Just had one of the most scariest experiences of my life tonight... Part 3

if you haven't read part one... you can find it here.
if you haven't read part two... you can find it here.

i climbed up the steps and pulled open the screen door. as i put my key in the lock the door was pulled open by zol on the other side.
"Hey." i said, and slipped in, dumping my purse pulling off my shoes and coat at the same time. i followed him out of the coat room and into our living room.
"Did you have a good time? i thought you'd be later..."
"Ya we had a great time." i got a glass of water from the kitchen then came and sat beside him on the couch. i turned to him.
"Um. uhh... something happened while i was driving home tonight."

There is this look that zol can give me that says a shitload of words all at one time. it says this... "OK what the heck have you done? it's bad isn't it? or is it something really stupid? how can i fix it? am i going to have to hurt someone?"

"What?" he says - calmly. i tell him the events of the last 20 minutes. when i mention myself getting out of the car he interrupts with an explosive "WHY THE HELL DID YOU GET OUT OF THE VAN!?" i calmed him down with the fact that i YES i was now aware of my stupidity and then went on with what happened after i got out of the van. he told me what i should have done, and of course he was right... go to a well lit area (gas station) and deal with it there NEXT TIME. he hugs me as i cry out the fear i'd been sucking up from the moment i first jumped out of the van. we climb the stairs to bed and fall to sleep.

5pm the next day. my phone rings DUNCAN W ONG.
IGNORE!
7pm... my phone rings again... DUNCAN W ONG.
IGNORE!
duncan? i thought he said David? he leaves a message with his phone number.

"Hey Daisy, you hit my car last night. call me... 604-...-..."

that entire day my head had been reeling with all kinds of thoughts. i must admit i obsess over alot of things, and this kind of thing takes the CAKE. my brain just would NOT drop it.

that night after Zol got home we went out and looked at the van. nothing. NOTHING on it.

My mother arrived early the next morning from dropping my father off at VGH for and angiogram. my day worsened as we waited 7 hours for the call to pick him up. finally the call came. my mother held her cell phone to her ear, her brow furrowed and jaw tight. she asked a progression of questions that ended with... "NO... oh no. oh my... ...really?" looks like my dad needs a tripled by pass. as my mother hung up the phone her body shrunk within itself, much like one's does when you receive life changing and maybe devastating news. i hugged her and we cried. this was not what either of us had expected for that day.

i called the cops the next day, they told me to call ICBC. so i did. i told them what happened. there was a pause. i heard a keyboard clicking away and then silence.

"Mrs. S zilvassy, are you aware that your drivers licence has been expired since October?" My heart sunk. I had NO IDEA. i know it's "5 years" but in my head i had renewed it 4 years ago. she was very nice and told me what to do, how to get it renewed. she gave me an ICBC claim number so that somebody could look at my van and see that there was not a spec of damage on it...

not 5 minutes later DUNCAN W ONG showed up on my phone. this time i answered.
"Daisy?"
"DAY-LYNN. listen, i've called the police and ICBC."
"YOU CALL ICBC?!"
"Yes i did. when i get the claim number i'll let you know."
"YOU CALL ICBC? THEN I CALL ICBC TOO!"
"OK - go for it. bye!" CLICK... asshole.

at that time i had Graye to distract me and we carried on with our day. later that night when i tried to go to bed I laid awake for hours and hours and hours. the next morning, with only 3 hours of sleep i dragged Graye downstairs and cooked her up some eggs and toast. i sat behind her on a hard chair in the kitchen sipping my coffee watching Dora the Explorer animate across the TV screen. The rest of my day was a blurrrr..... i called Zol and asked him to please pick up a bottle of wine. and he did... thank God.

to be continued AGAIN.

Just had one of the most scariest experiences of my life tonight... Part 2

if you haven't read part one... you can find it here.

there are several different kinds of "your heart was pumping" situations.

