In case you are out of the loop, I am currently at the hospital. Been here for almost two weeks now
But not just any hospital.
I'm at the 4 North Mental Health Unit of The Ottawa Hospital, General Campus.
Yes, that's right. I am in a physch ward.
Now, there was a time when I would rather have died than let people know I had a mental illness.
This one blows my mind. And, how exactly does his head not explode?
My summer wasn’t totally tragic for my waistline, and I might even be getting (a wee bit) active, and trying out a new app. Head on over if you’d like.
My body last thought it was pregnant three years ago today. I’d lost the baby far earlier, in May, but much like hope for another child, I just wouldn’t let go. (Speaking of not letting go, I still have that voicemail where my surgeon drops the phone. What do you do with that?)
Of course (mostly because I’m too stubborn for my own good) there hasn’t been a doctor handy to help my mind let go as ‘easily’ as my body did. But three years is a long time, 43 is an old lady and time is supposed to heal all wounds right? So I think I’ve finally talked myself into believing this is a good thing. I mean, babies are loud and smelly and who wants those middle of the night feedings, right?
Damn allergies, acting up again.