I was just coming out of my room on Richard’s arm for a walk when a young dad approached with a baby in a front pack, I’d guess about 14 months old, wiggling her little legs in delight at life in general.
Turned out they belonged to my new roommate. I got to hear happy baby babbling sounds at the same time I was reading an essay in Sharon Randall’s book about her son’s wedding, wherein she reminisces about what it was like to be a first-time mother to him and how wonderful it was to see her son a happy man with a wonderful wife, and yet, admitting how much she missed hearing the language that only the little ones can speak.
I wanted to hand my roommate the book on the spot. But instead, when her baby started sounding fussy, I called out to them, (well yes of *course* I had one with me) and offered her husband a fingerpuppet for her, figuring he was the most mobile person in the room just then.
Then I got to listen to happy babbling sounds mixed with little-person giggles. If I hadn’t had a newly-stitched-up belly, I’d have asked for a chance to get to hold the baby, too.
The dad was in and out for a moment here and there, and after that fingerpuppet, as he was coming back in, his daughter in his arms, she eyeballed me with the very biggest grin on her face. She knew a grandma type on the spot. I was utterly charmed.
One last thing I had to go through before they could send me home: they had to remove a tube. It didn’t look so big or bad, really, and a medical student was sent to go do the job. I was on vicodin, but my stars. I couldn’t help but gasp and I was holding tight to the side of the bed and Richard’s hand.
The student said, It’s not supposed to be this bad, excuse me a moment, and she went running for a member of the surgery team.
They decided to give me a dose in my IV of dilaudad to make it easier on me. Almost immediately after it went in…
…Their voices got thin and tinny like a static-y radio, the highest frequencies (ie some of the consonants in the words) disappeared, and I was struggling to hear.
Oh! Was I on that coming out of surgery?
Yes, answered the resident.
Now we know. Now we know. Thank goodness for a tube that didn’t want to come out. And then when it did come out, I could see why: the part inside was a whole lot wider. Think about a size 13 needle trying to squeeze through a size 5 opening, and they mentioned there were probably blood clots getting in the way as well.
And came home to what Michelle had described as looking like a pillow from Peru. It was a thin muslin fabric, hand whip-stitched closed along one edge. I carefully cut it open and she and I spread out and sorted 100 finger puppets. Dolls, fish, birds, animals, alligators, bugs, even a few cartoon characters. Cost with shipping was 36 cents each.
I felt like a little kid counting their Halloween loot. I said to Michelle, “Look at all this happiness waiting to happen!”
She got the first smile.