day 3: bay 14

by

One thing they never tell you about hospitals is that they exist outside of time. One minute in the real world is about a day in hospital land; so consequently BB and I have been living in Bay 14 for years and years. The nurses must take some kind of drug to protect themselves from the time tear that occurs in here as they all look younger, slimmer and much fresher than I do.

Day three, following BB’s hip surgery, has been like a thunderstorm with patches of sunshine. It started with a blood transfusion and ended with the death of a vein which caused a candula to collapse and BB’s arm to resemble Princess Fiona in her ogres form, with an unidentified rash and a convulsion in the middle.

But BB smiled today when some kind souls donated blood started to trickle round her system and for one short moment she giggled and my baby was back.

Then night fell and the ward sprang to life. Bay 14 is surrounded by poorly sick kids who don’t sleep, my heart breaks for them whilst my ears long to be momentarily deafened from the noise.

I long for home, I miss the bigger ones, snatched moments in the hospital playroom don’t make up for a half term without mummy.

I want to be funny, I want to make myself laugh, but when I try and write it, it merely comes out glum.

In my most tired and grumpy moments all I can picture is my happy walking daughter on Monday morning toddling around pre op trying to insert keys into every hole, door and occasionally an electrical socket, then I turn to the bed and see a sick little girl, pale, sweating and tied to the bed by a huge spica cast. Her eyes implore me to help, they ask me why this is happening and her arms stretch out to hold me…

This self indulgent maudlin must end, tonight I will afix cotton wool in my ear holes and tie a pillow round my head and welcome sleep like an adulteress welcomes a lover.

It will be better when I sleep.

I want to go home.

Bring on tomorrow.

39 thoughts on “day 3: bay 14”

  1. It will be over soon. You guys will go home where BB will recuperate like the megastar she is and amusement will return! You are all doing so brilliantly. You can be as maudlin as you like! Xxx

  2. This made me so sad reading how awful things are for you all. I know that very soon you will be home surrounded by your 3 gorgeous children and the memory of your hospital stay will be fading fast. I’m sure your darling daughter will surprise you with her resilience and will be bossing her big brother and sister around very soon.

    But for now I send you my love and hope to hear that you are all home and well very soon xxx

  5. Dear lady, if you were anything but maudlin in this situation I would question your very humanity. There are plenty of occasions to be all smiles and joy. For now, remember that she is in the best place she can be with her mother who loves her. The saying goes: this too shall pass. And when it does, life can resume. Until then, this pause is not to be dwelled on.

  6. Oh ffs Jane, these words are so upsetting. You will be home soon and then you will make a new normal, a new normal for the next 12 weeks. Just think about that bucket of gin with your name on it!

  7. *hugs* I hope you sleep well and so does BB. Oh for a magic wand or a pair of ruby slippers.

    Just as Emma say’s your be home soon and that bucket of gin (terrible taste in alcohol I hope you don’t mind me saying!) will waiting for you along with the rest of your gorgeous family. xxx

  8. *hugs* Jane, I have been reading about BB and her Spica for a while now but haven’t commented- I just wanted to say I think you are an incredibly fab lady who seems to be doing brilliantly. My daughter was diagnosed with hip dysplasia but they caught it when she was only six weeks as she was breech so they managed to stop her needing a harness or spica and instead used the unconventional double nappy treatment, which worked. We go back every six months to check though. BB sounds like a brave and wonderful little girl. Hope you get out of the hospital soon. xx

  11. God that brings back memories of when my son fell and fractured his skull (15 months old). We were living in Singapore. The hospital didn’t provide anywhere for parents to sleep and so through the night he and I did a circuit between cot, pushchair and chair. I hasten to add, I didn’t fit in the pushchair, but I did fit in the cot if I curled up fetal shape. My son finally fell sound asleep in the pushchair at about 5.30 a.m.. The nurse came in and woke me (in the cot) at 6 a.m. and asked if I would like to take my son for a bath before the doctor came to see him. She was horrified by my “Err, I don’t think so” response. “But the baby needs to be clean to see the doctor” – well, I think you can guess what my response was! 🙂

    You will suddenly wake one morning and think “Gosh, it’s been a week” and then that week turns into two, and all of a sudden BB will be out of her cast and doing what comes naturally. Smiling and laughing help, hard as it may seem at a time like this. Thinking of you all. x

  13. You are allowed to feel like this. It is how I always feel when I am in hospital with either one of the boys or myself. It is worse with children, you w3ant to take away all the pain and suffering. You are amazing

  14. 🙁 Sorry to hear its been a rough day. Hope the lil ones improving. Canulas are no fun at the best of times let alone when there’s complications. Fingers crossed you get home tomorrow!

  15. No-one expects you to be funny at a time like this ((hugs)). I know what you mean about hospital time, and feeling helpless and heart broken and in shock most of the time too I think. Hope you get home soon and love to BB xx

  16. Jane be strong! You’ll look back on this at some stage in the future with different eyes! You’ve knocked me for 6 but all I can say is look at your replies! Everyone supports you, we all feel for you and we wish for the best. Little BB will bounce back and you’ll be back to your normal self! Take care and best wishes!

  21. Pingback: DDH: Farewell spica - Northernmum - Northern Mum

Comments are closed.