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.

Ha.

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.