When they extubated me, I saw my father sitting in a chair in the corner of my room. For the first couple of days after they brought me back from the drug-induced coma, I could hear my dad playing with my son out in the hallway. They were always just out of sight, but I heard them and I saw other people see them and smile at them. I didn't mind that I couldn't see them, I could hear that they were having much fun together and everyone was admiring my boy. It felt good to have them near and hear them laughing, I didn't want my son to see me like this though, so I was relieved that they stayed out of sight.
This didn't happen. My dad was back in Iceland and my son was back home with my mom. I was shocked when my husband told me that my dad wasn't here. I was so sure he was. There had been a commercial cycling through the TV channels about a monster truck rally in Indy and I had been wondering if my dad could take my son to see that, something fun for them to do together. My father was definitely with me, even though he was physically on another continent, and it brought me great comfort.
When my mom came to see me for the first time after I woke up, I was woefully unemotional. I don't think I had grasped yet the enormity of everything that had happened. I was still putting all the pieces together and still hadn't gained back the memory from about a week before my daughter was born. In the ICU, the wall with the door is just a big window, they need to be able to see you when you're in there, even before they get into the room. So I saw my mom coming down the hallway towards me, with her hands high up in the air, waving them around, smiling and crying at the same time. I was like ''really mom, control yourself'', I can only imagine how I would act if it had been my daughter caught between life and death for three weeks. I was still very clueless about the severity of everything that had gone on and so proceeded by calling my mother a big drama queen. Sorry mom. I then berated my nurse for not feeding me and asked if she couldn't just stick a hamburger in a blender for me. I was so hungry!
While I was in the hospital I missed my son so badly, it ached in the core of my being. It was a heartache. I knew he was being well taken care of but I missed him all the same. I wondered how this would affect him, affect our relationship, I had never been away from him for longer than 5 hours before this happened. I wanted to hug him and tell him that mommy would be home as soon as she could, that everything would be fine. My mom told me that he would take every single one of his books, out of the shelves and throw them on the floor, spreading them around him. I imagine it was sort of an outward display of inward emotions. Everything scattered and nothing like it was supposed to be. My poor little guy. I'm told that he would say that mommy was in the hospital, in the same tone of voice he said that daddy was at work. Like, that's just how things are now. I missed him desperately, but I didn't want him to come to the hospital. At least back home, he was familiar with his surroundings and the people around him.
I didn't miss my daughter. At all. This feels awful to write down, but it's true. I had never met her, I didn't know her, I didn't miss her. I had no memory of giving birth to her, so my hands would unconsciously seek my tummy, only to find that she wasn't there any more. She was only a two hour drive away, but really, it could have been a lifetime drive away. I wondered if/how/when we'd ever bond together. Then I just sort of pushed those thoughts away, I couldn't think about that then, I needed to get better and then I'd deal with it.
To be continued...
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