For 57 days, I laid in a hospital bed for 23 out of 24 hours every day because if I didn't, my life and my unborn son’s life would be over. In addition to the stress of knowing whether we’d make it, I was constantly concerned about both of our nutrition. The level of food that they were feeding us in the ante-partum ward was deplorable. To make it worse, my last meal would be at 5pm for the day with the next one not coming until 8am. For a pregnant woman, that’s a serious no-no.
There were times when I was able to have someone bring me food. Those were good days. But there were also many times I wouldn't eat all because the hospital would get my meal wrong and just didn't care if I ate it or not. I was miserable and honestly fighting depression daily.