Yes, that right, diving back in. The pain is almost unbearable and I can’t believe the nurses promised me the doctor wouldn’t check me (well, actually I can…). Luckily he is quick and very compassionate, unfortunately he lets us know that left over placenta is his best guess and it will most likely require surgery (wait WHAT…). Tears well up and fall down my feverish hot face and I can’t even look at my mom. I feel scared and vulnerable but I’m really happy that my mom is right here. Since my fever is so high and the fear of the infection spreading is even higher, the doctor orders the strongest antibiotics there are to be on the safe side since they are not sure what I have. My mom who brought her brain asks if this will affect my breast milk (the main food source for my tiny infant) and the doctor tells us that I shouldn’t feed her my milk just in case the strong medicine will be transferred to her (pump and dump it is which seems sad since I don’t get that much to begin with). The nice and very feminine doctor gestures with his hands (small, with long fingers and surprisingly gentle, except when he had them inside me; hello invasion of privacy!) to the nurses that time is of the essence and an IV needs to be started right away. Oh, here we go again; we are playing “how long does it take and how many nurses to put the IV needle in my arm”. My mom looks on in shocked astonishment, they seriously have five of them come and go. I know I have been told that my veins are hard to find but come on from the completely butchered arm leading to infection while on bed rest to the extremely swollen one during labor due to the nurse’s inability to correctly set up an IV and now this. Different nurses keep poking me, some go as far as sticking the needle in only to retract it again, the fact that I’m used to this doesn’t make it okay. I can see my mom’s eyes widen in total surprise at the time it takes them to do this, what do they really learn in nursing school nowadays? This is not a rant against nurses (well, sorry it kinda is but not against all nurses) I know that most nurses are amazing, skillful, compassionate people that are often just underpaid, underappreciated and mistreated, trust me I met some of them (and I even know some great nurses personally and have some in my extended family) and I am extremely grateful to them and their work, I’m just not certain that some of them are present in this hospital room right now (or maybe my veins are just extremely difficult; next to impossible to find and I am the worst patient ever). When it’s all done after what felt like hours (it’s not like I’m sick or anything and extremely uncomfortable) the nurses do apologize for sticking the needle in the worst place possible, my hand, the front part that naturally bends (well now it naturally doesn’t) and for it taking so long. Next, things are moving pretty fast, a young good looking guy pulls up to the door with a wheel chair (hey, that’s my ride) and the nurse helps me sit down with my IV and my blankets (which I could do without but take only to cover my ugly hospital gown open to my enormous see through underwear and ginormous pad in the back!). She hands my mom a big white my belongings bag with my street clothes as she phrases it (funny those were the everyday normal clothes I had been so excited to wear only hours before…well this morning…bye bye pink angel hoodie and black leggings…). A new adventure starts; we now get to tour the hospital but only the parts that no human has ever seen before it seems like. My poor mom finds it hard to keep up on this surreal journey of winding corridors, sliding doors, enormous elevators and empty basements. I actually feel delirious and as I’m having multiple out of body experiences, I know I’m rambling and even laughing inappropriately and out of context at one point and am also slightly aware of my mom’s concerned looks and the guy half sprinting with the wheelchair through the never ending, isolating, sterile smelling corridors in the undergrounds of this big hospital. My mom, never one to beat around the bush tells me to stop being odd and start acting like myself (not a suggestion, more like an order) as she is struggling to keep up with the running wheel chair guy through the ups, downs, bends and allies. The surroundings are eerie and we don’t see anybody until we come to the ER, which in contrast is bustling with energy and scary, harried, running, worried, stressed out people, we make a stop only to continue our journey again. Next stop; radiology.