Two home, one to go

The surgeon that cut up Hannah arrived in our room.  "I feel really bad about you leaving tomorrow," she said.  "So I spoke with the manager and you can stay as boarders for a few more days."  Translated, this meant: "I need your room, get off my ward, now."  Then she disappeared and discharged us via computer (it's like being dumped by text message).  We packed up and were put in a room on pediatrics, upstairs.

This morning we were moved from that room to yet another.  After five rooms in four days, Hannah's emotional fragility was replaced by her usual angry swearing and the description of certain hospital staff as "glorified housekeepers".  It was time to leave before somebody called security.

Our superstar friend Anat helped us move all our stuff back, and the prospect of a night in our own bed does something to balance the thought of Peter still down there.  Still, it's only thirteen minutes walk (I timed it), and he's receiving the kind of attention from nurses that he'll only dream about when he grows up.

Outside, normal life has gone on for the whole time!  Reintroduced, I remembered things that I used to do, like change my clothes, and went through each item I was wearing to try to work out when I put it on.  The answers were not good.  Also, having been through the wringer several times and in multiple directions, I've used up my ability to feel emotion.  On Monday I couldn't read a supportive email without bursting into tears, today I could club a seal without a second thought.  This is the kind of training they give to elite assassins.

We've been down to the NICU again this evening for more skin-to-skin time, cuddling and baby bonding.  With all the low lights, white noise, and calm nurses it really is an incredibly chilled place.  If they let people hang out there whenever they wanted, California might wean itself off it's popular herbal relaxant - it really is that good.  They're currently trying to wean Peter onto breast milk as his digestive system isn't all go yet and he needs to poo more but, knowing his mother's family, it's not going to be long.  In the meantime we're just chilling together as a slightly displaced family.

Obligatory baby feet shot.

Giving some fatherly advice.  First piece: that hat is fabulous!

Showing his colours to the ward.



Skin-to-skin time, and a rather possessive pose from the little one already.

First smile, at minus seven weeks!  Record!

Hannah receives nappy changing instruction.  She turns out to be a lot better at it than me.  What a shame...

Hmmm, reminiscent of what I see every morning when I wake up.

We're back!  The celebration will be rather larger when the final one comes in through the door.