Yesterday was supposed to be my baby shower and ironically enough, one of my fellow inmates had her baby shower in her own solitary, incubation room. After my visitors left for the day, my room suddenly became very quiet and I overheard women laughing, gifts being opened, and games being played in the room next door. Without fully comprehending my sudden emotional overload, the water works began a full force crusade down my cheeks. Once the faucets were on, the tears spewed outward, eventually turning into loud hiccuping sobs. The dripping rivulets were actually quite cathartic and I sat, upright, in my bed, allowing my pity party of one to begin the forlorn-festivities.
I think what initially triggered my sorrow-shower was a combination of the weather and my mother's snide comment. When the entire side of my mom's family suddenly bombarded my hospital room yesterday morning (of course I told them that even though I was in a public setting, I needed to maintain some semblance of privacy and to please call ahead in the future), they had all just returned from brunch on the beach. Their pink cheeks were aglow from the sun and ocean salt and they all commented on the beautiful weather. After trying to live vicariously through them and visualizing fresh air and sunlight, I asked my uncle to try to open my window, which of course, was pried shut (apparently the hospital doesn't want to risk any baby mommas jumping out).
To add salt to my open hep-lock wounds, my mom asked quite derogatorily if I still wanted a shower after all of this. I frowned and caustically responded, well, since you put it that way....don't worry about it. She then admitted that she has been really stressed out since I have been in the hospital and her recurrent eye twitch is at it yet again. We have since discussed this incident, she apologized, now feels guilty, etc.
When I heard that there would be a baby shower yesterday, I tried to barter one of my knifty-knitter baby hats for a slice of cake. At 5:30 PM, I still had not received my much anticipated cake, and as I continued to listen to the celebration next door, I indulged my thoughts in all of the poor-me scenarios I could muster.
The only independence I have is being able to use the bathroom (I am still thrilled over this freedom, believe it or not) and am completely dependent on other people to bring me food,water, and items from home. While I love my husband dearly, he is clueless when it comes to my clothing and the very thought of rifling through my closet terrifies him. Last week, when I needed clean clothes, he almost brought me two two cocktail dresses before my mom intercepted this pending tragedy. Yesterday, I asked him to bring clean underwear and he showed up with one pair of underwear and three bikini bathing suit bottoms. This was after I explained to him, over the phone, the difference between thongs and cotton panties and carefully instructed him not to bring my thongs (he understood the full bottom idea, but apparently didn't comprehend the cotton/lycra difference). Also, I asked him to bring my Sex and the City DVD set and he showed up instead with Sex and the City, the movie. Not a huge mistake but I was so looking forward to my DVD set!
In the midst of my emotional breakdown, my husband skyped me from home, for the first time, and lifted my cat up to the camera. Of course, when I saw my cat's little squished in face, the crying further intensified. After our skype session, a nurse entered my room and consolingly hugged me, encouraging me to page her anytime I become upset (apparently these emotional breakdowns are quite common among us incarcerated preggers). So, after she left, I quieted down, consoled myself with a little chocolate binge and my knifty knitter, and eventually had two women from next door bring me a slice of cake (please-no more sweets!).
This morning, as I sit here in my bathing suit bottoms, typing this blog, I am fully recovered from my sob-fest. Along with the tumultuous roller-coaster of emotions, experienced by numerous other pregnant women, the bed rest preggers are also dealing with a cornucopia of other issues, including hospital claustrophobia and a brief loss of independence. I keep reminding myself of the bigger picture at hand--Baby J needs to stay put for now. Also, this situation is temporary and neither my life, nor my baby's life is in any kind of imminent danger (I am now 32 weeks, going on 33!). Although inherently I understand the absolute necessity of the situation, I still pine to have my baby shower cake and eat it too!