Kennith likes to get his monies worth out of everything.
The fact that we had paid for the full day at our Medi-Clinic meant that I was going to stay there for the full day – none of this going home at 11am nansy-pansy stuff.
After work Kennith arrived to collect me. I had been sobbing for the last two days and the idea of wrenching me away from my trusty nurses’ buzzer did little to calm my already frayed nerves.
In the car we go and start the drive home, which in a non traffic situation would be about 20 minutes. The consequences of collecting me late was that now we were trekking home in rush hour traffic on what is a very busy route.
The problem started when I was sitting in the back seat with Connor firmly strapped in his snug and safe (points there for supporting the Arrive Alive campaign). I looked over at him and it occurred to me that he was dead. I could not see that he was breathing. 5 minutes with me and my child had clearly not survived. I sat there in the back seat wondering how long I should let this continue before bringing it to someone’s attention.
Unfortunately with a manic episode one’s concept of the linear time equation gets a bit skewed and minutes seem like hours and visa-versa. I yanked Connor out of his seat and decided that if I breastfed him, then it would wake him up and if he woke up, then he could not be dead, and then all would be fine. Kennith is trying to drive and keep this situation as sane as possible.
I eventually get Connor out of his seat, whip my shirt over my head (I do not endorse driving with kids out of a car seat, but this moment I was having a clear break down of anything remotely normal). My breast exposure resulted in cheers and generally lecherous behavious from the labourers returning from work on the construction truck driving adjacent to us.
I am trying to push my rather inflated breast into Connor’s face and he is so fast asleep that he is not taking any notice. To my rather frazzled mind, this indicates again how dead he actually is. Kennith pulls over to the side of the road checks the baby – reassures me baby is fine and carries on driving. His reassurance calms me for all of 30 seconds and then I start panicking again.
All I can think of is that this baby is near death (notice how the level of death keeps changing for me on this drive.) I need to get it to a hospital – and how are we going to get to the hospital if the traffic is bumper to bumper.
The other critical issue is that Kennith is wrong and he has now become the enemy to my trying to save the life of my baby. I am already thinking of how I am going to field questions from people when they ask “how’s the baby” and I have to explain that I could not get him home without killing him.
At this point, I am thinking that when Kennith slows at the robot, I can jump out the car with Connor, rush into oncoming traffic, hop in to an unsuspecting person’s car and ask them to take me to the nearest hospital ER. All a good plan – just trying to work out my timing and whether I am going to tuck and roll when I eject myself from the motor vehicle.
I am so deep in thought that Kennith’s eff’ing and blinding finally breaks through and I realize that the car is over-heating. He has to pull over to the side of the road while plumes of steam and smoke are coming out from under the bonnet.
The only thing keeping me from total hysteria is that I am busy hatching my “jump out of the car” plan. Before I can take my plan to the next level, the Albino character from Arnold Schwarzenegger’s movie End of Days appears along side us – this woman was incredible. She was also incredibly drunk, but I digress.
As we had blocked her path, she steps to the right, and then proceeds to pull her homeless trolley along the side of our car. We sat there in the car hearing the high pitched screech of metal on metal.
Kennith flips his switch and moves away from the sanity corner. He hops out of the car intent on causing severe bodily harm to the homeless person – at some point he realises it is a woman. In the end he decided that using his super human strength and tossing her trolley to the kurb was the solution. The situation is clearly past out of control and now we have a drunken bergie person swearing and blinding at us.
Kennith gets back in the car and with a final eff’it, starts the engine and just drives home totally ignoring the plumes of steam and potential fire under the bonnet.
By the time we get home I am about ready for my shot of Valium, hell it should be administered as a drip at this point.
My mom had made us a wonderful lasagna and salad as our welcome home dinner and I am crying and just want to lie on the bed and cried some more while holding my child like a blubbering idiot.
I am not sure of how happy other people’s home comings have been with their babies, but that was mine!