Anyone reading this must realize that these writings are reflections on the days, not that these writings were done on the actual days. If that were the case I would seriously want to punch me in the face. Just want to clarify this in case there was any question.
So DAY TWO was about getting ready to get out and go home. After all hospital room stays are for the totally necessary surgeries and they don’t get given away like they did during my grandmother’s time. So even though she was probably silenced, at least she got time in the hospital to repair. These days, you need to get in and get out, time is money and insurance only covers so much in these for profit “care” centers. Frankly, this is all fine with me because I think we run a much higher risk of infections and illness the longer that we stay in there. Much rather be home in the comforts of my own home with my own food from Whole Foods. This being said, It still seems amazing that on a Friday someone could have major surgery like I did and in less then forty eight hours be leaving the hospital to head home.
Some goals to complete before being given the go ahead:
Be able to change drains on your own, (check) Be able to take a shower (check) be able to check incisions for redness and any other bad thing that could happen (check), be able to pee on my own (check) be able to walk on my own (check) and God knows what else my lovely nurse said to me in my post morphine and Oxy brain. As she handed me my “what to do” packet and packed my things up for me and placed me in the mandatory wheelchair for the ride downstairs, we said our goodbyes and I thanked her for her care. It was reminiscent of leaving the hospital with my son twenty years earlier unsure of the next leg of the flight ahead.
Ironically as I stepped into the elevator with my attendant behind my partner who had already gone ahead to get the car, across from me was a young eager couple getting into the elevator across the hall brand new baby in tow. In her bag was the diapers and baby stuff you get to take from the room, and the little baby toys that had landed in her life as the first gifts for bringing baby home. Her male companion (trying not to make husband assumptions these days) sharply dressed looking as excited as she was. It was an interesting opportunity to compare life experiences, she knowing nothing about me except that I wasn’t in tow with a new baby. I’m guessing she wasn’t really thinking about me as much as I was about her because the Dickens ghost of Christmas past opportunity was more readily available for my story than it was for hers.
We both exited the same time and her male companion went off to get the car. As I exited the hospital to wait in the sunlight, she was squatting down peering into her baby’s infant carrier, breasts full with new milk and lots of new mom cleavage as she was not yet aware yet of her quest to get her mom body back to woman’s body. I got to witness the first full smile view of this precious alone moment with just her and her new baby though the hospital glass as she was already outside and facing my view. I was struck by the passing of the torch as I got to be wheeled past her and say to her, “first time mama?” She beamed. “Yes.” It was the most tender of moments shared between two women strangers, one who just had a baby, likely a c section, and one who has completed that part of her life twenty years later, using her breasts for nourishment and now having them removed to save her life so she could continue to be a mother to her twenty year young son.
Full circle indeed.
Michael as a baby, alayne before cancer with cleavage and both boobs in tact, alayne and Michael first dance at the Lasalle graduation dance and Michael and me on our trip to London to remind us that we only get one rodeo and to see the world with your college aged son is a rocking great birthday present. For both of us.