1. you've been smoking for a few years and just ran up a big flight of stairs and can barely talk or breath and something inside your chest feels like it's ready to explode.
2. you fall halfway down a flight of stairs and nearly break you neck but catch yourself and only sustain a few choice bruises, but for the next 5 minutes your heart races and your fingers tremble as you take a medicating sip of wine.
3. you watch your child jumping around on the couch and in the process she places a dancing foot into midair - and you are about 2 feet far away to catch her fall. your heart drops as she does to the floor.
4. you've been screamed at by a large intoxicated man in a dark alley - and you have about two seconds before you think he's going to grab some part of your clothing or hair as you are pulling yourself up into your van and trying to slam the door AND lock it at the same time.

i have a feeling number 4 doesn't apply to too many people.

luckily i'm pretty well versed in pulling myself up into my van. it's a 4x4 delica and rides pretty high off the ground with it's extra large snow tyres. somehow i managed to glide my body in and have my finger on the lock at the same time... JUST in time. there he was - a darkened face at my window, screaming at me again.

"GIVE ME YOUR FUCKING DRIVER LICENCE BITCH!!"

i sat there for a few seconds, staring straight ahead, trying to gather my thoughts. what was i going to do? should i just try and gun it again? no - no his car was 10 times faster than mine. i decided i needed to fix the situation.

i must admit - i can definitely get someone riled up, but i also have a pretty good knack at calming somebody down - IF i want to. i'm not sure where i learnt this skill, but i know i have it.

i turned the key in the ignition and pressed the button, rolling down my window 2 inches.

"Hey! hey... look at me. what's your name?" he turned and glared at me.
"David!"
"David? no shit. that's my dads name." his face instantly softened.
"Really? David?"
"Yup, David! crazy hey?" he threw his head back with a slight chuckle. strangely, sometimes i find it easier to deal with someone in a volatile situation when i know they've been drinking.
"So David what are we going to do?"
"Gib me your driber licence."
"Listen i'll write down the number but i'm not GIVING it to you." My fingers seemed to have a mind of their own. usually i can open my purse and whip out my wallet and retrieve said card in 5 seconds, but at this moment it felt as if i had cerebral polisy. not only were my hands shaking but my entire body pulsed in an unnatural way. i scribbled the drivers license number down along with a very 'fudged' version of my name and my phone number. i slipped it out the window into his chubby hand.

"SHOW ME YOUR LICENSE!" i slapped it up against the window. he paused, trying to focus his eyes on a very confusing first and last name.
"OK... .... thank you. i don want no ICBC. OK? i call you and we deal with it between us OK?"
"sure. OK" i said. He reached into his pocket a brought out a pack of smokes. his body weaved on top of his feet as he lit the end of his smoke. his wet lips puckered and took a deep drag, and pulling the cigarette away from his mouth he also inhaled the cold night air. he exhaled a massive amount of smoke and it curled into the 2 inch opening, billowing into my face. his face instantly looked kinder and content.

"Mind if i bum one?" yes - due to the stress i wanted one, but more because as a semi ex smoker i knew this was an easy way to end our dispute. the offering of a smoke at this moment was more like i peace pipe. when the smokes are done you both go your separate ways. I brought the window down another 2 inches and he handed me a cigatrette and lit it for me. there was a minute of silence with only the sound of exhaling in the air.

He pulled out his phone and dialed. instantly there was a rapid amount of Chinese coming from his mouth. Shit... was that Mandarin or Cantonese? the conversation excelled into almost violent yelling.
"HEY!!" i yelled, flicking the half done smoke out the window. "HEY! who are you talking to? HANG UP or i'm out of here!"
He hung up the phone and told me to calm down, saying it was his dad.
"Mandarin or Cantonese?"
"Why the fuck would you care??"
"I lived in Taiwan for 3 years..."
"HAHA!! Dats too bad!" he went on to tell me he where he was from in China, and we talked about my time in Taiwan...

