Emergency Care
What a wonderful end to a near-perfect Sunday. A baby needs my help. There is no question about it, I want to be there to help him. A perfect little boy, healthy and strong, now subject to needles, tests, strange noises, strange people, and strange smells and he must face all this on his own, and he is only one month old. I can see he has been loved and cared for by his primary caregiver, in this case, his mother, but now he is alone, helpless against the big unfriendly world.
I go into mother mode, fiercely protective, fiercely loving, like a supernatural supermom overtakes me and I can conquer all forces for this little guy. The tug of heart to heart connect, reassuring him that all will be well, sweet whispers in little ears, glorious prayers prayed, warfare warred.
One bottle was left in the bag his mother sent, what formula was used? The hospital supplies a night’s supply, not more. Baby makes up for the traumatic day and eats a bit more than he was meant to. I know his hunger is stirring, it’s 5 am. How many times do I ask, implore them for more? At 6 am I give him the dregs of the last 2 feeds mixed in desperation. Out of fear of not having his next feed in time I organize my own…only to be chastised ‘you are not allowed to organize your baby food’……four and a half hours later and I am still waiting for the hospital to bring his breakfast. I am overwhelmed with sadness, if I had not been there to fight for his rights, who would of?
Why put my healthy baby in a ward with children who have gastro and other contagious diseases. Prayers of protection raised.
Why must I beg, remind you what feels like a thousand times to organize formula, to bring the cream the doctor prescribed for his nappy rash? Not one smile or welcome was initiated. All night you chat on top of your voices while exhausted grannies and moms try to sleep upright. Waking intermittently to do your job of caring, making littlies comfortable, feeding them
Doing the vitals was definitely your favourite thing, clip a clip on my finger and that is that. “I am not sick’ says my little man. You disturb my sleep and mom must start all over again to settle me.
‘You are worth it all little man, worth the chair “lack of” sleep, backache, neck cramp, begging for help, and being your defense. The challenging tea and coffee, the odd breakfast, bullying nurses, stupid rules. Having you in my arms for one night made it worth it.
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