Monday, November 30, 2009

We Interrupt This Blog for a Very Important Message

I wrangled with this topic a lot over the course of the last couple of weeks. On one hand, one shouldn’t pay any mind to those looking for negative attention. On the other, such blatant name calling and judgmental bullshit needs to be addressed.

I was thinking about writing about the specific issues brought up so delicately (ahem!) by my uninvited guests, but then that lowers me to their game. Why in the hell should I justify myself to people who come to my world and treat me like shit without provocation? I don’t allow people who are disrespectful to me or mine in my own house in real life, so why should I give the time of day to angry, judgmental, irrational people who apparently do not have the ability to leave a non-inflammatory comment on my blog?

These people who haunt other people’s blogs and constantly leave inflammatory comments are generally referred to as “blog trolls.” Disagreeing with someone’s position on any matter is not trolling. However, when someone posts something that is deliberately insulting and inflammatory, with a recognizable thread of some sort of hysteria and the poster has a penchant for picking on the blogger or his/her readers on every post, then yes, that’s trolling.

But if the idiot posting the flame bait is harping on a specific stance on some subject, I like to call such persons “shit disturbers.” Such people (who are a form of blog trolls) cruise blog lists of a specific topic, looking for a fight. And that is what my beloved rude visitors do – they’re looking to pick a fight. They’re also almost always anonymous, which reveals an interesting streak of being chickenshit to boot. Oh, there are a few who have the hubris to leave their trail, but most of them post a name – probably fictitious – but no email and no other internet home. They just drop by to elicit any response, preferably negative, and attempt to bludgeon this community with the emotionally charged opinion they’re going to force on everyone else.

Cram it, I say; keep your opinions (to which you are completely entitled, btw) in your world and stay out of mine. I do not come to your world and call you names and pass judgment on you.

If you are an adult, you should have the ability to post a comment without resorting to insults, belittlement, derision, emotional flame baiting, judgmental blather or hostility.

We all have the right to post on our pages without being bothered by those who make a point to annoy, abuse, threaten, or harass, especially when these people have not been sought out by this community or deliberately provoked by same.

If you cannot control your fingers on the keyboard in my world, go away. Take your poison elsewhere.

Otherwise, I do welcome thoughtful discourse, even if you don’t agree with me or my friends in the community. Rational discussion is useful and enlightening, where both sides take away something , even if nobody ever changes their mind. Some of my best friends are my complete opposite in every way and topic imaginable, and it's the ability to have a rational and friendly discussion that makes it so much fun and makes for such great friendships.

That said:

We now return to my regularly scheduled blogging.

Wednesday, November 25, 2009

Thankful Beyond Belief

It is appropriate to recall my blessings. I used to be more religious than I am now, thanks to a bunch of sanctimonious people who act contrary to Christian behaviors, but anyway... while I’ve never really gone far from God, I never take for granted the blessings that He has seen fit to shower unworthy me with.

• Even though she’s been gone almost four years, I am thankful that I had the mother I did. I miss her fiercely, now that The Boy is here and could REALLY use her advice and help. Thanks to her, I know how to cook well, to shop well, and I had a great maternal role model. I miss you, Ma, every day.

• I’m grateful that I have a dad who has been a great sounding board with the trials and tribulations in the last couple of months. I get it all out, he opines, then says, “Wanna do lunch?” God, I love my dad.

• Chocolate is the thing that makes the world go ’round.

• I still don’t know how the miracle came about, but DH is the finest man to walk this Earth. One misstep and we would have missed each other. It’s a miracle.

• There are no words to describe my heartfelt gratitude and my admiration for the woman who placed her son with us. Thank you, thank you, thank you. And I am grateful we had the opportunity to tell her that.

• I’m thankful for family and friends who, upon The Boy’s arrival, didn’t flinch; they have accepted The Boy with open hearts and overwhelming joy.

• I have a roof over my head, in a decent neighborhood safe enough that nothing happened when I, in my brain dead exhaustion, forgot to close the garage door overnight last week.

