And there are trees and cars and buildings and interesting things to look at and…ulrgh there’s the BBC. Wow. A whole world outside. I am, slightly tragically, coming home by myself. No babies, no husband, no Lucas. It was just easier. I wondered for a moment as I pelted, late as usual, down the hospital corridor with all my bags whether I take my independence too far. I have to stress my dear husband was against it but relented when I insisted it would be less grief all round than having him drive in, me have to manage Lucas while he got the car, transferring the bags blah blah.
It actually felt quite good. As I left I felt I should have a Dolly Parton song playing me out of the building. It’s a strange sensation stepping out into the view you’ve been looking at from your hospital window for ten days. I think I have spent a total of 24 nights in hospital in the last seven or eight weeks and I’ve become a bit institutionalised. A friend whose baby had been in the NICU said she kept hearing the alarm beeps of the monitors when she got out.
I wonder if Lucas will reject me when I get home. He hasn’t spoken to me on the phone for several days and sulked for a bit the one time he visited after the birth. I expect to be punished for my absence and must be patient. I can’t wait to see him and want to smother him with kisses. All in good time. I’m looking forward to all the things I couldn’t do with him when I was trying to keep the babies in like getting in the bath with him and going to the playground, walking 100m to the shop.
It’s not as bad as I thought leaving the babies behind. Does that sound callous? I’m sure it gets harder as they get bigger or sicker. So far we’ve had such a positive trajectory that I feel relaxed about being away for the night. I keep hearing that most babies have a honeymoon of two weeks before problems come but I’d like to believe that there are exceptions to every rule. Every dramatic turn of this pregnancy has been against the odds, positively and negatively. One in 70000 chance of conceiving triplets. 40/60 chance that Alexander would not have the same condition as his identical twin. 1% chance of my waters breaking prematurely (enhanced of course by the presence of a couple of large knitting needles doing their work). And probably less than 1% chance of keeping them inside for seven whole weeks after my waters broke without infection. So why not? We deserve a break goddamit!!!
I am still thinking about that pizza I didn’t get the night I was discharged from Chertsey and ended up back in St Mary’s by 4.30am the next day. It’s the ultimate indulgence as I am in fact allergic to pizza but do it in spite of myself.
Nearly home. All the familiar roads seem changed. I think I am coming out the other side of this changed too but I’m not sure how yet. More patient or stoic maybe. Hopefully less susceptible to all the small ups and downs of life.