Ever since I boarded the motherhood train, with all its huge highs and guilty lows, the joy, the sacrifice and the laugh that turns into a cry, I’ve harbored a secret fantasy.
No, its not the Ryan Gosling feeds me hot chips while I lie on beach somewhere one, although that is a top 3.
It’s getting a little bit hit by a car and having to go to hospital for a few days. A week even. And I’m not really hurt much, but the doc says I can’t have visitors because I’m too fragile.
I’ve got my own private room, filled with flowers, heaps of mags and books, round the clock movies, good painkillers and a view of the ocean. I spend my few days snoozing, reading, painting my nails and going to the toilet alone.
And everyone is concerned and wishing me a big rest because this is SERIOUS.
And when I get home, my husband and kids tell me that they can’t believe how much I do for them and they will never take me for granted again.
I pictured it like you read in books about old times, where people with tuberculosis would go and ‘have a rest in the country’.
Well, it happened.
I didn’t get hit by a car but I got the worst bout of tonsillitis ANYONE HAS EVER HAD and ended up in hospital.
And it completely sucked.
I woke up on Mothers Day drenched in sweat and unable to talk or swallow and thought I was going to die. The next day I was absolutely sure I was going to die so I went to hospital. Apparently I wasn’t dying but I needed to stay in hospital.
This is where the reality sets in.
I had to sit in a hallway in emergency on an IV for 6 hours while they found me a bed. Then the bed was in a room full of groaning, lougie hocking, actual sick people. And I was one of them. I am sure they hated me too. I kept waking up every 15 minutes with a weird and very loud Donald Duck sound coming out of my throat. It was freaking me out.
Then they put me on clear fluids only. Now this is fine, as I really couldn’t handle anything else, but I wanted it to be my choice. A cup of tepid, old dishwashing water and orange jelly is not dinner. I swear I will never eat jelly again.
They were doing building works and drilling in the wall behind my head for 8 hours a day, the water in the shower was cold, and my cannula got infected and I got a blood clot and a nasty infection.
Plus I bloody well missed my family and I felt so guilty about abandoning them all.
So it wasn’t really that awesome.
I did as well get some excellent painkillers, beautiful flowers and some sleep, so it wasn’t all bad.
When I got home, I got an email from another mum of young kids I know. All it said was.
‘Oh my god. You actually pulled it off!’
Like I had robbed a bank.
Anyway, if you need to escape your family for a few days I have some tips.
Go to daycare and lick all the door handles and kids drink bottles. Or hang around an emergency room and steal peoples used tissues and use them as a face blotter. Or just eat your kids half chewed leftovers, which I think was my downfall.
Do whatever it takes.
But don’t expect it to be like you picture in your mind, because hospital really sucks.