i had the feeling that it was safe to leave.
"Listen David. i've got a baby waiting for me at home. I've really got to go. I'm really sorry about what happened OK, but it's late."
"Ya... .... OK. I call you tomorrow OK?"
"Sure, call me tomorrow." My fingers were still gripped around my now sweaty drivers licence. his body disappeared from the side of my van. i dropped my licence somewhere and found the emergency break. i turned the key and the engine revved. my house was to the left but i took a right. Slowly i crawled away from the scene, my heart pumping in my throat. the rear view mirror found my eyes and relief fell over me when all i saw was darkness behind me. i let the van crawl slowly home.

what-am-i-going-to-tell-zol-what-am-i-going-to-tell-zol-what-am-i-going-to-tell-zol??? i pulled up to the house, grabbed my purse and opened the van door, sliding my body out and onto the ground. our living room lights peeked out from the semi closed curtains.

i stood in the cool nights air. i let my head sink down, where i felt my chest beating against my chin. as i brought my head up i inhaled a deep deep breath, shook my shoulders and headed towards the gate, keys fumbling in my still trebbling hands.

sorry... to be continued... again...

Just had one of the most scariest experiences of my life tonight...

Ok, so it's not often I get yelled at. Maybe by my daughter when it's time to go to bed or her food isn't being made fast enough - but this is something i can handle. So you can imagine my fear of having a 200 pound half dressed man screaming at me in a darkend alley in a bad part of town at 11pm. here's what went down...


a lovely evening with the girls - it was Wednesday night, girls night and we celebrated a friend moving out of the place we'd spent many an evening being loud obnoxious women. at 10:30pm i said my goodbyes and hopped in the van and headed home. i live in South Vancouver or "little India". it's a mix of Chinese and South East Asian with a light sprinkling of white folk and a dash of gangster. i pulled off of the main road and onto my street. my house was two blocks up and the road was narrow with cars parked on either side. if two cars are headed towards each other, one must yield to the other.


a pair of headlights were coming fast at me so i pulled over to the right and waited for the car to pass. the car came ridiculously close to my van - but mine being a Japanese import, the drivers side was on the right and i couldn't see just how close the car came. needless to say i was startled and kind of gunned it, just wanting to get home asap. i looked in my rear view mirror and saw the car pull a very quick U-turn. within 5 seconds the headlights were nearly on my bumper! then i freaked out... this person was following me, chasing me! i didn't want him to know where i lived so i took a left and took a right and floored it as fast as i could. he was RIGHT on my ass the entire way. i pulled into an alley and at the point where the alley meets the next road i slammed on my brakes, turned off the van jumped out and ran to the back of van! YES - STUPID. he was already out of his car.

"What the FUCK are you doing!!?" i screamed..

"Why you run BITCH?! WHY YOU RUN!!?? WHY YOU FUCKING RUN BITCH!? YOU FUCKING BITCH! you hit me and then RUN BITCH!?"

now let me take a moment to describe what i was looking at...
beside his low-profile black two door sedan, behold! there stood a 200+ pound man. he was Chinese - his slanted eyes had the extra closed look that an evening of beer and weed delivers. his cheeks looked like two big chubby apples that were trying to suffocate his nose and his lips looked too wet, like he'd forgotten to swallow his spit a few times and with no place else to go it now oozed out of his mouth. on his feet were the classic blue plastic sandal that i knew all too well from living in Taiwan. the waistband of his synthetic track pants was hidden by a massive budah belly - fully exposed and hairless. his dragon embellished shirt was completely open and barely holding onto his slopping shoulders. around his neck hung three different coloured jade necklaces with their lucky pendants finding a home between his breasts - and not the "I've been breastfeeding for 17 months" type of breasts, but the "12 year old girl type of breasts..." kind of pert and sticky outty.

and then it all came to me. WHY THE HELL DID I JUST GET OUT OF MY VAN!? he pushed right up to me, slobbering in my face, screaming the bitch thing over and over again. he said that i had i had hit his car when CLEARLY he had hit mine. he showed me his side view mirror. there was a tiny scuff on the edge of it.

