Day 2 in SLC. It’s 10 am. My dayshift nurse arrives at around 7. She’s nice but high-strung. Dr. Jensen came in to go over the basics again: my labs were good. But with this high blood pressure I’ll be here for awhile.
“What’s my blood pressure?” The nurse tells me to relax (when does telling someone to relax ever relax them?) and not worry about it.
I can’t eat. I smother my pancakes in peanut butter and syrup and stare at them. I eat a chunk of papaya and a few spoonfuls of cornflakes. The milk tastes like cardboard. I take a pink prenatal, a pill for constipation, a pill for my blood pressure and a pill for my headache that’s climbed down my face and settled all around my head like a helmet.
Lunch (food is the highlight of a hospital) for Sunday, August 14: saltine crackers, milk, mango (delicious touch), beef Barley soup, tuna sandwich on wheat.
Later: Usain Bolt wins everything. Phelps gets his 23rd and final gold medal. I take a shower. Not too bad. I sleep a lot and watch some Gypsy wedding reality show that proves Gypsy moms are insane.
Day 3: I can’t find my shoes and they sent me the wrong lunch. On the plus side, if I’m here awhile, (which I probably will be, early delivery or not) they’ll offer me some cool services like massage, a visiting therapy dog, reiki.
Charley hasn’t been home. He took two of our dogs and went camping with strangers and got drunk. He’s an idiot. A big child. What did I marry?
My mom is packing the house. We’re supposed to move (Charley and I) to New Mexico this weekend. Charley’s mom warns me: “Can you put your stuff in storage? Charley will fail. He’s a child.”
My dad is going to drive the Uhaul. Altogether it will be a $2000 trip and he’s paying. Charley is broke. My mom is doing everything in the apartment while Charley is out. I don’t know, I guess my husband is getting drunk?
This little room in a hospital gown is my home right now, two states away in Mormon country. Relax as much as possible, they tell me. At my ultrasound the baby girl keeps flipping around. She’s always kicking. I see her beautiful little face in 3D: fat cheeks, little button nose. “It’s fabulous. She has an attitude,” says the nurse. I look at my family. Of course she does.