Another day bites the dust

As my husband and I tucked Ellie in for the night, after marvelling at her ability to pull herself up to stand using the hospital crib rails, we pulled them up as high as they could go, and secured her in her baby jail. I said to the nurse, as we were leaving, half jokingly "Looking forward to hearing that she desatted over night". There's something about the hospital environment, and I don't know what it is, but Ellie sleeps perfectly, not at all like she does at home.

I turned to wave goodbye to my little lady, and we left. Straight past the empty Special Needs Unit, left at the isolation rooms, right at the water cooler, out the automatic doors. At the mural, I grabbed Jay's hand, and we turned right, walking down the hall, just the two of us. "How are we here again? How do we always end up back here?", I asked. He laughed, "I don't know".

We turned left at the end of the hall, my fingers trailing along the rubber wall bumper, past the empty gurnies, past the carts of clean linens to the main hallway connecting BC Children's Hospital, to Women's Hospital. We turned right, pausing for a moment outside the doors of the NICU, memories flooding me, as they always do when I pass by. The smells, the sounds, all entwined and engraved in my mind. Will I ever be able to walk by without the onslaught of emotions?

We look at Ellie's tile on the wall, and agree that the wording suits her perfectly. Was she really so small, so frail? It seems like a dream.

I sigh, and we continue down the long hallway, passing busy people, rushing back and forth. At the five-way intersection, we part ways. Jay leaves past the cafeteria, I turn right, past the cashier's office, pausing to read the bulletin board about ongoing research studies. I contemplate buying a snack from the vending machine, but don't see anything I like. I walk through the doorway, turn right, and push the elevator button.

My mind is elsewhere, as I almost get run over by a garbage trolley exiting the elevator. I back up to let the man past, push the button to hold open the elevator doors, then sneak in, and press "0". I lean against the right wall, staring at the field of flowers, the fake blue sky. I remember all the breakdowns I've had in this small, confined space. For the first time, I wonder if there is a security camera on board. I wonder how many other parents have fallen to pieces, leaving their children, or worse...?

I walk our of the elevator, push the wheelchair button on the right, because time has told me the door is too heavy. I turn left, out the door, walk through the parking lot, to my van. I look at the automated parking machine, and shake my head at the prices they charge helpless families. I find my van on the first try, unlock the doors, open my door, throw in my bag, put on my seat belt, and sigh.

Another day bites the dust.