At 6:15am I’m sitting at the dining table having my breakfast. Cereal, coffee and a banana. I hear Ale’s little feet hitting the floor running down the hall into the living room. He stops when he reaches the table. Ale climbs into my lap and I nuzzle his head. He smells of sleep and the almond soap from last nights bath. I drink in his smell filling up for the day.
He points to my coffee, “Hot, hot, hot”. He says in a whisper and giggles touching the lukewarm cup. “Ale,” I say, “do you want some of mama’s cereal?”. “Noooo!” He opens his mouth anyway and I give him a spoonful.
I glance at the clock, 6:30am. I have to go to work. My husband comes down the hall in pajamas, his eyes are still heavy. I put Ale down on the sofa and give him a kiss on his forehead. My husband sits with him and shows him a picture book of trucks. I grab my coat and bag and I slip out the front door.
I enter at the hospital where I work as a labor and delivery nurse at 7am through the revolving doors. The elevator in the back lobby takes me up to the sixth floor. At the nurses station they are having the change of shift staff meeting. I get my assignment – Room 5 and Room 9.
Throughout the day I walk in and out of these rooms. Each one is a world in itself. I have been in each room hundreds of times but the rooms come alive with the presence of the patients, their families and their belongings.
The rooms can transform into fragrant gardens filled with flowers and bright light with the window shades up. A hippy mama sanctuary with quiet reggae music playing in the background, and the scent of massage oil thick in the air while the expectant mom bounces on a birthing ball. The rooms can sadly become somber and dark yet full of love when there is a fetal demise.
At 5:27pm my patient in Room 9 gives birth to a baby girl. After the delivery I escape into the privacy of the supply room to check my phone. I hope to find a photo or video of Ale from my husband with an update on his day at daycare. A photo of him playing in the sandbox greets me. I smile, reach for a bag of IV fluid and run back into Room 9.
It’s 8:45pm by the time I re-enter my home. As I walk through the door I hear basketball on TV and smell the roasted chicken and potatoes my husband made for us for dinner. Ale is asleep. Like always I want to go and wake him. Instead I kiss his head and wait for the morning to come again.
This is my extremely loose interpretation of the Weekly Writing Challenge : Through the Door