Just words on a page

The screaming was endless. All day. All night. Day after day after day. Her door never opened aside from the masked nurses going in and out. I didn’t know whether or not she had family or friends outside. I didn’t know if she had a mother to tell her it would be ok, a friend to make her laugh, a sister to take a shift while she showered or (somehow?!) caught a moment or two of sleep. What I did know was that in here, she had no-one. Thanks to COVID, visitors to the hospital were forbidden, even in the maternity ward. Thanks to COVID, leaving your room was basically forbidden too. We were healthy but the world outside was not.

Despite our disappointment about the hospital restrictions, nobody truly wished for visitors. To be granted an exception to the COVID quarantine was not a good thing. It meant your situation was dire and in that event, the ability to have visitors was a hollow victory.

I too was stuck within the four walls of my room, but I did not feel trapped. We were going home today.

I looked down at my healthy sleeping newborn, and my gratitude was tinged with heartache. I didn’t actually know what that mother across the hall was going through, but I knew. I didn’t know her journey to get here or what would happen when she left. I didn’t know if her baby was sick, or in pain or just very difficult to settle. I didn’t know whether she was coping ok, if she was powering through or if she was at the absolute end of her rope, ready to shatter into a million pieces. But even though I didn’t actually know.. I knew.

I longed to go across the hall and knock on her door. Talk to her, reassure her and offer to do something - anything. My inability to do so was infuriating.

As a species we are hardwired for connection - it is a basic human need. During life altering events like birth and death, humans have instinctively drawn together for support and comfort since the beginning of recorded history, and probably long before that. COVID has taken so much more from us than the freedom to travel. Yet whilst we are more disconnected and isolated than ever, I feel as if the human spirit is doubling down and refusing to give up. We are driven to try harder, to be more determined than ever, to clutch at any opportunity to reach each other. We need to grab hold and not let go.

This is not war. This is not the plague. We can’t compare our current lot in life with the great tragedies of human history, or even the horrific situations many in the world are living through right now. I know that, but that doesn’t mean we can’t acknowledge the many ways in which this ongoing pandemic makes life tougher than it might otherwise have been.

My thoughts were interrupted by a nurse bustling into my room with a clipboard and a cheery greeting. I smiled at my husband and stood. It was time to go home.

As we passed the gift shop, the heady scent of fresh flowers stopped me in my tracks. In seconds I was choosing the most colourful, joyful and fragrant arrangement of blooms that I could find. I didn’t know her name or her room number, but I knew mine. On the envelope I scribbled “Maternity Ward: To the new mother with the screaming baby in the room across the hall from 7E”.

I paused for a moment, wondering what to write on the card. What could I say? This was a tiny gesture, just words on a page. What I wanted was for my words to magically turn into a hug, 24 hours of solid sleep and a dozing, content new baby.

Impossible. Instead, I scrawled my words on the page, sealed the envelope and hoped that it would make her smile.