Communication improved and I was told the aim was to get me to 37 weeks, which would take me to just after New Year. I was admitted at 32 weeks so that was looking like a five week stint over Christmas.
I was gutted.
I knew it was the best place for me, and that I needed to be there. But I hated it. I hated just sitting around doing nothing.
I didn’t like not being in control and I didn’t really like the fuss over me. It wasn’t something that I was used too and it didn’t sit comfortably.
My family were amazing but they were worried about me, and I do think it was just as hard, if not harder for them. I felt bad for that.
My partner still had to go to work every day, then he’d come after work to visit. He wasn’t getting home until late, having his tea and then bed. Probably sometimes wasn’t even having tea.
That routine every day was physically and mentally exhausting and I felt bad.
If I was allowed to leave the ward with visitors we’d go to Costa, but I was rarely allowed to buy a drink, someone would always buy me one. I felt bad for that.
I decided I didn’t want to mope and needed to keep my mind occupied. You need to take a mortgage out to watch TV in hospital so I decided to crack on with Christmas preparations.
My family brought in my cards and I wrote them out so they could be posted. That then escalated to presents being brought in to wrap, and before you knew it my bay was covered in scissors, sellotape, wrapping paper and ribbon.
It went down like a lead balloon with some staff who told me off for being messy.
But I needed to do it, and most accepted that it was probably a good thing that I was keeping myself as busy as I could.
Slowly I turned my bay in to a little grotto to get in to some sort of Christmas cheer. I had an advent calendar, some decorations and even a mini tree.
If I was in for Christmas, the most wonderful time of the year, I was going to make it as bearable as possible.
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| The window in my hospital bay |
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