hadn't been updated since 1976, if then--could fit my hospital bed and the baby's bassinet and--if we moved everything around, squished up against the wall and then didn't breathe too deeply--a fold-out cot that fit most of Andrew. And literally, that was it.

Also, we got our own personal cop.

Apparently the maternity wing has really strict security. So strict, in fact, that I wasn't allowed to walk the halls with Howie without also pushing his Humvee of a bassinet (thereby really defeating the purpose of my walk). And now I wasn't in the maternity wing. So they had to compensate by giving me a security guard sitting outside my door--the entire time. In fact! as we were packing up, there was a beautiful floral arrangement that we wouldn't be able to take back home with us (sorry, Mom and Dad!). But I thought maybe the nurses at the maternity desk would appreciate some fresh flowers (because man do they work hard!).

The security guard wouldn't let me walk to the desk with my son unless he accompanied me. The desk was maybe 50 steps away. I'm sure I looked like a criminal suspect to everyone else staying in the hall. Damn! Now I wish I'd muttered vaguely incriminating statements as random people passed by. Ah well, missed opportunities.

At any rate, he must have done his job well because we remained unmolested. That night in the Tiny Room was rough (apparently sleeping wasn't a priority to the newest member of our family), but all I thought about was others I know who had had rougher situations. I thought of my sister, who hadn't been allowed to have visitors after 7:00. Period. My sister-in-law (among others) shared a room. Others who'd had rougher deliveries, less amazing friends. Partners who weren't willing to cram their tall selves on clearly inadequate cots.

As tiny as that room was, it didn't matter all that much. We went home, a different kind of family than we'd been when we arrived. Which, when you think about it? Is pretty damn cool.