• I realized a dream this year when I went to Ireland with the in-laws. While there was emotional baggage that came out of it, I’m still grateful I even got to go and see my ancestral country.

• In this difficult economic environment, I am deeply grateful that DH has a job and a decent-paying one with benefits. These days, I don’t take it for granted.

• I’m grateful for God’s saving grace, for large and small miracles, for His patience, love, inspiration, and mercy, even though sometimes I can be pretty unlovable. Thank You.
• Cats rule. I have two of them. They rule us.

• There was a time I didn’t think we’d have the luxury of me staying home with our then-future children. I get to stay home for The Boy, and may even work out a way to work from home.
• My antecedents from England, Scotland, Ireland, Wales, Germany, France, Norway and the Netherlands – thank you for coming to this country so that I can call it mine, too.

• I’m grateful for dear friend T, who has saved my sanity in the midst of her own ongoing marital issues. I couldn’t have made a couple of these weeks after The Boy’s arrival without her.
• Kiltlifter beer, how I miss thee… but with The Boy, such pleasures shall be foregone.

• We live in a country that allows the freedom of choice, of religion, of speech, of party. Never forget that there are still countries that jail someone walking the street for no reason whatever.
• We have generations of men and women who volunteer to join our military. Thanks to all of them, past and present, family and friends and complete strangers.

• I would never have been so well informed if there weren’t infertility and adoption bloggers. Thanks to everyone out there for your time and efforts… you really do help others.

• Football should be the national religion. I’ll go into official mourning when the season is over.
• Turkey should not be relegated to once a year; it’s fun to make. However, the thought of roasting turkey in the hellish heat of summer in the Valley…. *shudder*

• I’m grateful for the sunshine that warms my hair, and for the rain that cleanses the desert and makes it smell oh so glorious.

• I’m thankful for seat belts and air bags. My late mother said that if there was even the most primitive of seat belts in 1949, her father would have lived through the car wreck that killed him.

• I’m grateful to those inspired ones who wrote down the Books for the Bible.

• Ectopic pregnancies are strange things – they force you to put things in perspective. It’s a skewed universe where one is actually grateful to have had one.

• Thank God I don’t have to eat pumpkin pie. HATE the stuff. I’ll have chocolate chip apple cake instead. Yum.

• The random eye contact and smiles from strangers always warm my heart – it means there’s still hope for mankind.

• Despite having had my knee reconstructed when I was 19 (and scoped five years ago for cleanup), I am, by some miracle, still pain free. This despite years of hiking for a living, basketball, being overweight, and being told that I have incipient arthritis.

• I’m grateful even for the trolls that haunt these blogs, who, by their rabid attacks, remind me that a) we have the freedom to write what we think in this country and b) those of us who adopt realize just how precious and important adoption—and life—is. Go back and read the previous posts comments for some pretty funny troll-fu. Why is it that they never leave an email or blog link? I’ll post more on that later.

• I’m thankful for you, every one.

This list could go on forever.

Have a safe and happy Thanksgiving!

Monday, November 16, 2009

The Week From Hell, Part Six (Friday 10/9) – Going Home, Finally

If you comment on this post (and I'd love it if you all did), feel free to ask any questions that I didn’t cover/answer adequately. I’d like to know what’s running through your heads after reading this saga.
I remember distinctly, as my head hit the pillow that Thursday night, the thought, “F can whistle for her supper for all I care right now.” The past two weeks had been heart- and mind-wrenching, and as a result, we were both physically shot. F didn’t give a flying damn about the hell DH and I had been through this week, on top of the roller coaster last week; oblivious is a better term.

Go fly a kite, I thought wearily, reminding myself to do the pics sometime the coming weekend, and fell asleep.

So, finally, the day had come, a day neither of us thought would come at the rate things had gone: bringing The Boy home. It was still surreal, as it had happened too fast with no preparation, but my heart was just bursting with joy.

