Have I gone mad? “I’m afraid so, you’re entirely bonkers. But I’ll tell you a secret… all the best people are.” – Alice in Wonderland

After the not-so-much-to-plan arrival of Little Man, I’d have to say things got better. I was only in hospital overnight and was able to go straight home. Loving life, I took to motherhood like a duck to water. The sun in shining from my face and I have truly found my purpose in life. Yeah ok, I’m lying. Things were terrible, and I spent the next 6 days in hospital mulling over what had just happened, finding myself in an even bigger hole than what I started in.

After being wheeled into the shower and a minor fainting spell, I secure the last bed in the maternity ward. Garden view. It’s 3am. The extremely eccentric night-shift nurse meets me. As my bed is pushed to my side of the room, she exclaims, “Oh, he’s done a shit! This is the last time I change your shitty bum.” My jaw drops. As she changes his nappy, she continues on with her strange chatter, completely ignoring hubby and I. I lay there wide-eyed. Little One’s poor innocent ears being corrupted by a strange lady. She then abruptly turns to hubby and orders him home. He collects his things and leaves, pail faced and confused. I ask the lady to pass me my bag so I can get my nursing singlet to change into. I’d imagined this. I bought this bonds singlet just for this moment in time. It has come. As I go to put it on, she scoffs at me hissing, “Don’t even think that you’ll fit into that!” Seriously lady, I don’t think you realise what I’ve just experienced (or maybe she does). I’m so shocked. I’m exhausted. I put it down and leave my husbands ugly, washed out, grey t-shirt on. She then wheels Little Man over next to my bed and starts to walk out. I’m surprised and plead, “What do I do with him?” She replies with a simple statement, “He’s all yours now!” and she leaves the room. The lights are on full power. I’m completely alone. I still cannot move. I don’t know where the beeper is. I don’t know what I’m doing. I spend the night just staring at him through the clear bassinet, checking every few moments that he’s still breathing. Am I dreaming or did this really happen? I wait for daylight. At 9am hubby is allowed back.

Due to my physical state, I miss a few firsts. His first nappy, his hearing tests, injections and the nurse gives him his first bath. Over the next 6 days I remain at the mercy of the hospital staff, where I learn not only the absolutely conflicting advice between nurses, but also the immense pressure they’re all under. I’ve been told to do one hundred different things for feeding. My lactation consultants and nurses are at ends with each other. No documentation was recorded of any lactation advice. I am yelled at, I’m forgotten about, however, the drugs keep coming. For the first 3 days, I’m unable to leave my room. I can only walk supported as far as the bathroom. I’m a human slinky. The pain is immense and my muscles non-existent. There are 2 of us to each room and over the next week, I have 3 different neighbours, all third time mothers. All are in and out straight away. All seem to have it together.

The paediatrician came to check on him. Little Man arrived with a birthmark on the front and back of his head, known as a “stork bite”. It was explained that they fade with time and are similar to a bruise, likely caused by the back and forth friction of his head and my pelvic bone, putting stress on the capillaries. He also has a hematoma on the left side of his head from the vacuum. His ‘jaundice’ levels are above what they should be, a side effect of his delivery, and is monitored. He has regular blood taken from his feet for testing, and as a result, his little feet are bruised blue. The nurse compliments that he is ‘an excellent bleeder’, which makes the whole process a little easier for them. Wow, his first accolade! What a proud mum moment! Eccentric night-nurse rears her head again, just as the paediatrician checks Little Man’s ‘boy’ area. She exclaims, “Oh, he’s missing one!” My heart sinks. The doc leans down to him and says, “Don’t listen to that silly, crazy lady.” *Phew* Seriously, why is she still here? Another nurse enters for a cuddle and inspects over him also. “Oh yes, the stork has definitely dropped him. The poor fellow has hit every branch on the way down.” Wait; did she just call him ugly?

For the next week I’m subjected to a feeding regime, which comes under constant scrutiny. The consultant initially requests for Little Man to be fed on each side. After he’s evidently not satisfied, I’m directed to ‘pump’ after each feed for 50 minutes and give him anything expressed via syringe. Once that’s evaluated, it suggested that he be given small ‘top ups’ of formula. Thus my schedule is confined to feeding, pumping, or watching others (or the bassinet) cradle him during his moments of peace. I’m still in too much discomfort to rock or hold him; otherwise, the only viable option is to lay him next to me in bed, despite the stern warning regarding the ‘risks’ of co-sleeping.

I am also experiencing the phenomenon known as the ‘Witching Hour’, or in our case ‘HOURS’. Every night at around 11pm until any crazy hour of the morning he’d cry… excessively! I wasn’t able to hold him, or rock him in my current state and hubby again, is kicked out at 9pm each night. I’m alone in my corner once more, and then the crying begins. Why does he hate me so much? During the day he’s so good for the visitors and nurses, but when it’s just you and I, you do this? Eccentric nurse is back. She takes him and wanders the ward, hitting him on the bum saying, “Stop being such a naughty boy for mum”. Thank you, crazy lady. I think she noticed how much I wasn’t coping. The night after, the nurses took him to the reception desk for the night so I could sleep… thank goodness for that.

Little Man overlooking that garden

By day 4, I’m over it. I don’t want to do this anymore and I want them to put him back where they found him. I cringe when he is brought near me. The thought of feeding or pumping or the crying makes me flinch. I thought I knew what I was getting myself in for… and it wasn’t this. He hates me… and I don’t think I particularly fancy him either now. So far he has brought nothing but pain. I feel so alone once again. My body doesn’t work… my boobs don’t work… nothing is working. … and then there was that garden. Every morning I’d wake to it. Everyday I’d look out on it. That garden. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. You see, I’m sitting on the opposite end of the same ward Sienna was in. I’m staring at the same garden in a parallel universe. The same garden; that garden. I think I’m actually going crazy. I watch him lay next to the window that looks out to that garden. The same one I stared numbly at just over a year ago. The same one I gazed upon when my heart was ripped from my chest. I need to get home. I’ve had enough of this place. I’ve had enough of these nurses, this room, this garden and hearing her name. I told you from the beginning, I’m not made for this… and this week has just proven it.

My roommate number 3 was a lovely Assyrian lady. I’m assuming she’s heard the conversations with the nurses, she can hear him and sees me staggering to even move. In the late hours of the night, she pulls the curtain back and sits with me. She told me I was doing brilliantly, she said it all was normal. That I was normal. She kept me company, as she sat their cradling her own baby girl, Sienna.

No, really… I can’t do this.

“In the quiet of the night, when the world around me is asleep, the tears still flow freely as the memories flood my heart and mind. It is then that the silence and stillness remind me of you.”