Days blurred into one another.
There were many tests, and an operation under general anaesthetic. Initially, Snowflake was poked about every two hours. IV medication every 6 hours. It got less as the days progressed.
There was little sleep initially, and lots at the end, when Snowflake was perking up.
A comforting routine between medication, stats, meals, baby sleep, baby feeds, bathtime and X-factor.
I watched the snow descend upon Glasgow from the 7th floor, dancing snowflakes, reluctant to make their way down.
I watched the sun rise and set again.
I read (The Rose of Sebastopol) and almost finished this 400 page book.
I knitted - half a hat and half a remote control holder (I know, I'm getting old).
I watched all the TV programmes I never normally watch, and was amazed to see that they brought a lot of smiles to my face and distracted me from more gloomy thoughts.
Eventually I even switched on my laptop, hitched a lift on an unsecured wireless network, wrote a blog post and above all, logged into my email, my email, my reader and facebook - you won't believe how much I appreciated every well wish. Because, while the hospital routine was reassuring and comforting, it still felt isolating and lonely.
In those hours where it's just you and the sick baby, nothing keeps those worrysome thoughts at bay. Nothing. They escalate, encompass you. There was fear, guilt, anger, grief. And they were raw and hit me hard.
I missed Cubling; never having been separated from her for such a long time. I missed the company of friends. Yet I also appreciated how I was allowed a second babymoon, the present of precious one to one time with Snowflake, being able to be just with her, not having to think about anything but her.
I was grateful not to have to deal with travel chaos, household chores and nursery runs. I appreciated that while emotionally drained, I'd been dealt the easier card in this, while Mr Cartside had to juggle demands of Cubling, work, and house. And he didn't even get to be with Snowflake.
So I was in two minds when offered to leave early rather than to stay the full 14 days. But who in their right minds would choose the hospital over their own bed?
And so we went home.
I can only thank the nurses and doctors at the Yorkhill Royal Hospital for Sick Children for their exceptional attitude, understanding, skills and dedication. They made difficult days as easy as can be.
