We Are Parents!!!!

Well, almost.... We still have to go through the finalization court date.

Here is a picture of our celebratory (cheap) champagne that was opened at precisely 12:03 (after we received verification from our attorney):







And, a picture of our (*new!*) family:






Thank you all - so very very much - for your thoughts, prayers, support, and love during this time. We are almost there!

Thoughts on a *Sick* Baby

I am sure that all of us IF sufferers have gone through the anger/guilt spiral that includes the thought that "I am being punished for something. That is why I am not allowed to be a mom." Month after month of trying, test after test, shot after shot.... still no baby... still not a mom. It really did seem like *Someone* was trying to tell me something. If I was supposed to be a mom, wouldn't I be? How could those crackhead, baby-beating, non-job-holding, seemingly undeserving women be moms - and I cannot? What kind of system is being run "up there"?

This thought went through my head more times than was probably healthy: "I'm not supposed to be a mom - I'm not good enough."

And then Ukulele came to us. All too easily, actually, considering some of the obstacles that many adoptive parents face. The analytical lawyer in me asks: So what's the catch?

There are two schools of thought on this:

(1) She was meant to be with us. She is God's gift, and we were supposed to wait for her.
(2) There is a catch. It wasn't supposed to happen. I'm still not supposed to be a mom.

Sadly, School Two got the better of me the other night. Ukulele is my first child, so I'm kind of lost in the whole what's-happening-with-my-preemie-newborn thing. We've already called the nurse hotline twice and she's only been home for one week.

(Apologies for the following grossness...)

You see, Ukulele likes to puke up her formula, and then aspirate it down her airway. This leads to the inevitable choking fit where her face turns beet-red, she doesn't seem to breathe, and milk comes out of her nose. When she does catch her breath, she coughs up lots of milk mixed with mucus. Then a sneezing fit.

This has happened three times.

Twice we have called the nurse hotline about her little shenanigans, and twice we have been informed that it is all completely normal. We know how to clear her airways and her nose with the little bulb-thingy. And we now know the sneezing is normal as well. The doctor has even called me personally to calm me down and assure me that I'm doing everything right and this will pass.

But it freaks the hell out of us.

So what goes through my head as I try to fall asleep the other night (and Ukulele grunts next to me)?

I'm not supposed to have her.

If something happens to her, it is God saying "See, I tried to tell you. If you were meant to have kids, I would have helped you. Sorry, there was a mix-up in the baby-assignment section, and your Ukulele was supposed to go to someone else."

I know deep-down that the real answer is School One - this little girl was meant to be in our family. No doubt about it. But every time she hiccups, catches her breath, or even makes a new sound - I rush to her side to make sure she's okay. I move her a little to get a twitch out of her if I cannot see her breathing. And I look at her with tears in my eyes because I cannot believe she is actually here and I am so afraid I am going to royally screw it up somehow.

I just signed up for a lifetime of the most incredible worry I will ever experience in my entire life. And I'm afraid that every time she gets sick, all the "you're-not-good-enough" thoughts will come flooding back through.

Welcome to IF mommyhood. But despite all that....

I wouldn't change it for the world.

Ukulele, Part IV

The Final Installment

This post will be the last post on the incompetence (and incompetents) of the hospital where Ukulele was born. Please understand that I am sure she received more-than-adequate care. The "incompetency" was in the hospital's handling of an adoption situation.

Pediatrician
For those of you that recall, we had quite a time finding a pediatrician. We prevailed, and got a pediatrician that we were quite pleased with. So the night of Ukulele's birth, the hospital was informed of who her attending pediatrician was. However, in the delivery room, some hospital "person" asked the FirstMom who the pediatrician was. Of course she did not know. So this "person" asked her if she wanted the on-call pediatrician, and she said yes. So that is who Ukulele received. NOT our pediatrician of choice. AT ALL. So, because Dr. Not Ours was the pediatrician at the birth, that doctor remained her pediatrician for her whole stay. Our Pediatrician was not allowed to examine her - despite his repeated requests - because he was not the doctor of record. Now we have to go through the red-tape of having her records transferred to our doctor. Sound easy? Not so fast. Her records are not under the name we gave her. Nor do we believe they are under Baby Jane Doe. We believe they are under FirstMom's name. And the records have been "sealed" because this was a closed adoption. Can you see where all the problems are starting???

Hearing Test
Every newborn gets a hearing test. The parents are allowed to be there and ask questions and witness the test. The testers came up while I was feeding Ukulele. They were told I would be finished in a couple of minutes. As I was burping her, I watched them watch me, then walk over to a nurse, talk, and then leave. I was informed that they were going to go down to the maternity ward and do the "other" babies first. They'd get back with me if they had time. They ended up coming back when we were not there, not waiting for us, and then performing the test without us present. They left her results stuck to the inside of her crib. (She passed, by the way.)

