Adopting Mom, RN

I'm a nurse.

If you know me, chances are you already know this about me.

In fact, it's safe to say if you know me at all you know three things about me:

1. Amber is my most favorite person in the world.
2. We are adopting.
3. I'm a nurse.

In that order.  And if you only sorta know me, that may be all you really know about me.  I'm constantly amused and amazed by the number of people who tell me they like reading this blog.  Amber says it's because I hardly ever talk to people, so they have no idea I have all this in me. She makes a good point.  But, it is was it is, and here we are.

But, I digress.  (If you know four things about me, the fourth may be that I digress.  A lot.)

So anyway, yes, I am a nurse.  Specifically a mother-baby nurse, or maternal-newborn nurse, if you wanna get all technical about it.

I don't deliver babies.  That's the job of midwives and obstetricians.  I don't work with laboring women or help them through delivery.  That's the job of labor and delivery nurses.

I don't breastfeed other people's babies.  That's the job of old-timey "wet nurses" (and boy howdy, did that ever make for one confusing and awkward conversation when an acquaintance thought that's what I did at work all day...).

I don't live in other people's houses and take care of their newborn in the middle of the night.  That's the job of a "baby nurse", who, for the record, is usually not an actual nurse, and should really be called a nanny or something (don't get me started on that one...).

I also don't "sit around and hold babies all day," as many people tell me they'd love to do when they first hear my job title.  That's the job of the sweet old ladies who volunteer in the nursery and neonatal intensive care units at the hospital.  Note the word "volunteer".  Nobody gets paid to "sit around and hold babies all day."

So, what do I do?  I take care of new families in the postpartum ("after birth") period.  I care for women  and babies in those 24 to 72 hours between giving birth and going home.  I do the initial assessment of the infant, draw blood, give medications, and monitor their transition from being inside mom to outside in this great big world.  I take care of women who have had vaginal deliveries and those who are recovering from cesarean sections.  I monitor their bleeding, their peeing, their vital signs, and their lab results.  I help them when they are puking, when they can't feel their legs yet, and when they are in pain.  I am always on the look out for the very rare, but potentially serious, complications that can arise after childbirth.

That's the science of what I do.  But, my favorite thing about nursing is the blend between science and caring.  I'm a girl who loves cold, hard facts.  I'm very analytical and logic is the lens through which I try to see the world.  But, attached to my very black-and-white brain is a mushy, bleeding, liberal heart.  I feel a lot for people.  I care.  I want to help people, and make a difference.  In my work and in my life, I always strive to be the boy on the beach throwing back the starfish, one by one.

So the mushy emotional part of what I do is helping new families to connect to this new little wriggly, screaming, pooping, hungry, adorable little being that just got pushed or cut out into this crazy world.  I spend days encouraging moms that haven't slept all night that they can breastfeed, and the baby will get it...eventually.  I show fumbling dads how to swaddle a baby so he'll actually sleep.  I help 2-year-old big brothers climb up in mom's bed to see their new little sister for the very first time.

It's not all sunshine and lollypops where I work, though.  Most of my patients don't have a lot of money.  Many of them come from other countries, and quite a few are here as refugees.  Some of my patients are excited about their new baby, some, though, are mostly put out and stressed out by this new addition and new complication to their already difficult lives.  A few of my patients are on drugs.  A number of my patients have some major baby daddy drama.  People often wonder if working in a hospital is like what they see on Grey's Anatomy. (It's not.) On my unit, at least, some days it's more like what you see on Jerry Springer and/or Maury Povich.

But of all the patients and all the situations I see on a daily basis, right now I have to say I feel most privileged to have the opportunity to take care of those patients who are placing their infants for adoption.  As a nurse, I feel rewarded to have the chance to help strong and brave women through a difficult time.  And as an adopting mom-to-be, I feel honored to have the opportunity to witness this process from the other side, first-hand.

Most of the women in my hospital who have made adoption plans are doing open or semi-open adoptions.  Some have made plans long before they came to the hospital, others decide in the hospital and our social worker helps them to contact an agency.  In some cases the adoptive families come to the hospital.  Some attend the birth, visit in the birth mom's room afterwards, and care for or share in the caring for their new baby. Other times the birth mother and adoptive family never meet. Either the adoption counselor picks up the baby, and takes him or her to the adoptive family, or the adoptive family comes to the hospital and visits with the baby in a special "family room" away from the birth mom's room.  Some birth moms like to keep the baby in their rooms, and want to take that special time to--as they say in adoption circles--"say hello before they say goodbye" (or, "see you later," at least).  Others want little contact, and prefer for the nurses to keep the baby in the nursery.

