Yesterday was not a good day. Not at all.
It’s nearly impossible to sleep in a hospital, especially when your room is right next to the nurse’s desk. So, even though everyone kept telling me to rest, I wasn’t able to sleep for more than 10 minutes at a time. By noon yesterday, I was a mess.
I miss The Kid very, very much. He’s in great care with my mom and sister (while The Hubs is at work), and I know that I have nothing to worry about. But I miss him.
I hate asking for help. I hate needing help. So along with missing The Kid, I felt…uncomfortable, and almost embarrassed, that I needed help.
Most of all, I felt guilty. I felt guilty for getting sick, for sitting in bed all day, for not being able to do anything for anyone aside from myself.
So, at noon yesterday, I pushed the call button for the nurse. She came, and I immediately started to sob and beg to go home. It was rather pathetic, and kind of embarrassing, but the nurse was very kind. She said she’d call the doctor to discuss it. In the meantime, my mom and sister arrived with The Kid and my niece and nephew. The Kid was a little nervous at first, but soon climbed up on my bed to cuddle. And that, my friends, was incredibly healing.
They moved me to a private room, which was very kind. Now I don’t have to worry about crying or getting sick in front of anyone. When the doctor came to see me, and explained the severity of my condition (basically, I could die if I don’t heal correctly), I told him I’d stay and do whatever I need to do to get better.
Which means that I have to sit here in this bed, and allow the people I love to take care of me. I need to accept that my job right now is to heal.
Why is it so difficult to ask for, and accept help when we really need it?