Newborn Pictures
Every newborn gets to have his/her picture taken in the hospital. Well, when the call was made to find out when Ukulele's picture would be taken, the nurse was told that they would get to her sometime on Saturday (her discharge day), and that if we wanted pictures, we could not go through the hospital because we were not her biological parents, but we would be more than welcome to go to their website and order pictures. Well, they never did show up before her discharge on Saturday. So she does not have her newborn hospital pictures.

Nurse Attention
There were three nurses that we absolutely adored who took really good care of her. Because we were not the biological parents, we were not given a room of our own (the other hospital DOES do this in adoption situations). Ukulele was placed in the special care nursery with the other preemies. Three nurses were very careful to make sure she was always near them. If they were on the computer entering data, she was right next to them. If they were near another baby, she went along in her roller-crib. They really looked after her if we were not there. However, on discharge day, we buzzed the nurse station to get in. A new nurse answered and said she would come out and get the carseat from us (Ukulele had to pass the carseat test before she could be released).

I asked her if we were allowed to go back and see her. Nurse Kratchet said "She's sleeping."

So I said "Are you telling us we cannot go back and see our daughter?"

Kratchet responded, "She's sleeping. I'll come out and get the carseat and you can come back later."

I again stated "Are you telling me I cannot see my daughter right now?"

"She's sleeping."

"Well, we are not going to wake her up."

"Fine." So she came out and let us in. When we walked back to where Ukulele was, she was pushed against a wall all by herself. No one else was around.... it was like they left her over there because she was the red-headed-step-child.

We walked over to her, and I lightly laid my hand on her thickly-swaddled body (she obviously would not feel it, but at least I could lightly touch her body.)

And get this, Kratchet says... get ready....

"Don't touch her."

WTF????

Yes, she said that to me. GatorMan did not hear it, thankfully. I just stared at her. In complete disbelief, I just stared. Nurse Kratchet is getting a special shout-out in my board letter. How DARE this woman try to forbid me to see my child, and then tell me not to touch her. Bitch.

Other Hospital Personnel
One of my favorite nurses told me what had happened during a brief period of time we were not there. Another worker in the hospital, apparently a secretary-of-sorts, came up to see Ukulele. Thankfully the nursery Ukulele was in was restricted to certain personnel. So Secretary comes up and requests admittance. Favorite Nurse asks why. Secretary says "Because I am friends with the birthmother, and I would like to see the baby." Favorite Nurse says "You are not allowed in unless you are with the adoptive parents." Secretary states "But I work here." Favorite Nurse says "Too bad." Favorite Nurse has reported Secretary. Yay Favorite Nurse. Here's the kicker. Attorney knows Secretary, and said Secretary goes to Our Church. Can you only imagine what would have happened if she was allowed in and saw us sitting with Juno's child? So much for a closed-adoption. This is one of the very few things the hospital actually got right.

------------

There are two things that have really bothered us. One is the fact that the hospital did not respect our guardianship status. Thankfully, nothing medical-related happened so that we would be forced to exercise it. The second, however, that made us most angry is how our choice of pediatrician was handled. If there was a medical emergency, our doctor would not have been the one to see her. Oh, and our follow-up discharge appointment? Had to be done with the on-call doctor that was assigned to her. I took Ukulele to her office. I will NEVER go back. When I got there, I requested to be put in a separate room from the rest of the waiting area. There were sick kids everywhere, and their parent was letting them run around while they ate their Wendy's/McDonald's/Wherever lunch. Yes, the parents were eating lunch in the waiting room. More than one parent. It was appalling on a number of levels. I don't want to sound all high-and-mighty, but I am not exposing my preemie to a room full of sick kids who are parented by people who find it appropriate to eat in a doctor's waiting room. Maybe it's just me.

Anyway, that's the story. Sorry it's so long, but I did not want to drag it out.... just wanted to get it over with.

Tomorrow's topic: My Thoughts on a *Sick* Baby

Ukulele, Part III

. . . . .

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

The nurse came to the washroom door and opened it for us. GatorMan and I walked through, and she instructed us to wash our hands every time we entered and exited. She said when we were finished we could come down the hall and she would take us to our daughter.

As soon as she walked out of the room, I put my arms on the washbasin, my head in my arms, and I sobbed. I sobbed and sobbed like I never had before. GatorMan rubbed my back and told me to get it together so we could go in. We washed up and walked in. As we walked around the corner, the nurse was standing there and took us to the most beautiful baby I had ever seen.

And I cried.

