Trusting

1st June 2011 Wednesday

10 am - In the hospital waiting room I read a text from my niece in law - her baby has started his journey into the world. I think of her while I’m lying on the plastic couch, the doctor injecting my leg with anesthetic. It hurts a lot and I take deep breaths. But I know - even though I haven’t done it - that having a baby must hurt much more than this.

The doctor is young, red haired and freckled with alabaster white skin. She is the same doctor who took out the BSC on my father’s ear several years ago While she cuts out the small round carcinoma on my shin, I keep my eyes fixed on the ceiling and she tells me about her recent holiday in Croatia. How they are still repairing the bombed buildings in Dubrovnik, trying to match ancient roof tiles in the old part of the city even though it’s sixteen years since the end of the war. I feel her tugging stitches in my leg. Sewing me up.

Afterwards the nurse says I should rest today, keep my leg elevated. When I get home the house is echoey empty. Just a row of coloured pens neatly placed on the table and a hand written note on my pillow from our sweet nine year old nephew. I strip the beds and put on a load of washing. My husband is in Bristol all day so I make myself lunch from left overs - tomato tart from last night and bitter lettuce leaves. And I dig into the bowl of chocolate fudge sauce hardened in the fridge to the consistency of thick honey. Three spoonfuls is enough. I feel wobbly and tearful.

Now my leg is throbbing sore. I’m not supposed to get the dressing wet but I’ll find a way to have a bath. No news yet about the baby. I’m trusting all is well and keep thinking about this new little being who is coming to join our family. This could be day one of his life.