As of late Sunday night (10/4), and despite the nurses saying that The Boy had swallowed meconium and was on a three day course of antibiotics for it, we were slated for a Tuesday release. So we knew we had to be in a controlled panic to get a slew of necessities that would tide us over until things settled down. Well, I would have to be. DH had to go to work Monday.
In the late afternoon on Sunday, I had texted my boss and told him of The Boy’s arrival. “Awesome!!!” was his response. That was everyone’s response to the news. :)
Monday, October 5, 2009
This was going to be my round of errands on Monday: coffee at S__b__, Wally World, and a scouting mission to Ikea to see what they had in cribs and dressers, because BRU and everywhere else are complete rips for cribs. After that I was going to head to the hospital and spend time with my new small friend.
However, the phone rang while I was having coffee and reading the paper. It’s Boss, who is going out of town for the week, in panic mode. “I need you here!” and he put it in such a way that if I didn’t get there, the whole office would collapse. No argument that The Boy needed me countered his attitude. Resentful, and knowing full well that if I’d given birth he’d never have bothered me (that double standard where adoption was concerned vs. birthing a child was rearing its head already), I went to the office, got there at a little after nine.
You know what I did that was so earth shattering other than tying in with the lady covering for me? Not a damn thing. He sat and talked politics on the phone the entire morning. I was SO ENRAGED that by the time I left at noon there really was steam coming out of my ears.
As I stormed out of the parking lot, I could hear the voice of my mother echoing in my head – there were times where she’d mutter constantly “I’m ___ hours behind!” I suddenly knew, at the age of 37, and with her gone 3½ years, what in the hell my mother was furiously mumbling about all those years. I stormed to Walmart, ran through Ikea and had only half an idea of what I wanted, then I went home. I did various things here and there, and sent out pics via email to friends and family. I was just finishing up posting in FB when my cell phone rang. It was Facilitator.
The phone call started rather innocuously. I had stated in an earlier post that she was out of town when the baby was born, so she asked for the stats and info and wanted to know if all had gone smoothly Sunday morning. Then she started getting weird. In a weird, roundabout way, she mentioned that the hospital so.cial wor.ker (“HSW”) had talked to the charge nurse, and that The Boy might have been exposed to more than what the BM admitted to. When I asked what did that mean, and what gave the nurse reason to say that, she got squirrelly, and didn’t answer directly. Instead, she asked the worst question in this situation: “Are you still committed?”
Huh?
To be fair, the question in itself is innocuous, but combined with her weird, roundabout answers and evasive responses when I asked for specific information made me get all weirded out. It also placed the worst scenario in my mind, that somehow The Boy would be yanked from us and placed in other hands, or that the hospital would somehow deny us access to the boy. By the time I hung up with her, I was freaked out – what was wrong with The Boy that caused such a statement to be made and such bizarre evasiveness? Was he lethargic? Was he abnormal in some way that they didn't catch before? Was he having seizures? What?! I ran downstairs, grabbed my keys, and hotfooted it to the hospital, tears streaming down my face as I drove. What had happened while I was at the hospital, and why didn’t they call me?
I get there at about two or so (so much for being there at 930-10a), and The Boy is as peaceful as can be. I asked the nurse, “K,” what was going on, and she said he’d had a rough night – not feeding well, not sleeping well, so they’re going to keep a sharper eye on him. They gave us a “nesting room” and I sat there with the boy, in tears, wondering what in the hell was going on, and why Facilitator had questioned our commitment, and why didn’t she answer questions directly?
I was tired, pissed off at Boss for wasting my time, pissed off at Facilitator for her shit, and beginning to be strung out from the seed of doubt planted by Facilitator. I fed and rocked the boy, talking out loud all the while.
DH walked in at about 5:30, and saw my face. He asked what happened, and I told him about how The Boy might have been exposed to more, and that there might be complications but Facilitator didn’t say why, and was evasive and frustrating. He listened to what had unfolded, and he stepped out of the nursery and out to the lobby to get some reception.
He came back ten minutes later, highly pissed off. He asked for The Boy, held him close, and rocked, rocked, rocked, silent as can be. In a few minutes, he told me that he had pressed for information that he sensed Facilitator had, but Facilitator had been equally as evasive as she had been with me, had questioned his commitment, and added a new twist, essentially saying, “well, if you’re not committed, we’ll have to find someone else and he’ll probably wind up in foster care.” DH, so kind, quiet, and mellow, was extremely pissed off by this form of emotional blackmail.
Never, ever, not at any time had we ever wavered in our love and commitment to The Boy. As soon as we saw him, we were in love, and he was our son. We never have expressed to anyone anything other than full commitment to him. So,
WHAT IN THE FUCK?!
