How my heart turned black and other hopeful stories

The day my son was born was the day that my heart died a little bit. Before that day I never thought that bad things happened to people like me. I had led a blessed life, full of love and pink pretty things and this had continued when I had my own daughter just 20 months earlier. Her birth was rejoiced by family, friends near and far. She was gleefully passed around as photos of her first hours went zooming over the North South barriers.

My sons birth was different. A somber, clinical c section that resulted in a stay in scbu, in a a hospital that would become my home. No photos were sent and the few that were taken were sobbed over in the privacy of my sad hospital bed. Whilst the mums around me cooed over their babies and swapped one horrendous birth story for another, I tried to claw my broken body along the corridor to get to my alien like son. I didn’t succeed and ended up having a blood transfusion for my troubles.

I am of course, luckier than most. My son did get better and I left hospital just 16days after he was born with two children in my heart and my home. However my heart was now tarnished. I realised now that life can be cruel. That nightmares are real. That one those pitying glances you give to the sad, lost woman in the hospital will one day be being thrown to you.

Today I spent the day with my almost three year old baby boy in hospital. A different hospital to the one that became my home that hot June three years ago but really all hospitals are the same. Same smells, same chairs, same feeling of despair. My baby will be better soon. He isn’t critical, he isn’t in danger. But watching him makes me go back to watching him through a plastic box- wondering if I’d ever get a chance to change his nappy or feed him.

I shouldn’t. It’s not even comparable. But I’m a narcissist like that. I’m not sure what this blog will be about. I have nothing worth reading that’s for sure. But I have a life full of love and a knack for not appreciating it