I did sleep well. When I remembered the previous night’s conversation with F (she had pushed it, after all, saying that it was imperative, as if BM’s grandma was dying; I asked if she were, and she was not - why was she being so rudely pushy?) as I showered early on Friday morning, the resentful thought had surfaced in my head that, you know, with all the drama this week and OUR trauma in this whole mess, Grandma could wait a few days.

I couldn’t help but think that if Grandma had actually given a damn in general, had given a damn about her children and grandchildren; and given a flying damn especially about BM in these last many months as the girl agonized about her decision, BM would never have felt it was necessary to place her child for adoption. Specifically, BM had made it clear to F that she didn’t “want these thugs raising my child.” Wow. It was a powerful statement that made everything crystal clear to me.

I reiterated to myself the decision I made last night, that the pics could wait until I get out and about on Sunday. I was beat, tired, mentally shot, you name it, and so was DH.

And today, this Friday, was an extremely important day.


I got to the hospital extremely early… like six or six-thirty, with DH to follow after when I finally got a green light from someone and a time frame. I naively thought that, by being there, I could push things along. The BM’s attorney laughed at me the night before, saying “Yeah, right. You won’t be out there until noon, at the earliest.” I could try, though.

It was with great elation that I saw, for the first time since we first met The Boy, that he didn’t have that monster heplock in his arm. He was free! Oh frabjous joy! The nurse on shift beamed – they took it out after the last push the night before, and he’d been perfect since then, zeroes across the board on the assessment. The newest development? He was ravenous. Fantastic! I was right, the antibiotics were really messing with his appetite. I gladly allowed him to stuff his little face while I waited and waited.

I did a lot of sitting around that morning. He was taken for his hearing test; the Ped came in and gave the green light, and also (finally!) did the procedure as previously (un)mentioned. So while they took him to do that, I went and got a drink; came back, and he was done. The nurse, D, also was kind enough to do the second metabolic screen mandated by the State right there before release so we wouldn’t have to worry about it later.

HSW dropped in. She asked if everything was all right re F, and I said that she’d made that request last night. I told the truth: I was too beat to think of putting anything on a thumb drive and printing it out and, besides, I’ve been here all the time. I was also quite frank and relayed the story F had given me. “If Grandma had cared months ago, we wouldn’t be here,” I said, and expressed that it would just have to wait a few days. HSW thought that eminently reasonable, since at least SHE was aware of the chaos and emotional hell we’d been through. She expressed her congratulations, and said that she’d see me in a little while, when F got to the hospital.

The the time came: I called DH to come on down, and then I could hardly believe that I could FINALLY dress The Boy in anything other than boring hospital tops and a diaper. The original outfit I had gotten – size 3 months – just wasn’t going to fly, as he wasn’t yet six pounds. I don’t remember where I went (things are so fuzzy still), but I did find a NB onesie with tiny lions and tigers and such on it, plus mitts for his sharp little nails… but I never did find socks that fit him. The ones I had were HUGE, but they worked for the moment.
I had never seen such a beautiful baby in my life. I couldn’t believe he was ours.

I just sat and stared for the longest time. It was a miracle.

The closer to noon, and then as it passed noon, the more revolving-door-itis we had. Ped came in, congrats and good luck and goodbye; nurses in and out for final checks and good wishes, and there was a lot of paperwork to sign. There were some others that popped in and out that I just can’t recall. Finally, HSW came in with F, hellos exchanged, and HSW left. I was sorry to see her go; I was, and still am, really grateful for her help.

D, the nurse, came in. Checked my band against The Boy’s one last time, and removed the baby Lo-Jack. F had our camera at the time, and took a zillion pics. D finished, F handed back the camera.
And then it started.

“Do you have the pictures for BM?”

I told her honestly that I hadn’t had the time (I mean, hell, she called me at 5:30pm the previous night – if she’d called me in the morning and given me half a chance, I would have done it while I was in and out of the hospital yesterday. Duh.), that I slept all night and was here early today, but that I would get some printed by the end of the weekend and send them. She said snippily, “If I had known that you wouldn’t have them today, I would have brought my camera and done it.”