There are no right answers.  Just answers that feel right for individual people.  Of course I have my preferences and ideas about what feels right in our own situation.  But, as a nurse, it's my job to respect and support whatever my patient--the birth mom--wants.  And I do. Strongly, loudly, and without apology.  Yes, this is an exciting time for adoptive parents.  A time to meet their new baby, to be joyful, and to form their family.  But, ultimately, this hospital experience is the birthmother's.  It's her delivery, her body, and her recovery time.  And, if she ends up deciding to sign the relinquishment papers, the adoptive family will have the rest of their lives with this precious baby.  With that in mind, honoring her wishes and respecting what she needs--no matter what it is--in those first few days is the only right thing to do.  She's giving you the gift of a lifetime.  Give her the gift of your respect, your confidence, and your admiration.

Not all nurses (or doctors, or people in general) feel the way I do about adoption.  Most have the good sense and professionalism to keep their personal opinions out of patient care.  Some, unfortunately, do not. People can be judging, and in the arena of reproduction and childbirth, this is especially so.  Had children at a young age? Irresponsible and you should have waited.  Had children after your 35th birthday?  Selfish and you shouldn't have waited so long.  Had more than 3 or 4 kids? Irresponsible and you shouldn't have had so many.  Had an abortion? Selfish and you should have had that baby.  Placing a child for adoption? Either irresponsible for getting pregnant and/or selfish for choosing not to parent. (double whammy) Patients just can't win with some nurses, unfortunately.  And adoptive families don't fare much better.  Desperate and crazy are the monikers they are most often saddled with.

I'm a fairly quiet, laid back person.  But when something pushes me to be not quiet, oh boy, watch out.  I will speak with more vigor and bluntness than you could ever expect from such a wallflower.  It takes people aback sometimes, and I can see the surprise in their faces.  But when something matters to me, it matters a lot, and I will let you know it. That's how I feel about adoption and taking care of birth mothers at work.

I'm on a committee at work that develops policies, processes and projects to improve the quality of care on our unit.  My project last year was to develop materials and protocols for caring for patients who are placing their infants for adoption.  It's a work in progress, but so far I've collected some articles and information on appropriate adoption terminology and birthmother rights to help the nurses speak and think positively about adoption, developed a door sign to identify which patients are planning adoptions so staff entering the room will know the situation and not say anything inappropriate, and developed a "memory box" kit for birth moms to take home if they want (including the baby's hat, a crib card, and a satin pouch to keep the things in).  I'm also on a personal mission to eradicate the use of the word BUFA in my hospital. It means "baby up for adoption", and it gets stamped on charts and paperwork and crib cards.  BUFA, for godsakes.  It sounds like the noise a cat makes when it hacks up a hairball.  So, in lieu of that, we've started putting the symbol from the door sign I made in the crib and on the chart.  It's a step in the right direction, I believe.

The days and weeks are rolling by, and before we know it, Kelsey's delivery day will be here.  I think about it all the time.  Some days at work, when I'm changing a diaper or feeding a bottle to a baby whose mom is resting or in the shower, I stop and think, "Wow. Soon I'll be doing this for our child".  I look at all the babies a little differently now that we are matched.  I wonder if our baby will be have hair like this one, eyes like that one, or be the same size as that one over there.  I check out carseats and swaddling blankets a little bit closer now when I'm sending patients home, doing my own sort of on-the-job window shopping.

When Kelsey's day comes, I'll do my best to take off my nurse's cap (metaphorically speaking), and just be there as a hopeful adoptive mom. We'll give her the space she needs, the support she desires, and always allow for the fact that what she wants and needs at the hospital can change at any given moment.  We're still so thrilled that she chose us, and we're honored to be given the opportunity to play any role whatsoever in her hospital experience.

Now.  Let me catch wind that anyone in that hospital is giving her an ounce of lip or attitude or anything less than excellent care?  Well, she's a strong and independent young woman, and I'm sure she can handle it. But....just in case....I've got her back.  With my nurse's cap on.

x's & o's,

Michelle, RN