Ukulele, Part II

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"Get to the hospital now. She's delivering in 45 minutes!"

We turned and got back in to the car. One of the first thoughts through my mind was: "I'm going to meet my daughter wearing THIS?" (I was wearing sweatpants, a bar t-shirt, and a hoodie.) GatorMan, on the other hand, seemed lost in his thoughts. It felt like the car was only going 5 mph. We finally made it to the hospital after what felt like 3 hours (in actuality we got there in about 15 minutes).

We were to meet the Attorney's Assistant at the chapel since we obviously could not go up to the maternity ward. Well, the chapel was locked, with a sign on the door that read "For entrance, dial zero for security." We looked everywhere for a phone to "dial zero for security" but I swear there was no phone within walking distance of that chapel door.

Assistant found us sitting there, waiting anxiously. We decided to go to the cafeteria to wait it out. When we got to the cafeteria, there was some sort of hospital party going on, so we were denied entrance. Some adminstrative-type heard our story, took pity, and showed us to the 24-day surgery room that had just been completed the night before. So we went there to hang out. And hang out. Oh, and we hung out some more. The "delivering in 45 minutes" turned in to about 4 hours because of one emergency c-section after another.

Then we got the call. A very healthy little girl.

Attorney told us to go to the special care nursery, and she would meet us there. When we get there, no one is around. However, another mystic note saying "Dial 1234 for Nurse and Admittance." So we dialed. However, no admittance. Denied. We were not the birthparents.

And it did not matter that we had guardianship at that point of the unborn child, which converted to temporary guardianship of the born child.

And it did not matter that I was on the verge of hysterical tears and GatorMan was on the verge of breaking through the door.

The social worker on call would have to give her blessing before we could go in. There was a mere washroom and two glass windows between us and our daughter. In the upper corner of the waiting room I could see the security camera - and I glared into it hoping the gatekeepers were watching me. I strummed my fingers, glared, and GatorMan paced. The elusive social worker could not be reached.

Attorney arrived and was appropriately pissed off. She left for a few minutes while GatorMan answered nature's call. I glared at the security camera, knowing that my daughter was on the other side somewhere, scared, being poked, prodded, and wondering what was happening to her. And we were not there to comfort like they should be. Why? Because we needed the blessing of some damned social worker who refused to answer her phone.

Attorney showed back up and indicated that she was told if the social worker did not return in 5 minutes, the director of the hospital would be called. I watched the seconds tick by on the clock. GatorMan returned. At the same time, Attorney showed me a picture of my daughter on her cell phone (she was there when the baby was delivered). I had never seen a baby so beautiful. As I stared at her picture, Attorney handed me a stuffed animal that Juno wanted Ukulele to have. It was Juno's favorite, and will surely be Ukulele's favorite.

I pointed out to Attorney that ten minutes had passed, and we were still sitting in the waiting area. She marched to wherever she went, and we sat. And waited. And then she came back. She said:

"Let's go. She's waiting for you."

more tomorrow......