Hospital 5 and other Mums

needs: Hospital and other mums

Ok sometimes its Dad’s, Nannas or other careers, but mostly its Mums.

We just moved from ED to the Ward. My girl was finally flying the magic pain relief carpet ride. The hospital bed jarred over the grading into the lift and she mustered a reassuring grin for the orderly. She knows it’s his job and it’s not easy- and she knows I am flashing the “don’t hurt my kid” look.

The ward nurses move in quickly and I know well enough that those first minutes on the ward, after the ED handover, are busy. The invitation to find the cup of tea in the parent’s kitchen is more of a request to get out of their way. My girl smiles because she knows how I feel about a cup of Lipton in a styrofoam after ED: it’s a warm hug that puts me back together.

I was in a quiet dark kitchen navigating the opening of UHT milk, a complicated hot water tap and a stubborn teabag. My brain was trying to grip and rip this simple set of steps. My brain was letting me know, while I was in overdrive for my girl, some things, might be harder. Another Mum pops in, and glides around me. She has been here for a few days, sorted the tap, has her own cup, knows where the unused UHT milk ends up. This mum has a system.

She is speaking, quickly, happy to find another lifeform on planet mama. She has a heart baby who just had another heart surgery. The third in 6 months. Heart baby coded and came back, because kids right, their resilient? She was smiling and moving through her tea process, updating me on heart baby, her first. I sat there and tried to calibrate where I was and what I was thinking: my kid is sick too- not as sick as yours, god what a horrible thing to think! She liked the hospital, the nurses, and the doctors. It was all wonderful really, except you know, heart baby and well, brain girl, my girl.

Was it a race about who had the sickest kid or was it the healthiest? It wasn’t that kind of race. She swept out of the kitchen off to get the special blankets from the special place. I liked the sound of that. I got my blankets too and just like that, I was in the race, back to my girl.

There was another Mum. She smiled through the glass wall of my girls’ room as she walked past. It was just a smile every other day and for those seconds neither of us were alone.

There was a swearing mum, a relief really. She had screaming girl, who could really belt it out. Her mum would say “Shut Up” and not in a nice way. I judged; you might be too. After 6 hours, I could feel her fatigue in the air around me. She could say anything and damn me for thinking otherwise.

That Mum that left a coffee on the table for me. I don’t know who she is, but she did it.

That Mum who got me from the tea room when she saw the doctors had dropped in on my girl.

That Mum who sorted an extra UberEATS pizza and asked if my girl could help eating it.

That Mum who bequeathed her fancy shower gel before her boy was discharged with the wheelchair and the oxygen.

That Mum, and that Mum and that Mum. I am that Mum and these women, whose names I never know, they are everything.