"OK - WAIT. calm the FUCK down. how much would it be to replace this or fix it?"
"ONE! MAYBE TWO GRAND!"
"are you fucking KIDDING ME?" truth was there was grey paint on his car, truth was he did hit me or we hit each other. it happened so fast i didn't know. he started screaming he was going to call the police.
"DO IT. call THEM. come on... get out your phone! call them!"
"no you fucking call them! you fucking call the police!"
"you know what? i KNOW you've been drinking and you DON'T want to call the police."
"fuck YOU i habent been drinkin'!"
"then CALL THE POLICE!"
"GIVE ME YOUR DRIVER LICENSE!!"
i saw this as my chance to get back into my car and lock the doors... so i did. i ran. got in and slammed the door - locked it. within 3 seconds he was right there at my window screaming at me to open up the door!

to be continued!
PART TWO HERE

It's been a while... but here we go...

Kneeling down, I pulled several pieces of grass from her fingers, as everything goes right into her mouth these last few weeks.

“Up Mommy, up!?” I say to her as she raises her little arms up and I nearly kill myself bending over to pick her up.

I squeeze Graye into her car seat… “Car car ride?? You wana go for a car car ride?” She giggles and then pulls her “Chris Farley face” which involves snorting with a big gummy smile. Toooo cute for words.

I hop into the drivers seat, pop in my iPod and where off! From our side Avenue we pull onto Main Street and cruise along, singing to the music. I slow down to a stop as we pull up to a red light… I turn my head slightly to the right and beside me at a bus stop stands a young man I know all too well.

Today he wears the same outfit I’ve seen him in for the last year. I’ve never officially met him in the time that we have been living in our new house, but I see him all of the time. He’s around 18 years old. His large frame fills out his baby blue Adias tracksuit in an uncomfortable way. On his feet, a pair of cheap running shoes two sizes too big for him. From his ears fall the tale tell white chords of IPod earphones. His shoulders are slumped with insecurity.

As I wait for the light to change I look him in the eyes and then wave hello. He stares right through me. The light changes, and I lurch past him, onto my destination. It’s been a while since I’ve thought of him, but when I do, I only feel sad.

Track back two months ago. The yellow house across the street from mine is where this young man spends his days. He lives with his father, mother and two sisters. It is not a happy home, and of this I am certain; it is most likely a horrible place to live. Last summer, many a day and night the street rang loud with the screams of a tyranny of a man, accompanied by loud Bollywood music for hours on end, drifting out all five of their open windows. The father lashed out in a language that is foreign to me, which made it all the more abrasive to listen to. Many times the neighbours have called the police about the abuse and nothing has even been done to fix the problem…

My baby was only four months old and was still sharing our bed with us. I was in the throws of getting her use to her own crib one night… a testy subject with a child that is use to having her mother and father at her side when night time falls. After hours of fussing she had finally settled. Any little sound might disturb her much needed sleep… AND ours.

I sat up in bed, my eyes cloudy and stinging as I tried to open them up. The baby was crying in her room. I waited a second to see if she would settle down on her own. Waiting, waiting… waiting…. Then I heard something else… or maybe it was the same thing that had woken me up? A mans voice broke the silence of our Tuesday night. His wails were racked with drunken agony and loneliness as he wandered the street out front of our home. It was all in a language I could not understand.

Most evenings when these sort of shenanigans happened I could let them go, but due to the fact that my child was truly in need of her sleep I was beyond angry when a full 20 minutes had passed and he was still writhing out front of his house across the street.

“THAT’S IT! I’m calling the police!” Zol roused from his slumber, telling me to not bother as I pushed off the duvet and fumbled for my slippers. I stumbled down the stairs and into the front room. Opening the window, the intoxicated yelps doubled in volume, and holding up my cell phone I dialed the non-emergency police number.

