How to look good while lying in hospital

11 December 2016 - 02:00 By Nivashni Nair
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The conch
The conch
Image: Supplied

A quick blow wave and flat iron is not life-saving surgery, but it does wonders for the soul, writes Nivashni Nair

Look (OK, don't look) at my unwashed hair, mismatched pyjamas and scary makeup-free face.

It is the costume of my current situation.

Digest this.

I have been admitted to hospital, indefinitely, at 24 weeks pregnant for treatment for gestational diabetes, hypertension, low amniotic fluid and intrauterine growth restriction.

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This is after five failed IUIs (intrauterine insemination, a form of assisted conception), three surgeries and one unsuccessful IVF (in vitro fertilisation) transfer.

They say I should rest before the baby arrives, but there is nothing restful about treatment in hospital to save your unborn child. It is perhaps the scariest leg of our seven-year journey.

You must look the part. And it ain't pretty.

Friends visit when they can, my exhausted husband brings treats every evening - activity baskets of adult colouring books and Bollywood DVDs.

But the world is still turning and I am stuck.

The nurses are convinced I am plotting to escape. I may have given them reason on day four when I asked if the windows opened and requested two extra sheets.

By day six, I started looking forward to having my blood pressure tested every few hours, bruises from the death-grip machine included, just for the social interaction.

Still, I long for drama.

Even a man brought in for surgery after a spider bit him on the buttocks didn't cut it.

Then I heard the nurses mention something that made my ears sing. A salon at the hospital!

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Why it is there I do not know and I'm not asking.

My doctor's instruction was that I would have to be taken to the salon, situated in a plastic surgeon's rooms, in a wheelchair. I considered it chauffeuring.

For the first time in days I put on the good underwear and made my way, in pyjamas, sporting hospital identity bands, to the sanctuary.

The beauty therapist worked miracles on my overgrown eyebrows.

Despite being in a plastic surgeon's practice, we joked that there was nothing she could do about my enlarged pregnancy nose.

I sat back in a sea of cushions and had my toenails buffed and painted a flattering nude.

But it was the hairstylist who stole my heart. A quick blow wave and flat iron is not life-saving surgery, but it does wonders for the soul.

A day later the walls started closing in on me again. The diabetic meals and homesickness were enough to bring on tears. May you never have to eat a diabetic burger when you haven't seen your own home for weeks.

But a sharp little kick tells me it will be worth it in the end. And meanwhile, there is the salon.

E-mail the author of this article, Paige Nick, at amillionmilesfromnormal@gmail.com or find her on Twitter: @paigen

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