Walking Down the Long Hallway

I went to visit my best friend in the hospital yesterday. She just gave birth to her first child; a beautiful, healthy baby boy. I was so excited that I was bursting inside. I had tried to visit on the day that he was actually born but he was born too late in the evening for visitors and, as such, I had to return home to take care of some business the following day. But I drove another two hours back to my parents just yesterday, dropped off the boys and headed to the hospital.

I first stopped at the store and picked up some presents. Why didn’t I already have them purchased? My best friend is a goofus face and didn’t find out the gender! So, I just started throwing things in my buggy. I wanted to buy one of everything for the new arrival. (And a few matching things for my youngest! Cute clothes for boys this season!)

Then I left the store for the Hospital.

And it hit me.

This was the hospital where I delivered the Munchkin. This was the hospital where said best friend stood by my side. And suddenly, I was awash with memories I haven’t had need nor desire to remember in almost five years. As I drove up the last hill to the hospital, I could barely breathe. And there it was. Nothing had changed but the name.

I parked. I realized as I walked into the hospital that I parked at the same angle from the front door as my Dad had the day that I let go of the Munchkin and walked, blinded by tears, out to his truck. As I began the walk down the very, very long hallway (as maternity is the farthest possible destination from the front door), I could see myself being wheeled in the opposite direction holding on to the Munchkin in her little white outfit. The nurse was talking. I felt numb but I kept walking towards the elevator.

And suddenly I was on the maternity floor. I could hear my heart beating. I walked past the nurses desk and remembered shuffling down the hall with my Mom on the one occasion that we walked to the nursery. I remember their pity-laden glances. I remember shooting daggers with my eyes at the one nurse who had been unkind. My slippers were pink and fuzzy. My slippers are always pink and fuzzy even though my new favorite color is green.

I had been hoping, the whole way down, that my best friend: a) wasn’t in the maternity room that I had been in and b) wasn’t on the same side of the hallway. I scored one point as she was two doors down from the room I had spent two days as someone’s mother but I lost in the end. Her room was on the same side of the hallway, and, to boot, it was set up in the same way. Bed on the left side of the room, chairs on the right side. The wallpaper was the same. The clock hung on the wall in the same place. The rocking chair was in the same place next to the bed. It was all so very, very strange.

Thankfully, I was able to concentrate on my best friend for awhile as she struggled with the help of the nurse to get the new baby to latch properly. I gave some helpful tips and helped adjust things as needed. I cleaned out some bottles after she pumped. I held the baby. We talked. She vented about some things as all mothers need to do after labor, delivery, hospital and family experiences. I oohed and ahhed over this new beautiful creature.

But, throughout the process, I kept making the mistake of sitting in the rocking chair next to the bed. Every time I did, all I could see was TheHusbandMan sitting in the same chair. I remember what he was wearing, head freshly shaven for an Army weekend which he had driven away from and had to return by morning. I can see him. So clearly. His heart just as broken as mine. The chair was like ice and fire at the same time. Every time I sat down, I felt physical pain. So very strange.

I didn’t stay too long. Anyone who has ever delivered a baby and then had to live in a small space for three days while people invade it and touch your child with grimy hands and ask uber-personal questions about your crotch and other parts knows when the welcome has worn out. As other family members showed up to visit the newly formed family, I hugged my best friend. I fought back tears for so many reasons.

I am so very happy for both her and her husband. They will be outstanding parents. She was born to be a mother. And watching her husband handle the baby like it was old hat was heart-warming; he’ll be a dad like my own husband, hands-on and loving with a touch of humor to boot. And tears for other reasons. It was so very strange to have roles reversed at that bed-side and situations totally changed and different. This was a joyous occasion as opposed to the one five years ago. My best friend was a mother and she got to keep her title but so very different was the hug goodbye five years ago. So very different.

As I left and walked down the hallway, instead of being wheeled out, I tried to leave the memories behind again. I tried to hang them on the coat rack near the front door. I tried to trap them in the front door. But as I headed towards my own truck, at the same angle from the front door as that walk years ago, they followed me. They’re haunting me today. And I don’t want to or need to deal with them right now. I need to be a mother to my children, a wife to my husband and a friend to my friend(s). I don’t need this. I don’t want this.

Who thinks that I can convince her to have future children at a different hospital? Or my sister-in-law-to-be to deliver future babies in Pittsburgh as opposed to that hospital? Or maybe I should just stay home.

I had no idea this would be such a challenge. I never have any idea what will smack me in the face, what will trigger me. I fly by the seat of my pants with this healing thing and sometimes I crash land in the trees, never fully making it to the ground, caught like a kite that got away from its owner’s hand on a windy day. I’m just trying to make my way through this messy journey of healing. Pardon me while I try to climb out of this tree. I didn’t know this would happen.