My daughter calls it “the blue hospital”.
Although, it wasn’t actually blue 8+ years ago when we first started going there.
The exterior has changed over the years. A new addition, adorned with pretty windows of all different shades of blues and some green, now welcomes us as we pull onto the campus. Thus, the new nickname.
Back then, however, there were no vibrant colors or fancy exterior. Then the hospital was just there – gray and plain and non-descript, really. It has changed so much.
While the outside of the building is completely different, the inside remains very much the same. At least on the path we take each time through its hallways.
The same brightly-colored tiles pave our walk to the cardiology outpatient department, like a giant patchwork quilt.
We pass many of the same desks, the same elevators, the same wall art.
We are even greeted by some of the same friendly faces.
And, like always, the same intense memories that I left in that hospital all those years ago are found there.
No matter what else changes in that building, the memories – the feelings of uncertainty and hope, fear and joy – will always be there.
A little piece of my heart was left in that hospital after my daughter’s first 66 days were spent there. The emotional roller coaster ride that we endured during that time has undoubtedly shaped who I am today. I spent my first months as a mother inside those walls, and they will forever be a part of me and my family.
That is why returning to that “blue” hospital – no matter what color it may be – always feels just a little bit like going home.