This blog post is part of a series that I began for telling our story. You can read the first post here.
One of the more significant memories I have of my time in the hospital (before Samantha was born) is how much I hated the food. This is not meant to knock all hospital food. It’s just the particular hospital where I lived for more than five weeks didn’t have a lot of variety. It was basically the same limited options repeated weekly, and by the third week there I was completely sick of all of it.
I am always suprised by how unhealthy the choices tend to be, unless you are on a restricted diet. Fried foods. Burgers. Lots of sodium. Lots of sugar. Then again, when things are being prepared for a crowd and need to stay hot/cold/room temperature while being carted all over the hospital, I guess the choices have to be limited. And it wasn’t a huge hospital either, not like where Samantha was after she got sick.
One of my favorite times was an evening when my sister’s whole family came to the hospital with Travis, who put me in a wheelchair and took me downstairs for dinner in the lobby. I think they had picked up food from Red Robin, but I’m not sure. It was so nice to get out of my room and see something new beyond my four walls. Yet, because I was so sick with my blood pressure, even that short excursion exhausted me. Strangely enough, despite staying in the hospital for so long, I never did learn my way around. I rarely left my room, unless it was for tests or for short trips with my husband within the hospital. Mostly, I just stayed in bed, unless I needed to use the bathroom, or for a shower (seated, of course).
Sometimes he would bring me food from outside restaurants, although it was less expensive for me to just eat what they brought me. It was part of the bill anyway (mostly paid by insurance, but still). I always ate hospital breakfast, and usually the lunch too. Dinner was the one I enjoyed the least. Luckily, my husband also discovered the “snack” room early on. It was for maternity patients, and had things like pudding and crackers and sodas. And since he mostly stayed with me, I could send him “shopping” for little things to eat.
I definitely didn’t have to worry about food (other than it tasting good). And wearing hospital gowns meant I didn’t have to worry about clothes either. It’s still hard for me to comprehend just how long it was, that period of sitting and waiting for our daughter to be born, but I think that’s a sign of just how sick I really was.
Next post coming tomorrow.
Blooming Joy! 