Back to Reality
What is it that we really want out of this life? Most of us complain when it seems like we have too little. We wrongly imagine that those who have everything they need have nothing to complain about.
The good nurse at the infants’ nursery has been kind enough to give me a newspaper to occupy myself with as I wait my turn to learn the intricacies of bathing my newborn. It is a welcome break considering that since I checked in hospital, I had divorced myself from the real world. Now all the news seems quite new-literally!
A story I am reading about an Australian billionaire who gave all he owned to charity catches my attention. Apparently, the tycoon never experienced real happiness over the years, despite having nearly everything money could offer. He reckoned there was always a lingering emptiness in him even when he was in a crowd. This sounds unbelievable for a man whose life was envied by many for his money and all the luxuries it affords. By the time I am reading the last paragraph, my eyes are almost popping out from shock. The man was actually willing to start all over again with nothing. However, this time round he intended to enjoy the journey of going from nothing to something.
Just then, taking the cue from a baby wailing in the nearby cot, my son awakes with a shrill. My mind is too preoccupied thinking about the contradiction that is our life, which I find quite interesting, that I don’t get mad at my little king. I hand the newspaper to the nurse in charge of the nursery and lift my bundle of joy-ever so carefully.
As I nurse him on his favorite pass time-the breast, I realize the queue to bathe babies is long and the nurses are quickly getting overwhelmed.
The crying does not seem to quicken the pace with which they bathe the babies. Each baby is accorded the attention required even as the similar sized little bundles stretch their lungs to the maximum, some wailing louder than others.
When it’s almost my turn, my mind wanders to the surroundings. The room is tastefully painted and furnished with the temperature here a bit higher than in the ward. With all this superficiality, I feel tired of all the comforts of being in hospital and long to go back to my little house in the countryside. I think I have been around this hospital for a while and to me, the issue with being in hospital for a long period is that one may start living a lie, and erase those images of reality that are real in every way. Maybe it is just the hospital I am admitted in, or I have learnt with time to appreciate whatever comes my way. From the timely presentation of meals to hot water baths as and when you want them; from helpful nurses who fuss over a mother who is not resting enough, to the lady who changes the beddings every morning and much more. It is easy to get carried away by this experience and assume that henceforth, life would be as easy as it is in hospital.
I don’t know if other women are like me but I find it unsettling to finally leave. As I pack my few possessions that I checked in with and the mountain of gifts from family and friends, I feel somewhat at a loss. But at the same time I do not think I want to spend another day in this worldly heaven.
The contradiction is that when I was admitted it seemed that life at hospital was boring and routine. But as I leave today to go back to home, I am a bit withdrawn. Not that I am ungrateful for the welcome-back-home my family has planned, or to finally go back to familiarity. It is just that it is more bothersome, what with my sensitive little king that I have to mind on my own for the most part.
There was never water rationing in hospital. I have to learn to use water sparingly once I get back home. The food variety may not be as wide, and because I am picky, I may need to actually get into the kitchen to make myself a simple meal of ugali and egg sauce. The lady who helps me in the house is God-sent, but she will not be there at night to pick the baby when I can’t stand his cries which the nurses at the hospital seemed to handle perfectly. The hospital environment is controlled. The house is prone to dust which means baby will either be sneezing or coughing. Now these are just some of the reasons I am complaining for concluded hospital stay.
But on second thought, even if I wanted to live in hospital, I cannot afford it because it costs an arm and a leg; not to mention the wailing of the babies in competition with the mothers in the labour ward. Whichever way you look at it that is life’s reality. More reality is that my in-laws will be arriving in a day’s time and I am looking forward to some lively banter in place of afternoon naps in the hospital.
END: BL 31 / 18-19