Lying in the hospital bed, post c-section, I was unable to move. I would hear the telephone ringing in the corridor. Was it the Neonatal Unit? Were they calling to inform the nurse they'd soon be down to tell me the bad news? Each ring made my heart leap, my mouth would dry with worry. Tilting my head slightly, I'd strain to hear the tones of the midwife talking on the phone. They were barely audible. Did she sound cheery? surprised? concerned?
This was very much the nature of my mental state during those early weeks, I can truly say I have never known anything like it. No words can describe how it is to have a child on the cusp of survival, week on week on week.
It's like a never ending game of deal or no deal, each day having to re-live the moment they uncover the cards, has your dream come true or have you lost everything?
The day I was discharged from the hospital. One day Hubby and I went to stay in a room across the road. We wern't far away but for the first time since she was born I wasn't under the same roof as Smidge. I was away somewhere else breathing fresh air, away from the bleeping telephones and the sound of rubber soles pacing the corridors at variable speeds.
It was a relief you know. A much needed break and for one mad moment in time, I didn't want to go back ever. I'd decided, to put it simply, that I didn't like it.
I didn't like the monitors and machines.I didn't like the intercom and the lingering at the door. I didn't like the lockers for my bag or the hospital coffee or the sitting in a blue plastic covered chair looking like I was at peace with the situation and coping just brilliantly when I wasn't.
And for that one crazy day I just couldn't face it all over again so I didn't. For just one day, I was even less of a Mum.