It was always hot.

I was the only one who thought so.  Everyone who walked in was delighted by the coolness compared to the triple digit temperatures outside.

But I was always sweating.

They even gave me a fan, but that just made me shiver from the sweat that dried on my exhausted body.

The room was more spacious than anyone expected.  We quite easily fit five members of my side of the family along with three of Cort’s in addition to the three of us.

And it still felt big.

But maybe that is because I suddenly felt small.

Even with the throngs of people coming in and out?  I felt that we were shielded somehow.

This was a room for miracles.

(Even if my miracle happened downstairs in a different room.)

I had everything I needed contained in this one room:

A Styrofoam cup full of ice water.

Sleeping pills.

My meals delivered.

My laptop and my phone.

A private bathroom with a much used grab bar.

A doting husband.

A happy baby (yes, I said happy).

In this room…

I slept better and harder than I ever have in my life.

I sniffed my baby’s head for the first time.

I sweated, and pushed, and cried, and shed all inhibitions in exchange for feeling better and having a healthy child.

I trusted completely.

I healed.

This room took care of our needs and made it ok for us to be partitioned and sheltered from the rest of the world.

Life was out there…moving and growing…but in here?  In this room?  Time stood still.

We were a small family:  a mom in her adjustable bed, a dad resting on a small couch, and a son swaddled and asleep on his father’s chest.  In the dark room we watched the Detroit Tigers sweep the Cubs.

We witnessed the departure of the King of Pop.

We absorbed the fall of an Angel.

We marked the exit of a treasured Announcer…all while being disconnected from the world…as a family.

We felt safe and untouchable here.

That is why, as I stood at the window in the first real clothes that I could squeeze into in days with my baby in his first real clothes of his life, I cried.

As my husband took our bags to the truck and prepared to usher his family…not just his wife…to their home, I wept.

This room was were our family had begun.

This was all my son knew of the world.  He was safe. I was safe.

Nothing touched us here.

And so much would once we left room 3010.

psst.  I am over at my friend, Natalie’s blog, Mommy of a Monster and Twins, today too sharing about a Monster Mommy Moment of mine.  Please tell me you can relate to this…it will make me feel so much better!

pssst again…I am trying to win a grant to fund my trip to BlogHer.  If you are on facebook, please click here to vote every day!

About Katie

Just a small town girl...wait no. That is a Journey song. Katie Sluiter is a small town girl, but she is far from living in a lonely world. She is a middle school English teacher, writer, mother, and wife. Life has thrown her a fair share of challenges, but her belief is that writing through them makes her stronger.



  2. yes! more please!

  3. Lovely. I wrote a post after bringing home #3 about our “Hospital Honeymoon.” Cause that’s what it is and with our twins being preemies we didn’t get that opportunity to bond togethr in that way (we had other ways though). I loved this post. Sorry if this sounds weird and terse but I’m on my phone. 🙂

  4. Mmmmm…time out of time. I love that.

  5. amazing. <3

  6. You’ve described this so well.
    I remembering thinking I wasn’t ready to go home yet.
    I didn’t know what to do yet.

    I was afraid of that big step.

  7. Beautiful!

    I had this kind of experience with my first daughter, but I had a stomach bug while I was in the hospital with my younger daughter, and I couldn’t WAIT to get out of there … 19 1/2 hours of labor and sick on top of it. Ugh.

  8. I love this & couldn’t agree more! I remember thinking when I was in the hospital, especially with my first son, that life outside of the room totally stopped. Great post!

  9. I thought this was beautiful! You captured the fear, the appreciation, the magic – all of it. I adore it.

  10. <3

  11. Terrific post, beautifully written. I can only imagine how that must’ve felt – about to take on the world, plus 1.

  12. Oh Katie!!
    Another home run!

  13. I never understood the women who were desperate to leave the hospital. I felt safe and taken care of there. The mayhem REALLY started when you got home. So well written as always!


  14. Fantastic post, Katie. As usual. I know you’ll always bring the awesome.

  15. I loved being our small family for a few days at the hospital.

  16. Oh, I very foggily remember coming home. Very strong reaction to the memory, but the details…so spotty.

  17. Really lovely, Katie. I loathed being in the hospital. Really hated it. But oh, I loved spending those first moments as a family.

  18. I had very similar experience. My hospital was more like a 5 star hotel, and the 3 days I spent there with each baby were so restful and quiet and homy.

  19. I loved this and remember that feeling so well, cocooned in that safe little place before leaving for the outside world.

  20. WOW. WOW.

    I am in awe. Just imagining the course of events makes me feel so good… The line “Nothing touched us here.” was the hero. Beautiful

  21. It is amazing to think that those are the rooms where I lives changed forever! I have three rooms like that! (well, more actually if you count the O.R.s!) Love this.

  22. aw. i love how vivid your memory is of this place. i had similar feelings upon leaving the hospital – i was somewhat relieved but completely terrified too. I remember going down to sign the proof of birth and put my thumbprints in the box under “Mother” – I could not believe they were letting me leave with this baby!

    The second time around i have high hopes I will be much more confident, much more peaceful, much less frightened.

    lovely writing, per usual!

  23. I really like how the room is basically a character in the story. Thanks for sharing!

  24. For me as well, the hospital was like a swank hotel compared to what I came home to! Help available 24/7, a pretty, sunny room. I remember this all too well!

  25. It is something else entirely, isn’t it? that time in the hospital, newly a family and cocooned in care and safety.

    I will admit, though, that by the end of my stay I was chafing a little at the smallness of the room. I wanted to be home.

  26. I think my favorite line from this post was: In this room? Time stood still.

    I remember thinking the same thing while in the hospital. We were a part of the world, but in a weird way, apart. This is a fantastic post and knowing a tiny bit of your struggles after you left made it even more emotional.

  27. Wow – What a moving moment. Not having had the experience I can only imagine. I wouldn’t have expected the experience of a birth room to be so comforting and safe… thanks for sharing!

    I was most moved by the tears you shed upon leaving!

  28. I remember the feeling in a different way. Wife and son are safely ensconced inside the hospital and I am outside amidst chaos and a cacophony of sounds that made me wonder what sort of world my son was entering. It was excitement and anxiety plus a dash of silliness. I’ll never forget walking into our condo that first time, your story brought it back to me.

  29. Though my hospital experiences after my babies were born were on a different planet altogether, I do get it. That room where that life began is sacred.

  30. It seemed such a bigger deal for us to leave our hospital room that day it was time to go, than it was the 1st time we took the kids out of the house. I wish I had taken more photos of it, could have had the sensibilities to journal about it, something.
    Love this.
    Came over from TRDC, though I think you know I peek here when I can find time to….

  31. Wonderfully written, I was there with you. I remember watching the news an feeling like it wasn’t real. THIS was what was real. I found you on trdc, so glad I did!