I don't want to post about this.

The day after Sprog was born, a social worker visited me in the recovery room. She was sunny and down-to-earth. She talked about epsom salts and sitz baths, and the warning signs of post-partum depression. I nodded and grinned and said pleasant things and thanked her for her time.

I'd been tempted to tell her, "Oh, don't worry-- I have a team set up to help me watch out for PPD." I didn't, because I was sure she knew that already. I was sure that information was in my medical records, since my nurses, who were bringing my meds, among other things, certainly knew about it. Plus my doctors came to visit me in my shared room, and meet my baby.

And, in an interesting confluence, my OBGYN was also the doctor to two (not one-- two!) of the doctors on my psych team. One of my doctors actually gave birth just two days before me. My nurses chatted with me about it, and laughed at the cute turn of events.

Anyway, it never occurred to me that this social worker wouldn't have access to my history. And she had rounds to make. I thanked her, and she left.

The next morning, my OBGYN met with me, and asked me how I was feeling. Well, physically I was spent, and sore. Apparently giving birth really takes it out of you. Who knew?

But I was happy. No. Happy's the wrong word-- I felt radiant. In love.

What I was feeling was nothing I'd felt before. But, since my diagnosis requires this sort of caveat-- I didn't feel ecstatic. I felt grounded, but full of joy.

"I'm sore. But I feel good."

" Good. I've signed your release forms. So you can bring your baby home today."

We talked a bit more. She answered questions, gave me some important information and some tips, and told me my kid looked cute working away on his pacifier. Then she left.

I called J. "Bring the carseat when you come today, sweetie!"

"We're going home?"

"Our family is coming home! For the first time!"

Cheers and I love yous and then he hung up to get organized to come get us.

My day nurse, a queenly older woman with an island accent, sat with me and Sprog and gave me a wealth of information about sleep, feeding, skin care, post-partum care for myself and Sprog.

Breakfast came. Then J came, and spent time with the boy-o while I took an uncomfortable but still heavenly shower and got dressed in my civvies.

I came out, and sat down to eat a bit. My nurse came in, with a furrow in her brow but a casual. businesslike air.

"Your doctor signed your release papers?"

"Yes, she met me this morning and told me she'd be signing them."

"She must have forgotten."

"She didn't sign them?"

"There's been a hold-up. I'm sure it's nothing."

"Oh. Because that's funny. She said she was signing them."

"We'll figure it out. Those women yesterday, they were your doctors, right?"

"Yes-- they've been monitoring my birth and post-partum treatment."

"That pregnant woman, right?"

"Well, yes, her, and the woman with her. Actually, another one of my doctors is here on the floor somewhere."

"That's what I thought."

"Is there a problem?"

"No, no. Just a miscommunication. We'll straighten it out."

After she left, I turned to J. "Well, that sucks. Are you hungry? Do you want some of this?"

"I'm fine."

We watched our boy, and I worked on packing up. I was trying to fit a box of witch hazel pads in my big suitcase when I heard someone calling me Ms.__, in strained, formal tones.

It was the social worker from yesterday. She stopped dead halfway across the room, in front of my roommate's bed, and said, "Ms.__, I need to discuss with you this item on your medical history. Do your doctors know about this?"

"Yes, all my doctors know about this."

"I'm referring to your hospitalization, on January__, 2010!"

"Yes, my doctors know about that--"

"Yes, her doctors know about--"

"Because I don't feel it's right to send your child home until we've had a chance to investigate."

"But I'm in treatment, and I've been in remission since I left the hospital."

"I want one of our nurses to come examine your home situation."

"But I already have a team of psychiatrists who are meeting with me and the baby to help manage the transition."

"This is a serious illness."

"Yes, I'm aware of that."

"She has a focused medical team that's been working with her and her OBGYN to manage treatment."

"Would you accept one of my nurses visiting your home?"

"Well... if they have to... but I don't see why it's necessary. Believe me, this is well-covered territory."

"This isn't for your protection, ma'am. It's for his." She gestured at Sprog, sleeping in his bassinet. Then she clicked her way out of the room.

I turned to J. I was fighting back tears.

"Ohhh..."

"Oh honey, don't... This isn't a big deal... We still have him..."

"They want to come in to our home!" --in low tones, so the roommate wouldn't hear any more than she already had.

"That's okay."

"But they'll be in our home, passing judgement on everything. This is one of the things I went into treatment to prevent!"

"It'll be okay, honey. We'll get through it, together. Don't get upset. Everything will be fine."

"But the way she looked at me-- Did you see the way she--"

"She looked scared."

"That's what I'm saying! She looked scared of me."

"She looked scared she was gonna lose her job."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you saw her yesterday, and everything was fine. Today, she looked like that. I'm thinking she only just got around to looking at your file today, panicked that she'd made a mistake, and threw down the brakes to cover her ass."

"Oh."

He continued in this vein for a bit. He claimed me down as best he could. Then he left for a smoke break, and to grab us some coffee that wasn't gross.

While he was out, my nurse came back in. She had forms to sign.

"There was a mix-up. But we're straightening it out. I think your doctor forgot to make a note in the chart. If she'd made a note in the chart, they'd know your situation. But here, just sign this, showing that I talked with you this morning."

I looked, and saw she was a social worker too.

I remembered her giving the sprog a sponge-bath at the end of her shift the night before. She smiled down at his waving arms, then looked at me and said, "He's got a good nature. You can tell. He takes after his mother. He has your kind nature."

I think she was working for me, somewhere behind the scenes. She was rooting for me.

The scared look in the social worker's eyes-- it scarred me. I was on the joyful and terrifying cusp of bringing my child home for the first time, eager to start my new life but deathly afraid of everything I could do wrong. She found me in that moment and treated me like a menace. She told me my child needed to be protected from me.

I don't know if I'll ever shed how she made me feel.

But my nurse gave me a gift that more than counterbalances that. She said, "When you go home, you will feel sad. You will want to cry. It's natural. It's natural. But don't let it get the better of you. Whenever you feel like that, just look at your beautiful boy and think: How have I been blessed."


It works.

Comments

[Kathi]

You are blessed. You have a beautiful boy and a wonderful, caring husband. You have the best support group ever! And, what a wonderful, kind and caring nurse. I wish I would have had nurses like that when I had my babies.

[roo]

My nurse really was remarkable. I think I might have been sunk without her.

Thank you for your kind comment, Kathi.

[tracey]

Okay. I totally teared up at what the nurse said to you. "He has your kind nature."

Ah, sometimes we entertain angels unawares ....

You needed that after the social worker.

Bless that nurse. An angel who knew just what to say. And, damn, that Sprog is cute.

[mayberry]

I'm so sorry that happened - so unfair. I'm glad the nurse took some of the sting away. And he IS a beautiful blessing!

[Dawn]

I am sorry that this happened, but more than that, I am glad that you had J to Sprog to sustain you after the fact.

And a nurse who had enough life experience to know that a diagnosis isn't a sentence.