I patiently said that I had not guaranteed anything last night, that I/we had had a rough week, etc. Again. For the 785636th time. I said that I had promised that I would do it, but to give me a day or two, and I’d drop them immediately in the mail.

“That’s not what you said yesterday,” she snipped.

“I don’t know what you want me to do about it,” I said wearily, too tired to pick up the gauntlet she had thrown down. “There just hasn’t been time or place, and I won’t have time today— ”

“Well, it’s just not negotiable,” she interrupted in the snottiest of tones. She stood there, arms crossed, in a snit, openly belligerent.

Yes, indeed, ladies and gentlemen, she was intending to pick a fight over something that she wouldn’t have a chance to give/send to BM until the following week.

Apparently nurse D saw that I was going to let F finally have it after all the shit she’d pulled in the last two weeks, and, God bless her brave soul, interceded. “I think we have a camera and a printer… let me see… I’ll be right back.” And she scuttled out of that room faster than we could blink.

I simmered, saying nothing. DH was livid, and just stared at her. It was a very uncomfortable five minutes as we signed her paperwork and tried to figure out how to adjust the car seat to fit him. I was very, very, extremely PISSED at this bitch, and my jaw was clenched. How could she be so callous, so rude, so insensitive to the week of hell we’d been through over something so piddly as a couple of pictures that she couldn’t possibly get to BM anytime soon? On THIS day of all? I promised I would do it, and am happy to do it, but God, couldn’t she give me just a little space?

D deserves a medal. She found the camera, which had juuuuuuust enough battery juice to take about three pictures. I bless her even today. She completely defused what was going to be a really ugly situation. Later, DH would say angrily, “I hope I never have to deal with that bitch ever again.”

D also puzzled with us over the car seat (F, with all her placements, couldn’t figure it out either), and brought in another nurse, who did know.

Finally, FINALLY, all was done. D walked out with F, DH and me. All through the long corridors to the front, and then the ceremonial pass to F connotating the transfer of guardianship from the hospital (who can only release to a SW or to an attorney in this state), then pass to me. Thank Yous and Congratulations were exchanged, and off DH and I went to FINALLY put The Boy, in his car seat, in my car (which had the base). DH kissed me and said, “See you at the house,” and off we finally went to take our new son home.

But the drama doesn’t stop there.

I had pleaded with DH earlier on that Friday to fend off his parents for just one more day. We really needed the down time, just DH and me and The Boy. That was another battle front we’d been dealing with all week – his mother was on this rampage. First it was the breastmilk, then it was the cats, then it was bitch bitch bitch about visiting at the hospital, then this, then that. It was always (and is always, still) something. With the hospital issue, when DH finally got it through her head that this particular point was beyond our control, she then insisted that they visit as soon as we got home with The Boy.

When we finally got home and breathed for a moment, DH said, “Do you want me to put them off for another day?” I think exhaustion was finally hitting him, too.

Knowing the hell that would ensue if we called them off this late, I said to let them come; let’s just get it done. We decided to give ourselves a few hours of a breather, and DH called them and gave them the time they were to show.

I had my small revenge on her, though – as soon as I knew the time the ILs were coming, I called my dad and said to come on over an hour before them. I needed ONE calm, quiet person before Jersey-accented hell broke loose.

When I handed the baby to him, Dad quietly called The Boy by the Latin version of his name, and for some reason this pleased me immensely. He said half-jokingly that he just doesn’t have the arm strength to hold the baby too long (remember, he's 80), but he did for quite a while anyway. It was nice and peaceful and a needed balm to my frazzled nerves.

Dad needs daylight to drive with his mild cataracts, so he looked at the clock and said he’d best be going. He kissed me and the baby, shook hands with DH, and closed the front door behind him. I needed that peace, and hoped for about 10 minutes in between.


Not 10 seconds after Dad closed the security door, I could hear MIL’s fishwife voice cutting through the front of the house. I could almost hear my dad cringe; I know I did, and wished I could flee like he did. God!