“Vancouver Police. What is the problem?” I explained the situation. She kept me on the line for five minutes till 2 police cars pulled up in front of our house. I watched as they dragged the man up the long staircase to his front door, his timid wife standing to the side with her head bowed. The police drove away, and the woman on the other end of the phone let me go. I trudged up the stairs and crawled back into bed, amazed that my baby hadn’t woken up yet from all of the turmoil… 2:45am… 2:55am… I sat straight up in bed again. What the??? Seriously??? He was outside again, but screaming this time.

“Fuck YOU my neighbour!! FUCK YOU!!!” over and over again he repeated the same sentence. “Fuck YOU my neighbour!! FUCK YOU!!! FUCK YOU!!!”

I rose from bed again and down into the living room where I peered out the open window, cell phone in hand. He was writhing on the front lawn of his house… and a woman stood beside him, pleading in her Indo language for him to stop. A cold wind picked up and blew the sari away from her body in loud gusts. She knelt beside him, softly touching his face and he violently pushed her away…

“Vancouver Police. What is the problem?”
“Ummm, ya I just called you guys about 30 minutes ago? Same house same problem…” I gave them the info and address…
“Mam, we’ve already removed the man that was causing the problem. He’s has been taken away to the drunk tank already.”
“Seriously? Are you sure?”
“Yes I’m sure. He’s been taken away.”
“OKaaaay…. Well then there’s ANOTHER guy doing the exact same thing at the exact same house.”

Five minutes later the police showed up again and took the second man away, painfully dragging him into the back of their car. They spoke to the woman briefly and then pulled away leaving her standing alone in the cold night.

The wind rushed up again and the streetlight threw an uneven glow over her body as her sari flapped abstractly behind her in the wind. I secretly watched her from my window for the full three minutes that she stood there alone. The wind rushed again, floating behind her as she turned and slowly went up the stairs to her now quiet home. I can’t imagine what the next day would entail for her… picking up not one, but TWO ugly, ugly men from the drunk tank…

The next morning I stood in my living room holding and bouncing my baby Graye while watching “The View”. Across the street the ‘house of horrors’ was in plain view as I listened to Whoopi Goldberg and Elisabeth Hasselbeck argue about woman’s’ rights… The front door opened across the street and the young man mentioned earlier stood in its wake. He adjusted his IPod earphones and pulled up the zipper of his baby blue tracksuit. He lumbered down the stairs and out of the front gate of his house, where he paused on the sidewalk. Pulling the IPod from his pocket, he changed the tune… waited until the new track started – and then began his daily walk. I would kill to know what song he chose to listen to that morning. What song could truly make the night before OK?

Track forward two months...
The light turns green, I put the van into 2nd gear… the bus stop and his vacant eyes are far behind me. There are only 30 feet between our lives on 55th Avenue, yet they are so amazingly far apart. I don’t know how I can help him change his horrible life - and sadly, I don’t know that I ever will try… *d

Ahhhh...Christmas! Part 1 - Decorating the Tree

Ahhh, the holiday season. Can you feel it? I walked into the Hudson’s Bay (Canadian department store) on November 1st to be greeted by soccer ball sized Christmas ordainments hung from garishly pre-lit artificial Christmas trees. A lame jazz version of ‘Deck the Halls’ was pumping out of the sound system. I could see the Christmas cheer and good will was already spreading like wild fire as I took nearly a whole minute to get my baby stroller through the heavy double doors, all the while being stared at by a 20-something year old guy on the other side of them. Maybe the iPod earphones not only impaired his hearing but also his vision and sense of chivalry.

“Excuse me…” I said sweetly to the Chinese couple that blocked the walkway into the store. They slowly turned and looked at me and then continued on with a conversation I couldn’t understand. “Excuse ME!” I said again. The woman moved barely a foot out of my way and I didn’t feel bad when my stroller wheel clipped her ankle. “Woops! Sorry!” I beetled my way through the men’s department and taking in as much air as my lungs could hold I held my breath all the way through the women’s cosmetics and perfume section. My eyes teared, as I said “No thank you!” in a high-pitched hold-your-breath kind of way to the three women that tried to spray me with this year’s latest scent. I wasn’t even here to do my Christmas shopping and already I felt the heaviness that often comes with Christmas for so many of us.

