I’m very lucky to have this fab, and heartwarming guest post on C&C today from Susanne who blogs over at GhostWritingMummy (have a nosy!). This is a story of how a simple act of kindness at the right moment can mean so much to someone.
Thanks for sharing this Susanne x
I’ve already written about my son’s birth and the fact that it is the event that led me here, to this world of blogging. I have also written about the emergency section through my husband’s eyes as it is something that has bothered me a great deal. I hate to think of my husband being left alone in the delivery room after they’d whisked me down to theatre. The room must’ve been buzzing with silence after so much activity and fear. I hate to think that they just left him there…
My son’s birth affected so much in our lives and we lost valuable time, precious moments we’ll never get back. I was asleep when my son was lifted from me, lifeless and limp. He was alone in those first few minutes when they pushed a tube down his throat and urged his lungs to take in the air around him. My husband was alone. I was alone.
My son was an hour old when they ripped the tube from my own throat and urged me to open my eyes; to look at my baby. My son had been cleaned and wrapped in a blanket. He had a name and a weight and a whole hour of his life under his belt before I even opened my eyes. I think that the most painful realisation is that I- his mother- had not even known he existed for that first hour of his life. I went to sleep thinking I had lost him.
When they thrust him onto me I felt almost outraged. It was indescribable. This surely wasn’t the baby that had been inside me? Why did everyone keep congratulating me? Why were they insisting that I look after this baby?
My son was born at 6.45pm. By 9pm my husband had been sent home and I was left with my baby to sleep on a groaning ward. I felt no pain, just numbness and confusion. It was the next day that the terror began. The following evening, after the joyful visitors had gone home, happy to have seen their son/ brother/ grandson/ nephew, I was left alone in agony. I had a black and blue body, an excruciatingly painful scar and an agonisingly sore throat and neck. Unable to sleep, I shuffled down the corridor looking for someone to take pity on me. A midwife found me in the small kitchen and performed a small act of kindness that I will remember forever. She made me a cup of tea.
I don’t drink tea. Readers of my blog will know I am a coffee drinker. That night, however, I was too broken to argue. I took a cup of tea with two sugars and it was the nicest drink I have ever tasted. It was made with kindness, in my hour of need. At a time when everyone I loved was far away and could only be reached via telephone. It was a hug from my daughter, a kiss from my husband and a moment with my mum. It was a blanket to wrap me in, to warm me and to calm me. It was the English way, the perfect remedy to any crisis. In the time it took to drink it, my heart stopped galloping and my breathing returned to normal. In that short twenty minutes I felt a reprieve from the nightmares and anxiety that had already started and, unknown to me, were to continue. It truly was a good old nice cup of tea.
Why not leave Susanne a comment, I know she’d appreciate & catch up with her on Twitter!