To make this section shorter, I’ll just say that they were here for FOUR HOURS. And during that time, MIL continued to nag us about breastmilk, the cats, and so on. I was dying to kick her out of the house by the time they finally left.

Needless to say, I was exhausted.

The weekend we had to ourselves until Sunday evening (10/11). That’s when MIL and FIL came over, bearing food. SIL also came with presents from an extremely expensive boutique. She and her mother bickered over what THEY were going to call him. There’s nothing more annoying than two obnoxious, self-centered women from New Jersey bickering over something so inane. I am so tired of their disrespect.
I have never missed my mother so much as now, with The Boy's advent and the crises that have come with it.
I want my mommy.

So, now you have the story of how we survived this living hell. Much of it on the hospital end was beyond our control, but Ped's crap, MIL’s constant badgering, and F’s insensitive bullshit caused so much heartache that we were just toast... so much of it was completely unnecessary.

It has taken almost a month before DH and I have wound down enough to relax and actually start enjoying The Boy; he’s now six weeks old and all is well, as long as DH's mother doesn't interfere. We were just so strung out that we were on autopilot the first weeks of The Boy’s life. So sad. It shouldn’t have happened this way. So much unnecessary games, bullshit, and drama.

I know that if his birth had been normal and his release normal, I know that we would have handled his sudden advent better emotionally; yeah, we would have scrambled, yeah, it would still be stressful, and yeah, MIL would still pull her shit, but without the added burdens of his health scare and the external drama, we would have taken it all in better stride.

At least there’s a happy end to the story, and I’m so very grateful for that. There is no blessing given without some sort of payment. I know that it has made me stronger, and certainly wiser. If/when we do this again, I know what to prepare for and what to not allow from various factions.

Thank you all for staying tuned, and for your prayers, thoughts and commentary… and a special thank you to you many lurkers who continue to check in according to the handy-dandy little map in the sidebar. I’d love to know who you are, and why you’ve stuck with me, but honestly, I’m too grateful for you taking the time to stop to really question it.

Thank you all for caring.

Thursday, November 12, 2009

Part Five: The Week From Hell – Thursday 10/8

I got to the hospital around 8-ish on that Thursday morning – and by God, I was so damn tired of the drive by now – and retreated to the nesting room with our sweet son (DH was back at work, but would take tomorrow off if he was to be released). This morning, for me, the little one wasn’t his usual peaceful self. I think he was having issues with the antibiotics, as had been my thought from the first day they pushed them.

Saw the Ped this morning. He explained away pushing the morphine, saying that the dose wasn’t enough to cause problems. I expressed the fact that we were NOT happy about it, especially after yesterday's assurances that he wouldn't do morphine. Ped's response was essentially “meh” – we weren’t here to see it and he was (supposedly), and it was his call, and he was going to continue with the morphine protocol. He did his residency at Johns Hopkins, eh? How low did he graduate to land himself this shitty spot?

No wonder hospitalists have such crappy reputations.

The poor baby. I never understood why he had these horrible scores any time we weren’t there. I believe they use the NIDCAP assessment; whatever they used, it is completely subjective; if the nurse has no patience, and doesn’t have time to deal with a needy baby, then yeah – she’s going to mark him up. The Boy got dinged yesterday (10/7, morphine day) for the most bizarre stuff that the succeeding shift scratched their heads on.

Exhausted from the merry-go-round of the last two weeks, I went off-site to go get some lunch and could hardly see what I was eating. I was heartbroken that The Boy was still on morphine, and pissed that the doctor didn’t seem to give a shit.

Here is the curse of being an adoptive parent of a newborn in a medical situation: until you leave the premises, handed the child by the hospital and then the facilitator (or whatever the procedure is in your state) and are then, at that moment, the child’s legal guardians, you have NO POWER and NO SAY on anything that happens. You are not consulted, you are not called, you are not advised because it doesn’t matter; the hospital technically is the guardian of the child and adoptive parents are completely powerless, and are essentially privileged visitors.

That was a rude lesson, let me tell you. My fury at that realization sapped whatever energy I had in reserve.

