Tuesday, April 27, 2010

Painting: "Pig" by Norma Wilson

I'm very pregnant, overdue. My doctor put some kind second-skin, fabricy material over my stomach to speed up labor. I'm out with a bunch of people who are annoyed that they may have to drive me to the hospital. Chris is out-of-town on business. I call him up and tell him it's time. Then I'm in a parking garage, flagging down a man to drive me to the hospital. He seems put out, but agrees. I think he's worried about me yucking up his sports car. I get to the hospital and Chris is there waiting for me in the birthing room. I walk down the hall to my recovery suite. I must have paid extra, it's really nice, round-the-clock care. My uncle is there waiting for me, which is odd, but a nice gesture. I go to the bathroom to take off the second skin and to see if my water broke. Nurses and a toddler keep coming in, opening doors, disturbing my privacy. I get really frustrated. Someone from my suite yells that a large box of chocolates just arrived. I yell back that I'm kind of busy right now and would they please just leave it. A nurse has a band-aid. I ask what is it for--she says I have a little pig bite on my neck. I'm offended and insist that I certainly do not have a little pig bite on my neck.

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