The portal.
The air is warm on my skin and my eyes open slowly to the familiar sounds of the house,
the sun streaming through my open window.
I can hear birds and the slow whir of the ceiling fan.
It’s glorious.
Beside me there is a small boy.
He snuggles in closely and I watch as his chest rises slowly and drops again in relaxed sleep.
My head doesn’t hurt and my neck feels better than it has in days
and I can see properly out of my right eye again.
‘High alert’ stress has never sat well with me.
I am thankful for a night at home and a husband who is happy to do hospital duty.
I know I have just a few hours to soak in the other children,
do the washing, cook dinner and organise things to run smoothly before I have to go back.
A small portion of time where I am nothing but a mother.
The hospital is everything that home is not.
A portal,
a vortex,
that is so unlike real life.
There is no colour or comfort
there are no wide open spaces,
just long hallways that feed people into stomach – like wards
where you are eaten up by the system.
It sucks you in through the entry doors and once inside everything closes in on you.
The sounds of the hospital are so different.
They never rest
even at 2am.
Intense.
Alarming.
Hollow.
Noise to sharpen your worry.
It’s lovely on the outside
but there is a small girl who is missing and a husband to relieve.
In six hours I will step in through the portal.
The vibrance of the outside,
the sunshine,
a memory
and I will walk the corridors like a ghost.
Like Ivy, I was conditioned to the hospital environment at a young age.
For me, this space is tolerable.
Though I understand that for most it is not.
And could the person that swiped Ivy’s LF chocolate milk from the fridge, please return it?
Shyeah … didn’t think so.
Your writing is like poetry, as is your photography.
You are strong, and beautiful, and the best mother your children could ever dream of having. Don’t ever forget that – even once you’ve gone back through that portal. xx
Tiff,
I haven’t been around for a long time. I am thinking of you and have thought of you often. Hang in Momma.
Betsy
It sounds so wonderful, your time on the “outside”. Enjoy every minute of it (which I am sure you will). And sending you all the strength vibes and ear plugs you need to get through the next couple of days. At least you get gate leave for Monday night if nothing else. Can’t wait to see photos of the sparkly shoes
I wanted to let you know that I have chosen your website to receive the “One Lovely Blog Award.” I think that other families would benefit from reading the information you have in this blog.
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Congratulations!
thinking of you.
Thinking of you all. Hope it’s not for too much longer.
And I just want to smack out the f**k-knuckle who stole Ivy’s milk.
Hugs. I don’t know how you manage to write at all, let alone so beautifully, with all that you’ve got going on. I take my hat off to you. Or I would, were I wearing one. But it’s 3am, and I’m reading blogs as a break from being clung to by sick children. You’re all in my heart. I hope she’s home for good soon.
Are the other kids allowed in to visit? Perhaps you could take in photos with messages from them? Hope she’s feeling much better now and ready to come home soon.
@DBT; someone swiped her milk? Put another one in the fridge, but fill it with curdled sour milk…..
I’m so sad that you and Ivy are back there again, but glad that you get to have a break and cuddle the other kidlets. ((hugs)) hope this stay doesn’t last too long xoxo
I echo Sunny Road mum’s comment. I hope that Ivy recovers quickly. I think that you are amazing to be able to cope with all this.
what rat took her LF milk…karma to them.
Hugs to you and I hope the portal treats you well tomorrow and don’t forget to take Ivy’s sparkly shoes with you.
so glad you got to come home.if only for a while…..
massive hugs
Enjoy Ivy’s end-of-year pre-school disco while ye may and just think positive about the portal. You’ll both be out of there soon, hopefully without the need to return until the next IVIG. xoxo
Tiffany and family-
The Kofoed’s are thinking of you and praying for you each day! We just feel terrible for Ivy and hope that she gets over this rough spell and onto happier times soon! Her buddy, Cody, thinks she is one tough cookie! :O)
Love you all!
I have never in all my life read such a perfectly accurate description of a hospital. I’m sorry you and Ivy have to spend any time there at all!
I know the feeling well — you’ve somehow managed to evoke the very essence of what it is like. So many memories… I hope they will soon be naught but memories for you too, dear friend.
~Michelle