I wish I was home. I wish I was home. Where there aren’t nurses coming in and out, testing my blood sugar every four hours. Where it’s quiet. Where there isn’t any loud beeping from machines if I accidentally kink my IV. Where the bed is soft. Where the sheets are warm. Where I can wear my comfy pajamas and not these clothes I’ve been wearing since this morning. Where I can snuggle down into the mass of blankets and sleep. And forget all these things that have happened today. That I’ve found out about my body. Like a major organ not doing its job. Where I can push away all the worries that I have. The confusion. The questions like, “What am I going to do? What am I supposed to do?? Am I really going to have to deal with this for the rest of my life???”
I’m still not used to the needles and constant pain in my fingers from the continual pricks, so I’m laying here in this hard hospital bed, watching the clock, waiting till a night nurse comes in and pricks me again. I try to keep my arm straight so that the IV won’t kink up, but the needle is in my right arm and the stand is on the left side of the bed, so I’m juggling this cord over my stomach. That makes it hard to lie in any position except on my back, which I’ve been doing ALL DAY. Or at least for five hours at the doctor’s office this morning. Whenever I roll over, though, the cord kinks and the machine it’s attached to beeps loudly till a nurse comes in to calm it down. Daddy is staying with me tonight and he keeps snoring, so there’s no peace in this god-forbidden place. A shadow just moved behind the door. Yes, here she comes again. That brown-hair nurse to prick my finger. Lord, help me get through this never ending night.