Often, spending the festive period in hospital is no fun at all.
The disconcerting chimes of monitoring machines, shift changes, daily rounds, pain and sorrow is enough to torment the most stoic souls.
Hospitals provide life-saving intervention, but they are also a place for heartfelt words, poignant exchanges and conveying final wishes.
Adding Christmas Day to the equation, with many loved ones unable to take their place at the lunchtime table, hangs a melancholic cloud over any family.
Several months ago, I loaded the car with a large bag of beautifully maintained and pressed baby clothes. They were so tiny, with many items filling the bag to capacity. Some were procured by the shocked parents, with others provided by family and friends who quickly purchased or exchanged, adding a few zeros to the predicted size.
Up and down the Midland Highway the clothes would travel, failing to arrive at their required destination, even though they would be much welcomed and greatly appreciated.
Excuses for failing to fulfill the task arrived instead: too busy, too tired, next time, they won’t remember me, they won’t want old clothes.
Finally, I landed a solution - the twins would accompany me to deliver the bag of baby clothes, recognising that their role in sharing this gift was crucial for further understanding.
Master and Miss were born at 33 weeks, and in a hurry. They had to depart their squashed, yet secure surroundings to allow their mum to prosper. Steroids cleared their lungs and out they rushed, met by two teams of four, like slips in the cordon on a cricket field.
It was Christmas Eve and as a result of the haste, we headed to 4N at the Launceston General Hospital, destined for a few weeks in the neo-natal unit.
As first-time parents, it was quite the shock, but we did acknowledge our good fortune – with gestation and weight ensuring we were based close to home in Launceston, rather than spending Christmas in Hobart, away from family.
Christmas Day has always been significant. For many years with no extended family, the ability to provide on such a special day was important. It was an opportunity to demonstrate improvement, and experience reward for working towards better times.
Over the years, the Christmas lunches have grown with additional family members making the day even more memorable.
Yet, on 25 December 2008, I consumed Christmas lunch on my own. To be honest, I ate two lunches: one prepared by the LGH and one by my family who delivered to the hospital following the traditional gathering.
I was entirely full in so many ways.
And although, simply perched at a small table in our room, in solitary, with the new mum in the nursery standing guard, it was a moment never to be forgotten.
En route to finally donate the baby clothes, we were treated to a rock-star car park. We made our way to Level 4 and pressed the bell outside Ward K instead of N – how quickly forgotten.
Upon entering, and completely unexpectedly, we were met by two dedicated and long-serving nurses who cared for our family and supported us during the 4N at Home program, at that time in its infancy. For them, to see two happy and healthy premmies, approaching 10 years of age, generated broad smiles and, as a result, a gathering of staff who were keen to reminisce.
As expected, the baby clothes were gratefully accepted. An explanation of how well they had been cared for blurted out, which was unnecessary as everyone understood. The twins answered a range of questions with dad chiming in to support, but it wasn’t needed.
We left, and again I was feeling full to the brim.
Why had I left such a pleasurable and rewarding task so long to complete?
When all is said and done, the reason why doesn’t really matter because it is the outcome that remains important.
Happy Birthday, and Merry Christmas to all.
Whether at home, the beach, caring for others, visiting/admitted to hospital, or sharing a plate with those who have fallen on hard times, I hope you find a moment to reflect upon the family stories that ensure we continue to love and grow.
The disconcerting chimes of monitoring machines, shift changes, daily rounds, pain and sorrow is enough to torment the most stoic souls.
Hospitals provide life-saving intervention, but they are also a place for heartfelt words, poignant exchanges and conveying final wishes.
Adding Christmas Day to the equation, with many loved ones unable to take their place at the lunchtime table, hangs a melancholic cloud over any family.
Several months ago, I loaded the car with a large bag of beautifully maintained and pressed baby clothes. They were so tiny, with many items filling the bag to capacity. Some were procured by the shocked parents, with others provided by family and friends who quickly purchased or exchanged, adding a few zeros to the predicted size.
Up and down the Midland Highway the clothes would travel, failing to arrive at their required destination, even though they would be much welcomed and greatly appreciated.
Excuses for failing to fulfill the task arrived instead: too busy, too tired, next time, they won’t remember me, they won’t want old clothes.
Finally, I landed a solution - the twins would accompany me to deliver the bag of baby clothes, recognising that their role in sharing this gift was crucial for further understanding.
Master and Miss were born at 33 weeks, and in a hurry. They had to depart their squashed, yet secure surroundings to allow their mum to prosper. Steroids cleared their lungs and out they rushed, met by two teams of four, like slips in the cordon on a cricket field.
It was Christmas Eve and as a result of the haste, we headed to 4N at the Launceston General Hospital, destined for a few weeks in the neo-natal unit.
As first-time parents, it was quite the shock, but we did acknowledge our good fortune – with gestation and weight ensuring we were based close to home in Launceston, rather than spending Christmas in Hobart, away from family.
Christmas Day has always been significant. For many years with no extended family, the ability to provide on such a special day was important. It was an opportunity to demonstrate improvement, and experience reward for working towards better times.
Over the years, the Christmas lunches have grown with additional family members making the day even more memorable.
Yet, on 25 December 2008, I consumed Christmas lunch on my own. To be honest, I ate two lunches: one prepared by the LGH and one by my family who delivered to the hospital following the traditional gathering.
I was entirely full in so many ways.
And although, simply perched at a small table in our room, in solitary, with the new mum in the nursery standing guard, it was a moment never to be forgotten.
En route to finally donate the baby clothes, we were treated to a rock-star car park. We made our way to Level 4 and pressed the bell outside Ward K instead of N – how quickly forgotten.
Upon entering, and completely unexpectedly, we were met by two dedicated and long-serving nurses who cared for our family and supported us during the 4N at Home program, at that time in its infancy. For them, to see two happy and healthy premmies, approaching 10 years of age, generated broad smiles and, as a result, a gathering of staff who were keen to reminisce.
As expected, the baby clothes were gratefully accepted. An explanation of how well they had been cared for blurted out, which was unnecessary as everyone understood. The twins answered a range of questions with dad chiming in to support, but it wasn’t needed.
We left, and again I was feeling full to the brim.
Why had I left such a pleasurable and rewarding task so long to complete?
When all is said and done, the reason why doesn’t really matter because it is the outcome that remains important.
Happy Birthday, and Merry Christmas to all.
Whether at home, the beach, caring for others, visiting/admitted to hospital, or sharing a plate with those who have fallen on hard times, I hope you find a moment to reflect upon the family stories that ensure we continue to love and grow.
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