Psychological Danger

Has it really been six days since my last post? Goodness! I have been trying to think of something interesting to write about for days now, but all I could come up with everyday was "pulled through". I couldn't post that. "Pulled through" isn't even mine - it is from Diaries of Adam and Eve by Mark Twain. (By the way, this is one of the best books I have ever read. It is absolutely hysterical, and somehow it truly captivates female and male sentiments perfectly. It only takes an hour or so to read and can be downloaded for free: http://free-ebook-download.org/The-Diaries-of-Adam-and-Eve.html .) But "pulled through" is entirely accurate.

I am used to the monotony and seclusion from society that hospital captivity really provides, which worries me. I am in great psychological danger. Craig Haney refers to the negative effects of incarceration as institutionalization. You know what I mean - the inability to adjust to the real world after getting out - like the guy in Shawshank Redemption. You see, there is a rhythm to life here.

I wake up every morning at about 6:00. Some resident comes around and asks the same questions every day. "Any bleeding? Cramping or tenderness? Contractions? Leaking of fluids? Blurry vision? Head aches? Cramps in your legs? Is your baby moving?" Then they feel your belly for a bit and leave. The nurse comes in, repeats the questions, takes your vital signs. You eat your institution breakfast. About 8:00 you're hooked up to fetal monitors to watch contractions and the baby's heart beat. Shower and free time until noon. More institution food (though I sometimes have a visitor bearing gifts). Nap. Free time till supper. Shift change and the new nurse comes in, you're asked the same old questions and your vital signs are taken. You thank God the machines indicate you are still alive. You settle in for the night and the whole thing starts over in the morning.

All day you lay in a bed that automatically and periodically changes the pressure under you so you don't get bed sores and your legs are stuck in these pressurized "leg puffers" that keep up your circulation.

My psychological danger? My release. Will I sleep without leg puffers inflating and deflating every five seconds all night long? I may doubt my baby's health without hearing the nice little heart beat for an hour every day. I may be strangely lazy and ask John to get me things just out of my reach. I need my institution provided water container that measures how many quarts I drink through its straw. Really. I may become all dehydrated and shriveled without it. Oh, Lord, how will I ever survive without the little Styrofoam cups of ice cream? How will I handle grocery shopping - with three kids - or driving in 12A "traffic"? And what about my hospital induced hopeless addiction to Young Riders?!? How will I know I am alive without a machine to tell me so twice a day? And how will I get anywhere? WALK!?! Ahhhh! I have become like George in the Seinfeld episode where he gets a wheelchair so that people will always be nice to him! There are so many things that I won't know what to do with myself! Discipline to give and diapers to change and snacks to fix and meals to prepare and dishes to wash and laundry to do and tickles to dispense and skinned knees to kiss and on and on and on! Oh my word, I am so overwhelmed.

Oh. It is post lunch nap time. Phew.