I pride myself on never getting sick. I had enough of being sick during my late teens when I spent months upon months in the hospital. Since that time, I have promised myself that I’m not going back. I exercise, eat right, and do the best I can to stay healthy.
I blew my streak to bits on Friday night with what I thought was a stomach bug, but actually landed me in an Operating Room. It all turned out fine, and I was discharged at 1am because I am all about getting OUT of the hospital. I did everything they asked of me, and made a safe choice when it came to leaving, but I did it because I couldn’t imagine how Tess and Gigi would feel if they woke up and found out I wasn’t in my bed. The fear there would be so awful for them.
Tess and Gigi know hospitals better than just about anyone. How scary would it be for them to find out their mom was admitted to one? I thought of them often as I did things like drink CT contrast and get IVs placed.
It all sucked.
The staff at the hospital was awesome, no question, but as they rolled me down the hallway to the OR, asking me consent questions as we went, I got a flash of panic. Just a little. I’m a nurse too. I even have a graduate degree in a medical field. But, when it comes to the people caring for you laying out all the risks, it’s still scary. Kids understand more than we think. Suddenly, I felt extremely small and powerless in that hospital bed.
There’s a usefulness to that feeling. It is a reminder of what my kids go through every time they are hospitalized. Gigi goes through it with limited language to express her fears. Tess went through it when she barely knew us, and had no reason to trust we would do anything more than inflict terrible pain on her over and over. It was a useful feeling for me to remember what it feels like to be small and powerless, rolling through those sterile hallways, so frightened.
–FullPlateMom, who won’t forget, because her girls need her to remember.