He told her to quit asking that question, it wasn't a matter of commitment, and answer his (our) questions, to please tell us what she had heard from the HSW that caused her to question our commitment. We were also asking so that if The Boy was indeed exposed to something hardcore, we could care for him correctly, and prepare for the result of said possible exposures. She evaded again, and questioned his commitment once more. DH did something he has very rarely done: he hung up on her. That’s why he was so extremely pissed off when he came back into the room.
As we dissected both conversations, his and mine with Facilitator, he just continued to rock The Boy. We agreed that we never got the vibe that BM lied at any time, and that it was a possibility that Facilitator was projecting things upon BM that just weren't true. Despite our suspicions, I was trembling with fear and fury. DH was madder than I’ve ever seen him in our dozen years together.
As we both simmered in rage and fear and dread, I had an inspired idea: I went back into the nursery and asked K if she could join us for a few moments. She kindly obliged after finishing what she was doing. Together, DH and I told her about our separate conversations with Facilitator, and the issues we were having with her, and the complete lack of information. “She stated that the HSW spoke to the charge nurse this morning, but refused to say more.”
K’s eyes opened wide. “Why, I was the charge nurse this morning! This is what I told HSW…” (oh, what luck!!!) She proceeded to explain exactly what had happened overnight and then exactly what she had said to HSW. I knew that K could see our agitation; I was physically trembling and DH’s eyes were snapping. “Keep in mind that the meconium test isn't back yet... so we don't know anything yet.... I’ll tell you what, as soon as we’re done here, I’ll put in a message with HSW so you can speak with her tomorrow.”
In the late afternoon on Sunday, I had texted my boss and told him of The Boy’s arrival. “Awesome!!!” was his response. That was everyone’s response to the news. :)
Monday, October 5, 2009
This was going to be my round of errands on Monday: coffee at S__b__, Wally World, and a scouting mission to Ikea to see what they had in cribs and dressers, because BRU and everywhere else are complete rips for cribs. After that I was going to head to the hospital and spend time with my new small friend.
However, the phone rang while I was having coffee and reading the paper. It’s Boss, who is going out of town for the week, in panic mode. “I need you here!” and he put it in such a way that if I didn’t get there, the whole office would collapse. No argument that The Boy needed me countered his attitude. Resentful, and knowing full well that if I’d given birth he’d never have bothered me (that double standard where adoption was concerned vs. birthing a child was rearing its head already), I went to the office, got there at a little after nine.
You know what I did that was so earth shattering other than tying in with the lady covering for me? Not a damn thing. He sat and talked politics on the phone the entire morning. I was SO ENRAGED that by the time I left at noon there really was steam coming out of my ears.
As I stormed out of the parking lot, I could hear the voice of my mother echoing in my head – there were times where she’d mutter constantly “I’m ___ hours behind!” I suddenly knew, at the age of 37, and with her gone 3½ years, what in the hell my mother was furiously mumbling about all those years. I stormed to Walmart, ran through Ikea and had only half an idea of what I wanted, then I went home. I did various things here and there, and sent out pics via email to friends and family. I was just finishing up posting in FB when my cell phone rang. It was Facilitator.
The phone call started rather innocuously. I had stated in an earlier post that she was out of town when the baby was born, so she asked for the stats and info and wanted to know if all had gone smoothly Sunday morning. Then she started getting weird. In a weird, roundabout way, she mentioned that the hospital so.cial wor.ker (“HSW”) had talked to the charge nurse, and that The Boy might have been exposed to more than what the BM admitted to. When I asked what did that mean, and what gave the nurse reason to say that, she got squirrelly, and didn’t answer directly. Instead, she asked the worst question in this situation: “Are you still committed?”
Huh?
To be fair, the question in itself is innocuous, but combined with her weird, roundabout answers and evasive responses when I asked for specific information made me get all weirded out. It also placed the worst scenario in my mind, that somehow The Boy would be yanked from us and placed in other hands, or that the hospital would somehow deny us access to the boy. By the time I hung up with her, I was freaked out – what was wrong with The Boy that caused such a statement to be made and such bizarre evasiveness? Was he lethargic? Was he abnormal in some way that they didn't catch before? Was he having seizures? What?! I ran downstairs, grabbed my keys, and hotfooted it to the hospital, tears streaming down my face as I drove. What had happened while I was at the hospital, and why didn’t they call me?
I get there at about two or so (so much for being there at 930-10a), and The Boy is as peaceful as can be. I asked the nurse, “K,” what was going on, and she said he’d had a rough night – not feeding well, not sleeping well, so they’re going to keep a sharper eye on him. They gave us a “nesting room” and I sat there with the boy, in tears, wondering what in the hell was going on, and why Facilitator had questioned our commitment, and why didn’t she answer questions directly?
