Several years ago, our chocolate lab Bailey required surgery on his little hindquarters. The veterinary assistant called me when he came out of general anesthesia to let me know he was doing “just fine.” Bailey was special.
While most dogs simply sleep it off in a kennel (or stumble around in a drunken stupor), our Bailey took it upon himself to accompany the vet on rounds, checking on the other pups in the hospital. Complete with the collar around his neck and dragging the IV along beside him.
This is how I have felt for the past four days.
Mostly, I am confined to the hospital bed. It’s not a comfortable place to be. Wires are attached to various machines. And other machines randomly beep – sometimes approaching hysterics. It can be very unnerving while trying to figure out if the frantic machine is attached to you or simply a general ward monitor.
As I was lying in bed, wide awake, trying to tune out the beeping machines and avoid entangling myself in wires, cords, hospital gown sheets, ties and various other accoutrements, I heard a newborn baby cry. This baby was NOT happy to have entered the world. I’m guessing it was a very healthy baby due to the size and strength of the child’s lungs. He made his opinion of birth extremely clear.
I had a little chat with the twins (over the angry machines and wailing children). Now, I don’t remember my life in-utero or my birth, but I let the boys know that – cramped as though they may be – their current home has got to be better than being shoved into this cold cruel world, attached to countless wires and spending months like a french fry under a Burger King heating lap in a small NICU plastic container.
I am hoping I encouraged them to stay put.
Yesterday afternoon got a bit better. My loving husband smuggled me in some wonderfully comfy contraband pajamas. (Good riddance to the blasted hospital gown! Oh, tangent – good project for the next season of Project Runway: hospital gowns that are slightly less miserable.)
The doctor came back to check in on me; the plan was to go home when everything checked out okay. Everything did not check out okay. The danger was increasing despite the forced bed-rest, IV meds and beeping machines. A minor surgery was the next step.
That was super fun. TMI to go into specifics. Needless to say, the surgery thwarted my chances of being sent homeward bound. Looks like I’ll be here about another week (in what feels like my homey little hospital prison cell).
All is well so far. The boys are still bouncing about and we’re all very hopeful for a future three months of bed-rest and boredom. As I have given up on the short-term quest to be released, I am now trying to pester the doctors into removing the IV stent. (“All patients have to have them as a precaution.” Yeah – well, babies are supposed to stay put for 40 weeks too.)
All movie and book recommendations are highly encouraged. As are visitors who entertain me. This blog has got to get more upbeat in the coming weeks! (And goodness knows I will now have LOTS more time to write.)