I went to the bank after lunch because a certain procedure (which I’m not discussing in this post) is not covered by insurance and I needed to get a cashier’s check, as the Ped said he’d do it as soon as I got back. I went to the house where I thought of taking a short nap, when the Ped called me and said to get to the hospital if I wanted it done today, and I said I’d be right there. I gathered the stuff I wanted to get and returned to the hospital.

The drive is only fifteen minutes. Ped was nowhere to be seen. He stood me up! The nurse at the front desk said he got a call and had to go – lunch, she seemed to think. But he just called me, not fifteen minutes ago! What the hell? I was madder than a wet hen. Asshole.

So I stayed; I was going to take a nap at the house but not now. No point. Since the nesting rooms were horribly uncomfortable, I didn’t nap there either. So it was that when DH came after work, I was completely shot (although the good news was that The Boy was taken off the morphine in my absence, a HUGE load off my mind.). We sat with The Boy for about 45 minutes when DH insisted we go downstairs and get something to eat.

It was just as well, as my cell phone went off just as we returned The Boy to the special care area. I think it’s deliberate that there is no cell reception in the nursery, which is fine with me. The last thing anyone needs in there is a damned phone.


I knew it was the facilitator, and I made the conscious decision to not call her back until after I had finished my meal. There wasn’t anything she could want that was that important; HSW had checked on me earlier in the day to make sure I was okay and she reassured me yet again. So whatever F wanted, it couldn’t be too crazy.

So when DH made his call after dinner, I made mine. Long story short, BM had finally told her grandmother what she had done, and grandma wanted pics. Did we have any, and could we sent F some to pass along?

So it was an innocuous, reasonable request, especially with BM grieving (she’s a tough girl, but nobody’s that tough, and I could see where grandma was heartbroken too); no problem. I replied that I would try to get some printed, but it wouldn’t be tonight. I would do my best to get some done. Was it possible to bring some tomorrow at the release (which was still the aim, according to the nurses/Ped)? Possible, but not probable; I was exhausted and I planned on going home then being here early tomorrow to catch Ped one last time in case of a surprise, plus HSW, and the hope of being released earlier rather than later tomorrow. I said I would try.

I went back upstairs to let DH in with my band, and I went home to sleep. He would stay with The Boy for an hour or so past my departure.

Little did I know that tomorrow I would regret acquiescing to F’s seemingly innocent request in my exhaustion.

Up next, the last installment of The Week From Hell, Part Six: Friday (10/9)

Friday, November 6, 2009

Part Four: The Week from Hell – Tuesday (10/6) and Wednesday (10/7)

Goodness, but we have a rash of good news in our circle!! These last couple of months have been crazy but happy in blogland. Congrats all!


Called the wonderful woman who’s pinch hitting for me at work… she’d left a message for me. Long story short, we have to resubmit the damned Petition. I knew I should have insisted that Boss leave that section alone! Damn.

Have your drink of choice and some munchies? Good. Here we go.


I was at the hospital at a decent hour on this day (10/6), a little after seven-ish according to my muddled memory. I timed it so I wouldn’t get kicked out for shift change, but also to make sure I met HSW at a decent hour, since I didn’t know when she made her rounds. I also hoped to finally meet the pediatrician assigned to The Boy.

I had just turned that last corner before pulling into the hospital lot when my phone rang; it was my sister, checking in. But even this wasn’t as tame as it seemed on the surface – she was demanding pictures! Like yesterday! And I snapped right back at her. Sheesh. I love her to pieces, but when she wants something… she would do the same thing when my new nephew was born eight days after The Boy, demand pics from #4B and YSIL. I felt bad for YSIL, because she had a c-section incision to deal with and my sister was demanding pics now now now! Amazing how much Sis has forgotten in the dozen years since Hellboy was born…


And I was glad I did get there at the hour I did – not only did I see HSW, but I also finally met the pediatrician. The ped dropped into the nesting room first. He was youngish and sorta cute in a way, a hospitalist assigned to The Boy (I have no idea if he delivered him – in fact, I have no idea who did). Ped has a great bedside manner. He was open, conversational, and explained things.

