The more I read the information given to me about our Army hospital (and birth center), the more depressed I get.
Northside in Atlanta, where I had E, is [un]affectionately known as the baby factory. This nickname was given, no doubt, because they deliver more babies than any other facility in the country (and when I had E, at least, no other facility in the Northern Hemisphere), and in an effort to pull in business (even though they are not-for-profit), it makes for a very cushy place to bleed like a stuck pig. I wouldn’t exactly call the medical staff my favorite to ever work with, and we definitely had our hiccups while there, but, it was, without a doubt, a nice setting.
The room I labored in? Probably the size of my great room. There was plenty of room for me to host my husband’s whole platoon if I wanted, there was wifi, television, a nice-sized bathroom. Babies never leave the room, and of there is an issue, the NICU team comes there rather than sending the baby away (which we had the unfortunate opportunity to experience first hand). Every small block of rooms was assigned to a pantry where snacks, coffee, and other drinks were provided for family and support members. There they kept buckets of pins that said “new dad!” or “new grandmother!” and “it’s a girl!” and frozen juice for those of us who were pushing human beings outs of very small holes.
The recovery room was at least the size of my current master bedroom. The wifi and satellite television were also available, and we had a whole closet of linens at our disposal so S or my mom could stay the night (we weren’t sure if or when he was going to make it). Like a hotel room, there was a full vanity stocked with toothbrushes, tooth paste, small bottles of shampoo, soaps, lotion, and a hair dryer. Each room came stocked with a duffel bag of all things recovery moms need: 5 or 6 pairs of mesh panties, ice packs, industrial-sized maxi pads, extra bandages, and a peri bottle (if you don’t know what that is, you’re probably better off not knowing). Not to mention the closet full of hospital gowns. And the bassinet had built-in cabinets and drawers with items just for the baby: 4 or 5 hats, 10 or so hospital receiving blankets, several long-sleeved shirts, short sleeved shirts, packages of baby booties, mittens, a bag of pamper’s swaddlers, pamper’s baby wipes, chux pads, and diaper cream. Lanolin and pacifiers (as many as we wanted) upon request. They also sent us home with a tote bag and several cans of formula (which went straight to a food pantry). We were told that anything we left in the room (including the sheets, pillows, and blankets S used!) would be thrown out upon our departure, so to take anything we wanted. They gave us handfuls of pacifiers and and asked if we wanted additional diapers and wipes (which we [stupidly] declined).
As I mentioned yesterday, I packed way too much stuff because they had it all provided for us. I never once touched my own clothes, my own pajamas, my own toiletries, the diaper bag we brought with us, or anything else. There was just no need.
Well, after reading through the information I could find about the military hospital, I’m going to need to bring just about everything I mentioned the hospital in Atlanta provided for us. Right down to the “feminine hygiene” products. Yes. That’s right. They suggest we bring our own pads. And diapers. And wipes. Not to mention: pacifiers, pillows, and apparel.
I’ve seen those rooms, and there is nothing soothing about them. Think Soviet era apartment buildings (okay, maybe not that bad, but not that good, either). Cell phones are not permitted, and nowhere does it say they have available wi-fi (I know. What a terrible world we live in!). I don’t know what I am supposed to do all day. I’m sure you think the obvious answer is recover and snuggle a baby. And yes, while that will be done, that still leaves a lot of hours in the day in which I will likely be twiddling my thumbs. There really isn’t that much one can do, and I am such a light sleeper, I know there won’t be a whole lot of that going on. With E, I am pretty sure I slept about 5 hours the entire time I was in the hospital (to include the hour of sleep I got after they gave me an epidural), and I hadn’t slept the night before going into the hospital, either. Sure, I was exhausted, but even a quiet place like a hospital had me desperately trying to count sheep.
I want to cry just thinking about it. All the while cursing S’s horrible luck in class dates (because, had we managed to get out of here before my due date, I could be delivering in a nice, cushy, civilian hospital without making any changes to my insurance, whatsoever–which is what I would have had to do if I wanted that this time, and with my thyroid issues, that’s just not something I wanted to start messing with). If I had done this in the other order–had E at a military facility–I wouldn’t know any different. I would have walked into Northside and just been blown away by the clean appearance, the light, the huge rooms, and all of the stuff. Now, all I am stuck with is the knowledge of how much better it can be, and that this time, instead, I am giving birth in a dump.
Hormonal temper tantrum over.