I was tired, pissed off at Boss for wasting my time, pissed off at Facilitator for her shit, and beginning to be strung out from the seed of doubt planted by Facilitator. I fed and rocked the boy, talking out loud all the while.
DH walked in at about 5:30, and saw my face. He asked what happened, and I told him about how The Boy might have been exposed to more, and that there might be complications but Facilitator didn’t say why, and was evasive and frustrating. He listened to what had unfolded, and he stepped out of the nursery and out to the lobby to get some reception.
He came back ten minutes later, highly pissed off. He asked for The Boy, held him close, and rocked, rocked, rocked, silent as can be. In a few minutes, he told me that he had pressed for information that he sensed Facilitator had, but Facilitator had been equally as evasive as she had been with me, had questioned his commitment, and added a new twist, essentially saying, “well, if you’re not committed, we’ll have to find someone else and he’ll probably wind up in foster care.” DH, so kind, quiet, and mellow, was extremely pissed off by this form of emotional blackmail.
Never, ever, not at any time had we ever wavered in our love and commitment to The Boy. As soon as we saw him, we were in love, and he was our son. We never have expressed to anyone anything other than full commitment to him. So,
WHAT IN THE FUCK?!
He told her to quit asking that question, it wasn't a matter of commitment, and answer his (our) questions, to please tell us what she had heard from the HSW that caused her to question our commitment. We were also asking so that if The Boy was indeed exposed to something hardcore, we could care for him correctly, and prepare for the result of said possible exposures. She evaded again, and questioned his commitment once more. DH did something he has very rarely done: he hung up on her. That’s why he was so extremely pissed off when he came back into the room.
As we dissected both conversations, his and mine with Facilitator, he just continued to rock The Boy. We agreed that we never got the vibe that BM lied at any time, and that it was a possibility that Facilitator was projecting things upon BM that just weren't true. Despite our suspicions, I was trembling with fear and fury. DH was madder than I’ve ever seen him in our dozen years together.
As we both simmered in rage and fear and dread, I had an inspired idea: I went back into the nursery and asked K if she could join us for a few moments. She kindly obliged after finishing what she was doing. Together, DH and I told her about our separate conversations with Facilitator, and the issues we were having with her, and the complete lack of information. “She stated that the HSW spoke to the charge nurse this morning, but refused to say more.”
K’s eyes opened wide. “Why, I was the charge nurse this morning! This is what I told HSW…” (oh, what luck!!!) She proceeded to explain exactly what had happened overnight and then exactly what she had said to HSW. I knew that K could see our agitation; I was physically trembling and DH’s eyes were snapping. “Keep in mind that the meconium test isn't back yet... so we don't know anything yet.... I’ll tell you what, as soon as we’re done here, I’ll put in a message with HSW so you can speak with her tomorrow.”
Edited to Add: So now I was like, why didn't Facilitator just say she didn't know? She had refused to say "I don't know, I don't have that information. I can only tell you what HSW told me." What's so hard about that? Why did she have to be evasive and turn things around on us? I just don't understand.
We continued to speak for about another ten minutes, and K did her best to put us at ease… when you consider she has no say in what happens. We did feel better. By the time I returned The Boy to the nursery, I felt the best I'd felt since eight thirty that morning.
We continued to speak for about another ten minutes, and K did her best to put us at ease… when you consider she has no say in what happens. We did feel better. By the time I returned The Boy to the nursery, I felt the best I'd felt since eight thirty that morning.
Edited to Add: DH left before I did. When I got home, he told he that he called Facilitator back and had a wee chat with her, and said to not ever question his, my, our commitment again - it is not at issue. So tired, frustrated, strung out, we went to bed, hoping that things would go smoother from here on out, still on track for The Boy to be brought home Tuesday.
Next Up: Part Four: The Week From Hell - Tuesday.
6 comments:
Oh wow...I can't stop reading your story. And I'm supposed to be giving out Halloween candy. I obviously have a lot more to read, but wanted to offer my congrats!! Back to reading....oh, thanks for your comment on my blog. We plan on doing the organic formula.
Whoa. I mean, whoa. Seriously? What kind of facilitator is that? Can't wait to hear more.
WTF indeed. This sounds like a terrible ordeal - both in the uncertainty of what is going on with your son and in dealing with that crazy facilitator. I'm so sorry you had to deal with that. Crazy.
Good grief! She sounds like my SW ding bat. How many parts are there to this story?? As if adopting isn't enough stress.
Plus you're totally right about the work birth vs adopting scenario. idiots.
Mrs H, I don't know how many parts there will be. All I knew is when I sat down to write this that I couldn't put it in one post. We're on the Monday after he was born, and we didn't get him home until Friday afternoon. And there wasn't a day where there wasn't some drama. :(
You know, placement is a stressful enough time without your facilitator being an idiot. I was frustrated just reading that.
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