st a couple hours later had given birth to her twins. WOAH! She had already been at the hospital for the past two weeks and was expecting another seven weeks *gasp* of languishing in the "lay and wait" state we were all in. But nature is nature, and me and Putiputi were shocked to see such a rapid turn of events and stared stupidly as the nurses packed up the woman's things and slowly pulled her kids' drawings from the wall."You're next, you know," Putiputi said. "It's by bed, and the girl in my bed went before her," she said, nodding toward the Twins' mother's vacant bed.
I found this comment strangely reassuring. Supposedly, Jiffy Pop was out of danger (well, in about 24 hours after the steroids and antibiotics had done their thing). This was the best preemie place in the country, she could come out now, right? Hmm, no, the longer inside, the better. Still, I was envious of the Twins' mother at that moment.
Joy of joys, Beau showed up, earlier than I thought he would, and holy hell did his face look good to me. I got up on my knees and reached out to him for a big hug. He was rolling in a small suitcase packed thick with clothes, toiletries, and a laptop. Hooray! He had to leave shortly thereafter though to find the hotel and get me some food (I was starving in this fucking place).
The Twins' mother did make an appearance a few hours later. Her whanau (family) had come en masse, crowding her room and performing Maori prayers. It was pretty touching. She stopped by our room on her way out, her arm slung casually around one of her daughter's shoulders. She reported that the twins were fine, breathing, but that they'd be in intensive care for about 10 weeks 'til they developed more. She looked calm, happy and tired and just wanted to get home. We bid her well and she was gone.
And then there were two.
But not for long. Shortly thereafter a young Indian woman was rolled in. She was quiet and kept to herself, which was fine. It would be several hours yet before she would begin to annoy me. Someone else took that position first.
A nurse walked in and said that since we had the only TV, that another woman on the floor asked if she could come in and watch it with us. Sure, no problem. About an hour later, a tiny woman clutching a huge belly walked in, perhaps in her late teens or early twenties. Emma was very talkative right from the start, which for some reason, I've always found annoying when you first meet someone. I kind of feel like you should ease into new acquaintances, have some gentle small talk, find common ground, etc. (I always wait a good period of time before I unleash my wicked sense of humor on new work colleagues)..
But Emma's brash communication skills were off and running. She was at 35 weeks but had a congenital heart defect which made her delivery dangerous. She stated how much she wanted to see Shortland Street, a half-hour Kiwi show, and the only "soap opera" I watch, so I was cool with that. Well, she spent the entire half hour blah blah blahing, continually walking and stopping in front of me (totally blocking my view and the sound of the TV), and then asked to use my cellphone to call our mutual phone carrier. I paused at this, since I have a shitty little, pay-as-you go phone which ferociously sucks minutes away, but I was hoping that her call was toll-free. Still, as she paced back and forth, berating the customer service person, I bit my lip anxiously ticking away the minutes in my head.
Apparently she had some sort of $12.50/month plan, but since she had only paid $10 on it, she was not able to actually use the phone service. This sent her into a rage at the telephone company, telling them she couldn't afford more than $10/month (then why do you have a fucking cellphone, woman!?). And since it's impossible to just "top up" $2.50 (you can do it in increments of $10 at any gas station or convenience store), she was sent further into a rage. "Nice service!" she snapped at him before hanging up and handing me back my phone, thanking me and stomping out. She would return shortly afterwards with another lady in tow to chat some more.
Blessedly, she eventually left, we were served our crap-ass, small-portioned dinner, which I could barely eat anyway since it was chock-a-block with onions and the menu I'd given them stating "NO ONIONS" in obnoxio
us print wouldn't go into effect until the next day. I couldn't take it anymore, I was so damn hungry, so I went upstairs to the cafeteria and bought some more food, including some interesting-looking Israeli couscous (but sadly, bland) and began devouring it back in my bed. Minutes later, Beau appeared, bearing two large plastic containers of Indian takeaway. OH MY GOD! I LOVE HIM! Screw this couscous, HOORAY!I noshed and noshed until my body was screaming for me to stop, though my head kept saying, More more! Ahhhh wonderful food. Even Beau, who sadly I've never been able to convince of the joys of Indian food said, "This is the best I've ever had." There's still hope for him.
As we were sitting there chatting quietly, I heard a noise. My first thought was there was a little girl in the hallway whining or crying. Beau's brow furrowed and he looked around. We both then realized the fast-paced, high-pitched stream was coming from behind the curtained off bed where the Indian woman lay, apparently talking on her cellphone. Beau looked utterly confused. Was she crying, upset, or was that her actual talking voice? I shrugged. The voice was stunning - it kind of reminded me of a typical sit-com voice that they give to their bimbo characters when they're upset, kind of like Chrissie on Three's Company having a weepy meltdown. It was pretty over-the-top. The woman had to be about 30, but sounded 5 years old. I'm not kidding.
Eventually, Beau had to leave to go to the hotel for the night and I very happily laid down to sleep. I hadn't really slept much the first night, and happily, got comfortable and tired quickly this night. I slept for a few hours...until...
Chaos. The Indian woman's voice broke me from a sleep as she was in utter panic mode. Her water broke. Instead of pushing the "Call-Nurse" button on her bed, she had been jamming repeatedly the "Cancel-Call" button, so naturally, getting no response from the staff.
Oh, and this is another weird thing - at night the whole place is dark, and the nurses walk around the hallways with flashlights, bringing them to your bed to do their duties in its thin beam. Weird, but I guess an effort to not be disturbing to others. The first night I thought there was a blackout or something. So, staring ahead at the curtained-off Indian woman, I saw the beam of the flashlight bounce around as the nurse attempted to soothe the bleeting woman.
This drama continued on for the next two hours, with the woman banging in and out of the bathroom, the light shining in my face. Once I learned it wasn't an emergency, but more of a panic attack, I tried to get back to sleep, but now my mind was racing and the constant noise from the other bed wasn't making slumber any easier. I tossed and turned and finally just gave up, got up, and asked the nurse if there was a common room I could go to to write on my computer (didn't want its bright light to disturb Putiputi's sleep).
The nurse graciously led me to where I sit now, a vacant patient room where I've been typing away for about the last hour and a half, recalling all this detail. She was even nice enough to bring me my medication and do all my vitals here. I'm finally starting to feel a little tired and I've written pages and pages of this in Wordpad, so I guess it's time to wrap it up for now. I'm sure there'll be more to tell in this coming day....which has already started!
No comments:
Post a Comment