Disaster Flick

As the nurses took my baby boy to the nursery for his first bath, we looked out the window to the snow beyond and remembered after all the excitement of the baby that we were in the middle of a snow emergency. Snowmageddon. Howling winds blew the freezing snow into drifts several feet tall. The streets were deserted as everyone was trapped inside. When my nurse returned, I remembered I hadn't eaten for over eight hours. The nurse told us food in the hospital was scarce since supply trucks hadn't been able to get in or out for over 24 hours. She'd see what she could do. There might be some sandwiches left in the nurses' lounge. I'll take what I can get, I told her over the rumbling of my empty stomach. She returned with one of the sandwich plates the cafeteria had sent up for employees unable to leave. I was supremely grateful. I offered to split the sandwich and chips with my husband, but he declined. Good thing, because I devoured the food and was still a little hungry afterward. He took a trip to the vending machine for his meal: Doritos and peanut M&Ms.

There was a giddy camaraderie amongst the patients and staff common to those who find themselves thrown together in extraordinary circumstances. Our nurse and doctor had already been in the hospital for two days with no hope of going home for at least another 24 hours. Suddenly we felt as though we'd been cast in a disaster flick with a title like BLIZZARD! or AVALANCHE! A couple finds themselves stranded at a hospital as the snow storm rages. Will they survive?

We were informed that we would have to spend the night in our Labor & Delivery room since none of the ladies who were to be discharged that day could actually leave. No biggie, the Labor & Delivery rooms are larger (and the fold out couch much more accommodating for a tall husband). The biggest question of the day, however, was: When will I ever get my milkshake and bacon cheeseburger? Tragically, not for several days, it turned out. There was no getting in or out of the hospital for at least another day. The cafeteria resumed sending out trays to patients, but could only send out a smaller amount of food than usual. Though it wasn’t the grand spread I’d hoped for, the eggs and sausage link on my first breakfast tray were perfectly lovely for someone who felt like she’d just spent the previous day lumberjacking. The trays, however, grew smaller and smaller as the days went on. My last breakfast at the hospital was one small pancake and a cup of milk. And the vending machine my husband used for every meal had taken on a post-Apocalyptic form: barren, with one small bag of trail mix dangling uselessly from the hook.

Once we finally found our way over to the maternity ward we learned that the supply problem wasn’t limited to food. The ward was running low on all sorts of basic necessities. My nurse handed me a few pairs of highly fashionable disposable mesh underwear and told me to hold on them as they were the last few pairs to be had. I began to wonder only partly in jest if I should start hoarding supplies to trade with other women in the ward: a box of bendy straws in exchange for a few packets of sugar or a box of tissues to exchange for some lime Jell-O. Since our room was the closest to the ward’s kitchen, we could have wielded great power over our fellow in-mates with some well-chosen contraband. Alas, our focus was elsewhere.

A few hours after our new prince was born we discovered that he was struggling to breathe and needed to be admitted to the NICU. When the woman I recognized as a nurse practitioner from the NICU walked in looking grave my heart sank. The problem-free hopes I’d had for delivery were dashed. So the dwindling food supply was quickly forgotten as we spent most of our stay by the side of our little one, now hooked up to an alarming number of tubes and wires.

We were discharged from the hospital with heavy hearts. Our homecoming celebration would have to wait. My husband pulled the car to the front of the hospital as I waited in my wheelchair. There were other mommies around me, carrying their newborns home with them and I started to cry. With one backward glance, I felt the sting of loneliness at leaving behind the tiny being who had been with me since the moment his existence began. Not only was he not physically with me, I’d have to wait who knew how long before I could actually hold him in my arms again. We drove home through the snow-covered streets, something we’d end up doing countless times before we were finally able to bring our little boy home.