But it was a bit of a shock to learn that he’d ordered the antibiotics regimen not only for the meconium, but also because BM’s amniotic fluid was, in his word, “foul,” with pus (the sheet I would receive upon The Boy’s release had “foul smelling amniotic fluid” scribbled on it). Also, it was because BM had no idea that her water had broken, as she merely thought she wet herself… so they had no idea how long her membranes were ruptured. It was nice to know WHY, finally. It only took three days to tell me. I wonder if they were waiting for the TPR to be signed before telling me anything.

But then Ped dropped a bomb, also: because of all of those circumstances, he was deciding to play it safe and extend the antibiotic regimen, meaning The Boy was now going to be released on Friday.

My heart dropped.

HSW came through about twenty minutes after Ped left, and we talked for probably an hour. Upon meeting her, I immediately felt better. She was calm, in control, and would turn out to be a wonderful listener. I told her what had transpired with F, understanding that HSW couldn’t say anything about BM’s position on anything. She said that she’d never dealt with F before… and agreed that her behavior was quite strange… but she took a zillion tons of stress off of me when she said one thing before our conversation was ended:

“I do not see any reason preventing you taking The Boy home on Friday.”

My heart rose.

I had advised DH that, up to this point and until we have actual facts as to what The Boy may or may not have been exposed to, to not really say much to either of his parents. Why? Because they both (but MIL especially) tend to go completely bonkers over something where there’s nothing to go bonkers about. Thing is, he had to talk to someone with all this drama, so he did confide in his father about all that was going on.

The problem with that little scheme is that FIL is a sieve in that regard. Even if you threatened him with gaol or torture or death, somehow he’d manage to let the cat out of the bag. Apparently, on Monday night, FIL and MIL were getting ready for bed and talking about The Boy, and FIL just couldn’t help himself. He was saying things in a roundabout way when MIL caught his reluctance. Yep, he told her everything that DH had said to him in confidence.

Apparently she went completely batshit. Screamed, ranted, raved, and FIL was totally in the doghouse. She was pissed at DH, too, because he hadn’t told her. Why tell her, tell anyone? We didn’t know anything yet…

So we had her burning up the phone lines all day, so we had this crazy crap on top of her manic insistence on obtaining breastmilk for The Boy, plus her nagging about visiting at the hospital (no… not our rule, no choice in the matter).

In contrast, I had lunch with my father that day, and told him everything… but he’s a different sort of person: reasonable, calm, collected, cautious. He was supportive, and quietly so, and therefore a balm to my frayed nerves.

Wednesday, October 7, 2009

On Wednesday, DH had the day off. Of course, when he had scheduled it, we had thought The Boy would already be at home. Instead, we went back to the hospital after coffee. The little private rooms were taken, so we had to spend our time that morning in the cramped side nursery, where there was a mother of twins trying to nurse behind the screen. Not terribly convenient, but it worked.

We caught the Ped again, who said that barring some sort of curveball, The Boy would be coming home on Friday (YAY)! There had been moments of concern about his reluctance to eat, restless sleep, etc., where they’d come close to pushing some morphine to calm him down. However, since his scores were coming down nicely, Ped foresaw no problems in this regard.

I commented I’d heard the meconium test wasn’t back yet.

He flipped through the chart. “Nope, here it is!... T. HC only.”

So BM hadn’t lied (which in our gut, as previously posted, we didn’t think she had), and there had been nothing to get all worked up about, nothing for F to get nutty over, and nothing for MIL to freak out about.

How do you spell relief?

Wednesday was, of course, TPR day. In Arizona, the birth mother has 72 hours after birth to change her mind. No adoptive parent in this situation relaxes until they get word that it is signed. There was nobody I could call to see what was going on. All I could do is cross my fingers and keep my attention on my new small friend, with whom I had completely fallen in love.