This would be the start of days and days of tears. But not tears of anger and frustration that I was so used to from infertility and jealousy, but tears of the greatest joy I had ever felt. The joy I felt meeting GatorMan and then marrying him was absolutely fantastic, similar to meeting Ukulele. But meeting Ukulele was a somewhat different joy - the joy of a mother - and one I cannot compare to anything else.

The nurse came over and put the oh-so-priceless bracelet on my wrist. The bracelet that granted us access to our child 24-hours a day.

The rest of that night is a complete blur. Two things stick out, however. One, that I was the first one that got to feed her. Having her in my arms, lying against my chest, and relying on me to take her hunger away.

Second, not such a pleasant memory. We asked what her birth measurements were, and the nurse kind of paused, and then said she could not tell us. We were sitting there holding our child, but were not able to know how much she weighed. The irony was miraculous. The nurse explained that until the elusive social worker reviewed our information, we could not be told the medical information on Ukulele. This was quite disconcerting on a quite a few levels, one of which included the fact that we were the legal guardians of her at her birth. If there had been a medical emergency, we were supposed to be the ones to make the decision. However, do you really think they would have consulted with us being that they would not even tell us how much she weighed?

There were so many things that happened with this particular hospital and its bureaucracy which made it clear that adoptions were not their concern, nor their priority. There are two major hospitals in the town where we live, and the other one is the "good" one.

I'll try to sum up tomorrow what happened with everything else. There is just so much to write about - all of the joy we experienced, and a lot of the frustration as well. Something that should have been so absolutely beautiful kept getting overshadowed by the incompetents of the hospital. Try as we may to remember only the good things, we keep realizing every day things that should have happened (pediatrician assignment, birth pictures, hearing test, shots) did not happen as they should have because of our circumstances. The hospital made us feel no less than the red-headed-step-child. Complaints have already been filed against the hospital administration (by our attorney), and against the social worker on call the night Ukulele was born (by the full-time social worker who came in the next day). GatorMan and I are also writing our complaint to the Board of Directors for the hospital to give our firsthand account on how things need to change.

In the end, this red-headed-step-child got the best gift of all - the perfect baby. Hopefully our experience will make the road a little easier for those who travel it after us.

And one more thing.... we are not-so-patiently waiting for December 30. That is the day the revocation period expires.

Ukulele, Part II

. . . . .

"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......

Ukulele, Part I

I stated a couple of days ago that I would let you all know what happened with the hospital, administrators, etc, regarding Ukulele and our status as adoptive parents. I decided to tell the story in parts instead of spewing it all out at once.

So, here we go:

On December 16, our attorney calls and says that we need to go over to her house that night to fill out some paperwork. When we get there, she states

"We really just brought you over here to ask you what you wanted for Christmas."

I responded, "A baby."

She says, "Okay."

I know our jaws had to have dropped to the floor. If you have been following our story, you know that Ukulele was not due until the middle of January.

Attorney tells us that Juno's doctor appointment revealed that she was borderline preeclampsia (I misheard her that night and thought she said Juno was preeclamptic... hence the post to that effect. After the last week, I have gotten verification on a number of things!). Attorney said Juno's doctor may be admitting her to the hospital after he gets the results from her blood tests.

We fill out some of the paperwork that night, and go over birthplans, etc. We left that night incredibly excited, but painfully aware that we were not prepared - even though we thought we were.

The next day, our Attorney sends a text message after Juno's appointment indicating that the doctor was admitting Juno to the hospital because of her protein levels. They wanted to be able to keep an eye on her. The message also said "no action tonight" meaning that nothing would be occurring. After work GatorMan and I head to Wally World to get necessities so we can do a thorough job cleaning the house prior to Ukulele's arrival - whenever that would be.

As we were walking in to the store, my phone rings. It's the Attorney. She says "Get to the hospital now. She's delivering in 45 minutes!"

To be continued tomorrow.....

Christmas Wish of Nephews

Sister and I debated whether or not to tell my nephews about Ukulele until the 10 day revocation period had passed. They are 7 and 9, and we wondered if they would understand the whole process.

Well, my sister gave it a shot on Thursday. She started the conversation by asking them if they knew what adoption meant. My 7-year-old nephew raised his hand (such the student!) and said what he thought. The 9-year-old added his information. They were correct in the sense of what they have been exposed to. They both have friends who were adopted.

So Sister explains to them that I am at the hospital. That caused a little shock... until she explained the difference of "in the hopsital" versus "at the hospital." Then she explained our situation with Juno (in terms they would understand). Both of them were extremely excited about Ukulele and could not wait to meet her.

And then.... (this is where my eyes start stinging with tears).... they announce that this year they want to ask Santa for something special:

They are asking Santa to let me keep my baby.

Children are amazing.