The title of this post may seem a bit exaggerated but due to the way I have been feeling these past few days, I deem it to be fit.
I swore I would never again trust the hospital that took Rebecca’s life. Never again would I place one of my children’s lives into someone else’s care. I’ve been so angry.
But Saturday 26th September I found myself in a very scary predicament. My elder daughter needed medical assistance, I believed it to be serious.
As I drove to the same hospital in a panic, disturbing memories of my last panic drive to hospital filled my head. I was so scared. Scared of my daughters condition and scared to enter this hospital again.
My daughter has since been admitted into hospital and I must say the doctors and nurses have done an amazing job, after worrying speculations of meningitis, a diagnosis of pneumonia was ascertained, my daughter is now regaining her health.
What I have regained goes deeper then health.
Walking into any hospital is a risk to me now, risk of the unknown and risk of seeing lots of bumps and babies. This particular hospital has been so difficult to enter, relying on another doctor here has been even more difficult. To makw matters worse, ironically the Childrens Ward is located on the same floor as Maternity Services – so balloons, bumps and babies are everywhere. As I travelled from my daughters ward to x-ray I passed their Delivery Suite. I found myself just staring at the door to the Delivery Suite. My head was divided; a sheer gut-wrenching pain of the memories of the last time I entered that door, the last time I walked out of that door and the horrific moments inbetween. Another half was that of wishful thinking, a fantasy that I was still one of these unsuspecting mothers again, the mothers who enter that door with an excited knot in their stomachs, the hospital bag that has been on stand-by can now be used and the baby that has been grown can soon be heard and held. A fantasy fills my head that I am still one of those unsuspecting mothers who walk out of that door with a baby in a car seat, one who takes their baby home.
Whilst my elder daughter sleeps I cry here for Rebecca. Flash backs and memories keep me awake.
I cry for my elder daughter, who thankfully is recovering, but the fear of losing another child was just too much. I’m emotionally drained.
Nearly 7 months later, I am here again, regaining some of the trust I lost.
The fears that I have will never go away, these past few days and nights don’t repair any damage that was caused by Rebecca’s death. These past few days and nights have just been another hurdle in my new life. I have faced a fear.
I cry here for my daughter who has been helped. But I also cry for my daughter who wasn’t.