I was hooked up to wires and machines, and I had tubes and bags hooked up to me. I couldn't move, I had a huge opening running down my middle and I felt like a truck had hit me. Hard. People kept coming into my room every few minutes, prodding, poking, and just generally bothering me. Morphine was just an acquaintance- not my friend. My baby was in a glass box being watched for God knows what- little wires and sticky things everywhere.
I just hoped to beat the odds-or to live long enough for him to remember me- and not just in pictures.
Well, yesterday was his 6th birthday. I'm fine (knock on wood) and so is he. He grew into his enormous head- and the seizure that a nurses aide thought she saw him have has never been seen again.