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!

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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.

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

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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…

Anywhooooo…

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.

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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.

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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.

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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?

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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.

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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.

Ha.

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.

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

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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