Now don’t get me wrong, I love Christmas - mostly just the decorating my own house part of it, but all in all I do enjoy it. However, with most things that we love there are also the things we dread. Here’s the beginning of a short list of some of those things…

#1. Decorating the tree:

OK, so hubby has pulled out the Christmas decoration boxes from storage, and on a nice cozy night I decide it’s time to put up the tree. Last year we bought an amazingly garish lime green artificial one, but in years past it’s always been a real tree. My husband and I have very ‘different’ ways of carrying out tasks and bringing the tree into the house and setting it up is just one of many. By the time Zol has the tree in the door the entire living room is completely covered in pine needles and the tree sap on the front door frame will never come off. In my hopes to keep the evening light and fun I say nothing, knowing that for the next week I’ll be sticking my foot with all of the missed needles that the 30-minute vacuuming session missed. Balancing the tree into the tree-holder is another task we disagree on as is using a saw inside the house to make the tree shorter (add sawdust to the 30 minute vacuuming). With the tree in place and ready to tip over at any minute, I begin to unpack the decorations. What goes on the tree first? You guessed it – the lights. Now I don’t know what the heck happens to my decoration box over the course of a year, but it never fails that my carefully wrapped up tree lights decide not to work when they are pulled out for the next Christmas season! The evening is now OVER as I can’t do anything until I have a set that actually works. Last year they actually did work, but they were permanently on the epilepsy inducing flash setting and hence completely useless.

The next day I buy a new light set and AGAIN that evening make an attempt at decorating the tree. There’s always a favorite decoration that’s been crushed into a million pieces of crazy sharp shards of glass. Several pieces of this lost treasure are later pulled from my foot in the next three days. I also somehow manage to lose the metal hooks that hang the decorations, and at least a half hour is lost to scouring the house for paperclips. With the tree up I sit back on the couch and admire my work. Now I don’t claim to be a master at tree decorating but I did learn from the best – my mother. A florist by trade, as far back as I can remember she could bang out an amazing tree every year. She taught me the proper steps to creating a beautiful exhibit, with the decorations perfectly hung and evenly dispersed - and for this, I am thankful. On a different note, I am often saddened by my husband’s response when I say “ Sweety! Come here! Soooooo…?! What do you think!??!” My arms splayed wide open, with a look on my face that only four year old has after creating an artistic masterpiece. He says, “Yah, looks good.” Oh well… can’t please them all.

The month of December carries on, and with a few missed waterings there is a halo of pine needles on the ground around the tree every other day. By December 25th the tree is a bona fide fire hazard and its lights are turned off if we need to leave the room for any extended period of time.

January 1st passes as does January 15th and finally I get enough energy to bring down the tree. I carefully wrap up the new Christmas lights knowing they’ll be useless next year and I’m pissed that I’m spending all of this time wrapping them up so delicately. With every decoration and string of lights that is pulled off the tree, 5000 needles fall to the floor. Finally naked, the tree is lugged out the door and for the next few months my socks find the needles that have AGAIN been missed in a thorough vacuuming.

But regardless I still love Christmas… it’s the same thrill and drill every year and I fall for it, going through the same motions, loving and hating them equally. But there are still a few things that get my goat during this Christmas season… so stay tuned!
Ps. do you have anything you love/hate about this season? Do tell! Leave a comment, as I love reading them! *dalyn
Pss. the pic of me in front of the tree is me all dressed up 50's style for a new years party that NOBODY else dressed up for. those are NOT my real breasts for the record, although now that i'm breastfeeding it's a pretty close resemblance of my body.

true love

It feels like your mouth does when you anticipate a piece of gum, but it covers your entire face. It starts in your nose, floods your mouth and eyes, then fills your brain with that tingle that makes your sight and nostrils water and run. I sing loudly along with the lyrics to The Dears and look down on my lap to see her smiling so sweetly up at me. My nose tingles and tears well into my eyes, but not enough to slide down my face… “Gooo! Ahhhh! Oooo! Oooo! Gaaaaahh!” she says… a chubby hand flails in the air and hits her own face. She ponders the pain, but smiles as I clap my hands to the music.

