Looking Back 3 (Walk Like an Egyptian)

T+1 Day, Post Operative Room.

The nurse came in by 6:30 pm, Ma'am, you'll need to walk a little and then we can wheelchair you to your room. Pfft, wheelchair. I am not that unwell. I've endured kidney stones 4 times, how tough can this be?

My in-laws and parents were in my room already, chirpy, enjoying their best and latest promotion to grandparents. My mom was nursing her own leg fracture and yet, hopping around playing the perfect host as usual. My dad I'm sure would be reading the newspaper, my father in law, asking the doc when I can have some fresh juice and my mum in law super excited at the little dude. Thrilling, exciting times. The husband had gone to visit a colleague at another ward, and my loyal sister, by my side. (Mom wasn't allowed. She has a tendency to faint on seeing me in pain.. er.. tried and tested). Ah, the good life. So pampered, so special.

Let's go! Okay, I'm just going to get up from the bed like this and...! Oh my GOD! Labour pains, I miss you. What the hell? Wasn't the worse over? Them stitches. I wouldn't even wish this for Joffrey Baratheon (no, correction, I would). I couldn't get up. I looked at my sister in disbelief, is this me? I didn't realise how much we need our abdomen for basic body movement. My sister, looking like she saw alien invasion on the planet, tried her level best to be brave and helped me sit up. The maid was amazingly patient given that this happens often. You know, this is what they should tell women about pregnancy, the aftermath. The shitty stuff. I couldn't muster the strength to talk. I took what seemed like hours to get my tush, tubes and drips ET AL, off the bed and on the wheelchair.

Onward! Here's a suggestion. One should make shock absorbing wheelchairs. That's a market waiting to boom. I could tell the slightest of bump on the nearly perfect floor while being wheeled. The stitches inside mapped their extent in pain. Excruciating pain. I entered my room among loud cheers and Yays from my darling Punjabi family and they stopped midway on seeing my piss-off expression. Why so happy y'all?! My mom rushed to my side as soon as she could manage with her leg in a cast and I was parked as close to the bed as possible. Even in my half-dead half-pain-rage state I noticed my husband wasn't around. I slowly tried to get up. Hunched, like the hunchback from Notre-Dame, and bloated thanks to all the drips. 

I took one step. 

Satnam Waheguru. 

Another ant-like-step. 

Please, God, I'll be good. Make it easier. 

One more tiny step. 

Slugs move faster than this. 

And I hear my Dad say, 'Doll, whats wrong baccha, stand straight, walk properly.' I stopped, moved my head (that part didn't hurt), shot him a sarcastic angered look and continued my art-movie-slow-paced movement towards the bed. With every bit of strength squeezed out of my bones I managed to get up the big, M.H. special beds and sit.

The nurses entered. 'Good ma'am you've reached your room! Great, now you can feed your baby'. Ya right, PLEASE get me a painkiller shot. My family now in stunned, awkward silence didn't know how to react. Mom had that look where she is half crying half trying to be her bravest best. Dad finding this way too unfair, why does MY daughter have to go through this, not fair, not good, get the doc. My sister (unmarried at that time) I'm sure, scarred for life.

Military Hospital and Moms' hospitality

Calmly, casually enters my husband like he just took a nice stroll in the garden, 'hi sweety, what happened? You look a bit tensed?'