I had such a strong need to get the story about the emergency out of my system that I skipped a whole night!
Back to night 1 in Paediatrics (night 2 of Rumi’s life - not counting the one he was born on because…well.)
The night started wistfully. We had learnt that Lohit could stay back with me and we could both be right next to Rumi. On a high, we chatted with our nurse and tried to make friends with whoever came in. But the night took a nosedive when the lack of sleep and our total ignorance caught up to us.
Rumi would not go down for more than a few minutes at a time. The moment we put him in the bassinet he would start crying again. Breastfeeding was tough and I couldn’t figure out if I was doing it right. Most nurses were still pushing us to top feed him since the milk had probably not come in. It was all hit-and-trial.
I learnt that feeding the baby can be stressful. Yet the body needs to be calm and relaxed for the milk to actually come in. What a great contradiction.
At some point, I lost it and broke down into tears again. (Yes, crying was a total constant in all those days.) As I finally calmed down and sat with Rumi to feed, the nurse shift changed. And a new nurse (an Indian) came into the room. I must have imagined it, but her face seemed like it was full of disdain.
I was struggling with feeding Rumi. Instead of offering some comfort or leaving me alone, she decided to remind me that I needed to wear a mask. Did she mean for it to be rude? Or was it my emotions getting the best of me again? I did mask up and also cried a little bit as she walked away.
A few minutes later she walked back in. She picked up the chart next to Rumi’s crib. And then she asked me why we hadn’t filled out his weight, diaper status, feeding schedule? Caught off-guard, I told her that the previous nurses had been doing it and no one asked us to do it. She told us that we were responsible for the baby and not the nurses.
At this point I wanted her out of our space. I said okay and went back to feeding Rumi.
Lohit was taking a nap through this exchange. When he woke up, Rumi was asleep. I asked him to swaddle Rumi and put him back in the crib. He said we should call the nurse to help. I told him I didn’t want her anywhere near Rumi.
In a moment like that there are many random things at play. My own insecurity after feeling like she had looked down upon me. My need to protect Rumi from someone that didn’t seem to care. Lohit’s bewilderment at my random emotional outburst (he had no context and I was too overwhelmed to offer any). His need to learn and do right by Rumi.
He chose to call her back despite my protest. She walked in and told us that swaddling was bad for the baby and we had it all wrong.
I still haven’t understood why they don't have standardised protocols and opinions in the same institution?
Each healthcare worker that walked into the room gave us their own version. Welcome to parenting, you idiots! Go figure - there is no instruction manual.
She spoke to Lohit. As per usual, I held Rumi and cried. I was so out of it that I couldn’t have a debate or listen to her any longer. My anger only spewed out from my eyes.
She left. Lohit tried to ask me what was troubling me. I said I couldn’t talk. A moment later the nurse came back. She put her hand on my arm and tried to tell me about the baby blues and postpartum depression (PPD).
I looked her straight in the face and told her I knew everything there was to know. I needed none of her advice and that she needed to leave me alone. She was a bit taken aback but then went on to say how she went through PPD herself. I told her I needed her to be gone. She left.
In sharp contrast, a few hours later our first nurse came back. I made it a point to tell her that she is amazing. That she had no idea how supportive and encouraging she was and she must always stay the same.
Turns out I had caught her at the right (wrong) time. She broke down and shared with me how she was very new. Her education had taught her empathy, compassion, parent’s first. Most of her co-workers were old school and believed that they knew best. She told me she would never forget what we said to her and it would help her get through tough days.
Up-down-up-down-up-crash. That was motherhood for me so far. Yet, I was in love with it. Rumi was beautiful. But even more than that, I was awe-struck by all the chemicals and changes happening inside my body. Nothing I had read or heard came close to describing the actual experience.
My body was metamorphosing in front of my own eyes and all I could do was watch in wonder.
Next morning, (when I woke up with swollen feet), I finally explained to Lohit what had happened to his otherwise sane wife. He understood. Then he said that I was alienating the nurses by throwing my emotions their way and we needed them to take care of Rumi. While I was still angry, I was rational enough to understand.
Skip to the evening. I sat there feeding Rumi (yes, that is pretty much all I did in the first few weeks), and Lohit told me I had forgotten to sanitise. Guess who walked back into our room? Indian nurse from night one!
But this time I was ready. I immediately put aside everything going on in my head and said sorry to her. Told her I was a mess that day and I didn’t mean to be so dismissive of her. I also told her that she deserved better. (Did I mean everything I said? Yes, funnily enough, I did.) While I still think she could have been better, I also knew that I had provoked her to be more vicious than she had intended. We all rub off our energies on each other. And I had ignored, even rubbished, her repair attempts.
This led to a complete 360-degree reversal of attitude. I found a friend in her. She noticed my feet were swollen. Brought me a tub with ice water. Asked me to submerge my feet. Asked me if I needed anything to feel more comfortable. Even brought in extra blankets and helped take care of the baby. She even showed me where I could finally take a shower and get off all the grime of childbirth from my worn out body. (More on that here).
It was as if she were a different person. She helped me understand that feeding is challenging. That just because it wasn’t working didn’t mean it wouldn’t.
She sat with us for over four hours and brainstormed if we could do something different to feed Rumi. Did we actually need to top feed him or should we allow him his cluster-feeds? She shared her own experience. She recognised that Lohit and I were on opposite ends. Lohit wanted to give the baby formula and make sure he wasn’t hungry. I wanted to keep breastfeeding and deal with the baby crying instead of feeding him formula. She navigated this tricky territory like a pro. She spoke to both of us tenderly and allowed us our space to feel understood. By the end of the night and in time for her shift change, we both felt like we wanted her to stay.
What did this teach me? In that moment, it left me flabbergasted. How did a simple sorry and a few kind words turn the tables so dramatically? In retrospect, it reinforced a central belief that I have always lived by. We can always look within and find a less judging, more accepting person inside. And if we do, we bring out a better version even in those around us.
Simple things are often the hardest.
You are so good with remembering each n every moment,describing it n then taking a lesson from all those situations !!
Your writings are so gripping n some times get goose bumps reading it. Bless you brave girl 💖
On the night I gave birth, there was one nurse (Nurse Joy) who made all the difference. She was the angel I needed when the going got really really tough. I deeply understand what you mean when you just want one / anyone to have empathy and kindness for you during and after birth. That's the core responsibility of nurses working in recovery / labour / delivery. Those who get it truly stand out and it is sad that there's no protocol. Shouldn't be the luck of the draw. I have said this a million times and I'll say it again, you're helping me find closure through your writing. Thank you and can't wait to read more. Hope this is healing you as much as it is making me realise I'm not alone.