October 18th, 2012 - part 1
There were some nights, like this one, where I slept so hard and for those hours of rest, all was peaceful. Tyler stayed the night at the hospital and we slept, snuggled in the fold-out chair. We giggled remembering our early years of marriage and the accusations of bed hogging we poured on each other. We were comfortable. We teased that those who complain of sleep problems, just must not be tired enough. Because in that chair, we slept without complaint.
Sometimes I would wake in the night, to a nurse checking in on Matilda, an alarm going off, or a phone ringing. And in those moments, I would look up at Matilda and feel reminded. That is the best way I can describe it. It was an empty feeling with hints of sadness and sometimes peace. It was a nameless emotion that tagged along when I recalled my current location, my situation, my new normal. I lived in the hospital, and I was comfortable there.
The night was uneventful. They had offered to move us to a new room, the only room with walls and a bathroom in the PICU. Tyler declined making jokes that we would be too lonely without the ability to eavesdrop on everyone. All the doctor shows on TV are popular for a reason, and we had the opportunity to experience one first hand. Nobody ever took Tyler seriously. So when we were asked again, and the eyes fell on me, I had to explain the real reason. It was the room that the baby had lost her life in the night before. It was the room where the shrieks and screams bellowed in my mind every time I looked in that direction. It was a room I never wanted to step inside of. I am sure that all the walls in all the rooms have seen and heard their fair share of sadness. But a bathroom, was not worth the reminder.
We kept our corner. We slept in our chair. We were home.