As we did on Sunday, DH and I left after lunch and went home for awhile, leaving The Boy peaceful and quiet and us with lighter hearts: he would be coming home soon! We did some chores, we napped, DH fielded his mother’s harangue about breast milk again, and then we went to Outback for dinner before returning to the hospital for the evening. After all, what was the rush? It’s a cruise from here on out.


We get there and were devastated to find that, in our absence, The Boy had “amped out” pretty badly, and they resorted to pushing the morphine. The nurse we met about this was not the one from the morning shift. All I could mutter was “[the doc] said he wouldn’t push morphine!” and DH was really really pissed. The nurse was kind and sympathetic, but quite powerless; Ped was a hospitalist and when he’s off the clock, he’s off the clock – they are not on call, period. No other doctor would dare overturn another’s orders.

We retreated with The Boy to one of the rooms. “Poor baby, poor baby,” I said over and over as I fed him; DH steamed. It was as if there was some sort of diabolical conspiracy to keep The Boy from coming home with us. What in the hell?
I have been in a medical situation that called for morphine – and I know how addictive it is and its side effects, and therefore knew this development threatened the slated Friday release.

My poor sweet pumpkin.

I did get one good piece of news this day: the TPR and all related affidavits were signed today.

How was it that these events and behaviors occur when we were not there? The Boy has never amped out on me/us in all of those endless hours alone with him, not once. How was this possible?
Anger and frustration were the order of the day.

We went home rather late, reluctant to leave The Boy.

Up Next, Part Five: The Week from Hell – Thursday

Monday, November 2, 2009


Mrs H asked how long The Story is. Truth be told, I’m not really sure how many parts it will have, since I haven’t written it all out yet. All I know is that when I started to write it, it just grew a life of its own, and I knew I had to break it up. We’re to Monday, and we took him home on Friday afternoon (10/9/09), and there wasn’t a day where there wasn’t drama.

So, use the intermission to make a potty run, grab some Jujyfruits and a Coke, and stretch your legs.

I guess the important thing is that he’s home with us. We’ve already had our post-placement visit, and the Petition has been filed as of last week. That means, generally, a court date sometimes in late January or early February, but since the Courts are so overloaded and the State has huge budget issues, I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s scheduled even later.

At this particular moment, I have a small boy crying it out downstairs. I made the mistake of letting him sleep too long earlier this morning and I’m paying for it. He has to tire himself out now. He’s fine – fed, burped, dry, danced with for a bit, conversed with, and put down nice and warm – and I have several things to do.
Just as I finished this post and went to proofread it, he went quiet. Ni-ni, sweet pumpkin...

The thumping headache I have this morning has to do with MIL and SIL, who have the bit between their teeth regarding a shower. I made the request that it be a low key affair here at my house; they have blown me off and are planning this ridiculous thing at a place that’s too expensive, with no separate room for such an event, in a place where parking is atrocious. They have blown me off and badgered DH, who has taken a stand on the matter and will continue to. The two of them have also decided to not consult me on date or time, but make it convenient for Princess Entitlement, my n.iece, and not me or, most importantly, The Boy. Excuse me? Grrrr…

I’m going to put the kibosh on the whole thing. Now, if their hearts are set on some sort of fancy affair, then make it the Gotcha Party when we get a court date. THAT is a reason to go whole hog, and something I can get my heart behind.
In the meantime, I'm going to work with T (remember her?) and plan on that low-key affair with a small round of friends I wanted in the first place, since MIL/SIL refuse to honor my request. Do NOT fuck with me when I don't get any sleep.

I’ll post the next installment later this week or on the weekend. Let’s see what happens.
Oh, and I pulled the pic of The Boy from that previous post. I don't want anyone snitching that pic and... you know. It happens in our little circle all too often. : (

Thanks for all the good vibes and commentary on The Story so far. See? I told you that F. was a pain in the ass, and that it’d make you mad, too. And that's part of the reason why it takes to long to write - it's so exhausting just thinking of her crap...

I’m heading down to get some Aleves; this thing is a monster.
Later, gators.