Angry Baby

My water broke. It broke with such little fanfare that I barely noticed. There was just a little spotting and no pain. I called the hospital and was told to get there right away. I felt no urgency. I called my Mom, then hopped (actually, waddle-flopped) into my car, and off I went, driving myself to the hospital. On the way, I saw the store where I normally bought my nursing shoes and I just had to stop in for a new, comfy pair. (No, I am not a nurse. I just like comfortable shoes.) The clerk asked, “When are you due?” “I’m in labor right now,” I said. She turned a bit pale, hurriedly fumbled my purchase into a bag, and then marched me to the door. Upon seeing no one waiting for me outside, she offered to call an ambulance. “No thanks,” I said. I got back into the car and continued on my way. I calmly waddled into the emergency room with my little overnight case, and was immediately wheeled to obstetrics.

Upon learning that I was in labor, my father came to the hospital and stayed with me during the entire experience. I was given Pitocin because I was in labor without contractions and I did not dilate much. That stuff produces contractions that feel like the hand of God reaching into your abdomen to pull out all of your organs. I couldn't help feeling that there was something terribly wrong with going into a hospital feeling great, only to have them make me feel terrible. On purpose. My dad told me early on that I would have to have a C Section. When I asked him why, he said that my labor was just like my Mom’s. After 32 hours, I finally had a C Section. I didn’t see my son for three days, as he was in NICU due to the long delivery, and I was in no shape to even hold him. The nurses would not let me go see my son. Everyone had seen him but me. When I was finally able to sneakily limp over to the elevator and make my way to my son’s floor, a nurse took pity on me and let me in to see him. He was such a beautiful boy and I marveled at the tiny, perfect little person that I had delivered. The first time I accompanied my father to the nursery, I saw his eyes light up as he viewed my son. I had never seen his eyes light up about anything before. He never expressed much emotion and he was not a very demonstrative person. The joy on his face and in his eyes delighted me to no end. My son didn’t even have a name yet, because I thought he would be a girl. I called him, “Little man.”

My father came to see us every day. My Mom only stopped by for a few minutes one day, possibly because she knew that my father was basically camped out there. They were divorced. I never asked her why she stayed away. We had been close friends and I didn’t want to approach anything that might have been hurtful at the time.

I was so depleted that I was in the hospital for a week-and-a half. After my son was moved to the nursery on my floor, the nurses started mildly complaining that he cried so vehemently that he woke all of the other babies up at erratic times and they all started to cry. No halcyon days for him. I told the nurses to bring him to me when he started to howl.

There is no sound on Earth more grating and annoying than the strident, ear-splitting screams of an angry baby with giant lungs. It inspires panic. I think God made that sound for babies to alert everyone in any town or encampment, or even those in the far-flung vast wilderness of the planet, that baby is either hungry or unhappy about something and someone had better hurry up and fix it immediately.

The nurses started bringing him to me at all kinds of erratic times, howling like a banshee being tortured to death with fat, fiery-hot needles. I tried breast feeding, but the flow wasn’t quick enough, compared to the bottle he was used to. More howling ensued until I just gave him a bottle. The only time he was awake and quiet was when he was feeding. After several of those attempts over a two-day period, I told the nurses not to bring him anymore, except at regular feeding times with the rest of the babies. I felt that I was ruining the peaceful, happy time all of the other mothers were having with their babies.

I went out to view him in the nursery as many times as I could, observing him in peaceful moments (asleep) – looking like an angel. Shh... Please, oh please, do not wake baby.