I Miss The Hospital

I said it in passing last week, it was just supposed to be a throwaway line. I felt the most supported I’ve ever been in my entire life during our hospital stay.

And I mean it.

It wasn’t just from friends and family, though I’m grateful for the ones who showed up in the ways they could. It was the people who weren’t obligated to hold me, but did anyway.

The nurses who hugged me when they could see I was barely keeping it together. The ones who weren’t paid to care about my emotions but made space for them anyways.

The members of our team who didn’t just talk about the labs, the scans, the surgeries… they asked about home life. About how we were adjusting while being out of our element.

“What have you been doing for yourself lately, Emily?”

“Have you taken a break today?”

“When’s the last time you went home and saw your dog?”

The nurses who shared pieces of their own stories, about grief, strength and survival. Like they were leaving breadcrumbs for me to follow on those extra hard days. Just enough to remind me: you’ll get there, too.

The volunteers who showed up with coffee and conversation. Most of them former patients themselves, now healthy, coming back to give something they once needed. Sitting across from me saying “I’ve been here too, and I’m still here.”

The community of medical moms I’ve never met who sent check ins, pep talks, “here’s what might happen next…” messages and late night encouragement like clockwork. These are the people I never had to explain anything too, we were already speaking the same language.

And somehow, in all that chaos, in the lowest point of my life, I felt the most love, the most care, the most humanity I’ve ever known.

I know the hospital staff were there for Myles. That was their job. But the way they included me, they made space for my fears, my tears, my burnout… that was something else. That was heart.

Since coming home, I’ve thought a lot about the kind of support we’re supposed to receive. The people who should be there… and how different that can look from the support we actually get. And how sometimes, the deepest care comes from the least expected places.

Grief hits hard. But so does the gratitude.

There’s a part of me that still aches for those people. I miss the nurses who knew I was about to cry before I did. I miss the staff who made me feel like a person, not just a parent. I miss the structure. The steadiness. The hands that never dropped us.

I don’t have a clean cut way to end this. I just needed to say it out-loud, get it down on paper. Get it out of the space it’s taking up in my chest…

I have never felt more held in my life than I did in that hospital.

And I will carry that with me, forever.