When Marley left Riverside the ambulance transfer staff gave me a pamphlet with a floor and phone number to call for information on her anytime. She went to C4. When I got there the next day it was so foreign. The halls were so long and there were lots of doors that were locked and you had to be buzzed in. The first time was like a movie. Surreal. With a haze and dream like quality about it. I had just had a baby. 26 and half hours earlier. I was swollen and uncomfortable. My mom drove me there. It had rained the day before and was gloomy, but today was bright. Almost cheerful. We parked. And I remembered.
Twelve years earlier I lost a cousin at this very hospital. She was 11. My oldest was months old and it was in the middle of the night. My mom texted and I got up and paced. I grabbed my keys and said to my husband- I have to go. I don’t remember crying. I’m sure I did. Mostly I remember that when I got there I pulled into a parking lot and there were no spaces. I got trapped and didn’t know where to go. A car left and I drove around to get the spot but someone beat me to it and I just sat there sobbing. The person got out of their car and saw that I was upset and asked if I was okay. I through tears said I was there to see my cousin and there were no more spots and I didn’t know where else to go. Looking back now I realize the magnitude of what they did- they got back into their car and drove on. They gave me their spot. And I went inside and met my mom.
Now here we were again. My mom walked inside at a rapid pace. I laughed and said hey, where’s the fire. She didn’t get it, then we laughed. I was told later that new moms get a wheelchair. That would have been nice to know. Buzzed in, name badge, more security. I guess I didn’t know what to expect, but when we had our own room I felt pure relief. I could hold my baby alone in my private little world and mourn our less than idyllic situation, but with a gratefulness that I couldn’t encompass with words. It was Labor Day weekend. My kids showed up. I was so grateful. I know the first time I saw her there- she was there with nurse Ashley. She was green. My husband argues yellow but I saw a rubbery greenish yellow flesh with fingers so red and swelled. Skin so tight. Pained. And a baby so crumpled. Ashley gave me the black kangaroo shirt to slip on so I could hold her skin to skin. She didn’t have an IV yet. Just lots of wrap, gauze, xeroform (a yellow sticky gauze like substance), and a diaper. No swaddling for you.
I have this picture of me with the kids around and I’m all smiling and standing there and I think now, it’s like I’m in a different place, hamming it up. It’s so off.
It’s been a year now since we were there. We would have been getting home 10 days ago. I would be still trying to hold it all together, too afraid to sulk. I know the signs of postpartum depression. I would be trudging along with so much time with my parents and my baby. Russ would be back at work. And life would just be beginning with Marley making six.
Twelve years earlier I lost a cousin at this very hospital. She was 11. My oldest was months old and it was in the middle of the night. My mom texted and I got up and paced. I grabbed my keys and said to my husband- I have to go. I don’t remember crying. I’m sure I did. Mostly I remember that when I got there I pulled into a parking lot and there were no spaces. I got trapped and didn’t know where to go. A car left and I drove around to get the spot but someone beat me to it and I just sat there sobbing. The person got out of their car and saw that I was upset and asked if I was okay. I through tears said I was there to see my cousin and there were no more spots and I didn’t know where else to go. Looking back now I realize the magnitude of what they did- they got back into their car and drove on. They gave me their spot. And I went inside and met my mom.
Now here we were again. My mom walked inside at a rapid pace. I laughed and said hey, where’s the fire. She didn’t get it, then we laughed. I was told later that new moms get a wheelchair. That would have been nice to know. Buzzed in, name badge, more security. I guess I didn’t know what to expect, but when we had our own room I felt pure relief. I could hold my baby alone in my private little world and mourn our less than idyllic situation, but with a gratefulness that I couldn’t encompass with words. It was Labor Day weekend. My kids showed up. I was so grateful. I know the first time I saw her there- she was there with nurse Ashley. She was green. My husband argues yellow but I saw a rubbery greenish yellow flesh with fingers so red and swelled. Skin so tight. Pained. And a baby so crumpled. Ashley gave me the black kangaroo shirt to slip on so I could hold her skin to skin. She didn’t have an IV yet. Just lots of wrap, gauze, xeroform (a yellow sticky gauze like substance), and a diaper. No swaddling for you.
I have this picture of me with the kids around and I’m all smiling and standing there and I think now, it’s like I’m in a different place, hamming it up. It’s so off.
It’s been a year now since we were there. We would have been getting home 10 days ago. I would be still trying to hold it all together, too afraid to sulk. I know the signs of postpartum depression. I would be trudging along with so much time with my parents and my baby. Russ would be back at work. And life would just be beginning with Marley making six.
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