I feel like I have a basketball in my stomach.
Long story short: Got shipped to hospital via ambulance for emergency appendectomy. There's more, but I don't really feel up for delving into the details.
I had the surgery Friday late night and was released from the hospital Sunday afternoon. I don't understand why I miss the hospital so much once I've gone home. I suppose it has something to do with feeling pampered and mothered around the clock. Now that I'm home, it's suddenly so quiet. All the responsibilities of being home come flooding back. I also have to depend on others to help with Thurston or get things done and it's extremely frustrating.
I felt this way after we took Thurston home from the hospital last year, except that was complicated with a cocktail of hormones flooding through my system. I think instead, I'm coming down from whatever crazy painkillers they gave me and the "mothering" effect of the hospital.
It's times like these I wish she were here. She was always my protector. I remember a trip to France with my parents as a 6-year-old. We were waiting in the elevator line to leave the Eiffel Tower and I felt sick to my stomach. My mother man-handled the crowd, forcing herself (and me) through, shouting, "I have a sick child here!" to get us down sooner. Another time, I was so cold from a fever, she took to microwaving towels to try and get me warm. One of them caught fire. It makes me smile to remember. A flood of emotions came back to me as I rested in the same hospital she was in when she started to get really sick. A blocked off memory resurfaced of her hooked up to breathing machines, tubes, and especially of her face after seeing mine. I couldn't help but tear up when I saw her and she looked back at me with such concern and helplessness. I knew she wanted nothing more than to comfort me at that moment and here she was, sicker than she'd ever been. The doctors shooed me out of the room because I was causing her upset.
I have so many questions I want to ask her now that I am a mother that go unanswered. It leaves a hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach to know there is so much I can never know about her. Even hollower that she isn't here to see and hold her grandchild. She would have happily stolen him away this weekend so that Dave could have stayed by my side at the hospital. I was alone for my surgery, which probably upset Dave more than I. I feel this pit in my stomach more often than I realize and sometimes I can't even remember why. I block her out of my life because I want her so bad.
In reality, I am much better than this. I'm probably coming down from a kazillion effects of surgical drugs. It's the middle of the night and I feel tired, sore, bloated, and surprisingly unable to sleep in my own bed. Writing this out has also made me feel somewhat lighter-- as if I have been able to let go a little bit.
There's one last thing that I have to let go of: The antibiotics I am on are unsafe for breastfeeding. Thurston nurses infrequently now - just at night or occasionally when he sticks his arm down my shirt and demands it in his own cute way. I was happy to oblige because it meant cuddle time. It's so hard to let go of nursing, harder than I expected. A part of me wants to try and pump to keep from going dry until the 10-day dose is up but I know that's unrealistic. I just have to realize that this is the time.