I think I have found a different and new meaning of love. I am now a mother… crazy… and SO IS MY MOMMY VOICE!!!

We're Havin' a Baby... Part Three!

A fog clouded my eyes. I blinked and blinked to clear them, but to no avail. I felt the sticky tape of the IV pulling on my arm. I looked down at my hands. Each digit looked like a chubby breakfast sausage and not one of them would bend at will. I turned my head to see Jess standing beside me, holding little Graye in his arms. Behind him Zol sat in the chair he’d earlier passed out in, smiling when he saw I was finally awake.

“How do you feel?” I felt FAT. HUGE. It was as if the Michelin Man or Pillsbury Doughboy had fathered me in some previous life. All I could see where my hands, arms and feet and I knew just from looking at them that the rest of my body was 3 times the size it normally was. Later, a picture of my face taken at the time proved it much to my dismay. Jess handed me the baby, and she nursed quietly.

The day carried on, with nurses coming in and out. My blood pressure was checked no less than 15 times over the course of the day. Zol and Jess left at some point to go clean up what Jess later called ‘a scene from an episode of the Sopranos’’ back at the house. I don’t remember much of what was said to me that day aside from the fact that I had a catheter and there would be no need to get up and pee (thank God!). My eyes remained blurry and I was lightheaded with any sudden I movement made.

For some strange reason, during my whole three-day long stay at the hospital, whenever food was brought in they placed it SO completely far out of reach I had to annoyingly buzz a nurse to come put it in front of me. By the time they got around to moving it within my grasp, much of it was cold and soggy.

That evening I was moved into another room, one with a window and thankfully a TV!! Zol came back after the clean up and we watched crappy shows and ogled our new daughter. He left later in the evening and I settled into what I thought would be the first ‘night of hell’ I’d heard so much about. Turns out this wasn’t the case as Graye would softly grunt and quietly squawk if she was hungry. Not the case with every other woman with child on that ward. They let ‘er rip ALL NIGHT LONG. I longed for my own house and bed as the woman next door to my room called her family in Russia at 4am two nights in a row. As to not wake her baby with her chatter she leaned against my doorway as she babbled away in Russian...

My teeth had the equivalent of a 70’s shag carpet on them by the next morning and I decided it was time to give them a good brushing. Moving and shifting around on the bed had been hard enough, but getting up? Yah, just a TAD more uncomfortable. Due to the whole giving birth thing and then the surgery, getting off the bed proved a bit more challenging than I had thought it would be, and getting back INTO the bed was even worse! Imagine me perched in saddle upon a horse – take the horse away… that was me trying to walk.

Later in the day my midwife Beth showed up and asked me if I had remembered anything she’d told me the day before. I had no recollection of even seeing her, so she retold me the news… the placenta had been removed successfully and without any damage done to my uterus. There was no known reason as to why it had not released. Retained placentas weren’t that common and nobody really knows why it happens. She told me to keep taking my stool softeners (that did NOTHING) and Tylenol and that she’d be back the next day to hopefully get me checked out of the hospital.

Thursday morning came and six hours of waiting finally had us released from the maternity ward. A million papers to go over… getting the baby into her car seat… yada yada the hospital drill… finally we walked out the door into an amazingly beautiful day. The sun was bright and hot and so was our van that had been parked in it for six steady hours. The seven speed bumps we went over to exit the parking lot reminded me that my body was still not yet my own. It felt like I had been kicked in the box to an extent I’d never imagined possible, but looking down at our wee little one, so small she needed to be wedged into her seat with rolled up diapers and blankets – I almost felt no pain.

We were going home – as a real FAMILY. Zol and myself were now connected for a lifetime whatever the winds may bring us… and that felt…. wonderful.