Sometime around 9ish Jolly Guy arrived and I was happy to see him. So much had happened since he had left just one day ago. I was past exhausted and so was Gingham. We all decided to leave and agreed we’d return the next morning together bright and early. The hospital helped set us up at a hotel close by and Gingham went home. Jolly guy brought my father down with him and would bring my father and my younger daughter home with him the following day. We went to the hotel, got a little something to eat and collapsed in bed. I slept hard, but my mind was racing. Before I knew it, morning had come and I was up, showered and we were having breakfast at the hotel restaurant. My dad cracked a few jokes as I prepared them to see her. We arrived back at the hospital shortly before 9am. That was the schedule every day for me. I would get up early, shower, get dressed, grab a coffee and head to the hospital for 9 am. I would then sit there, help the nurses change her or bathe her or move her or feed her and then would leave around 9pm to go back to the hotel, eat and slip into bed. That whole first full day was meeting with doctors, watching her progress and waiting. She wasn’t very alert that first day after surgery and I spent most of the day on the phone taking care of things with insurance and police, etc. The second day I was there alone. Gingham went home, jolly guy took everyone home and I went back to the hotel alone. It felt very surreal. The routine was comforting because I knew what I had to do. I liked being there when the doctors made their rounds and I could hear what they said about her progress. It made me feel “in the know” even though I didn’t understand a lot of the terminology they spoke. The third day came and one of the aides asked me if I was a nurse. Ha! Yea right. “No” I said “I’m just a mom” Each day she got a little more alert and when she realized maybe around day four what was happening, the tears came. Fast and furious for her. She would ask me things like “How does someone just hit someone crossing a street?” I had no answer except this “That’s why it’s called an accident sweetheart.” She was meek and fragile and couldn’t move and was in excruciating pain and my heart broke for her. Day four Jolly Guy arrived again to visit and I appreciated him making the trip back and forth hundreds of miles to be with me and my daughter. He would make jokes and giggle and she was happy to see him even though a few days before she couldn’t stand him. It’s amazing how everything comes into perspective when something like this happens. That night we got back to the hotel and my room had been ransacked. REALLY?! What the hell was wrong with people!!! We called the front desk as soon as I saw my suitcase was tossed and all my jewelry gone. That brand new Michael Koors bribery watch I got before going on vacation, Gone. So now the universe is telling me within one week; Child in near death accident, can’t walk, drunk guy on doorstep, living in hotel and now robbed. This was not only the worst vacation ever, but quite possibly the worst my life had ever been. No it was the worst my life had ever been, fact. It was like a movie where around every turn it’s so ridiculous that the plot is no longer believable. Unfortunately for me this was my life, not a plot twist, not a movie. It wasn’t even a good Life Time channel original movie because it was too ridiculous. I refused to stay in that hotel another minute. Now what the fuck was I going to do?! I knew one thing, I was not going to ask the universe “What’s next” cause lord knows what the hell would go wrong. I was actually in awe of my own existence at this moment in time. I wondered how the hell I would get from one minute to the next. God had to have my social security number mixed up with someone else. “Can you give me a fucking break please?” Was what I said out loud and in my head a lot. More than a lot.