An Adoptive Mother’s First Time in the Delivery Room - Part 3

Make sure to read Part 1 and Part 2 first.

Day two in the NICU. Our first grandbaby is tended to by nurses every three hours. Otherwise, he sits in a room by himself with cameras pointed at him. I’m in the hospital next door, tending to my daughter’s needs. She is still weak from her C-section and post-partum hemorrhage.

While my little girl sleeps, I message friends and family. Our grandson needs prayer. He is hooked up to a machine that monitors seizure activity. His seizures need to stop in order for him to go home.

Loved ones encourage me with their kind words. I know this little boy is going to be okay, but we don’t know how long it will take for him to recover. We also don’t know if there will be any future developmental delays after his episodes.

My daughter stirs in the hospital bed. The medication she is on makes her groggy, but she manages to make it to the restroom with little assistance. Breakfast arrives and I am grateful for the extra bacon and eggs on the side. She enjoys some biscuits and gravy.

Nurses come in and out. Her abdomen is healing great. Everyone seems impressed by the cleanliness of the incision. Finally, it’s time for her to muster the strength to go see her baby. The nurse wheels her over the bridge and I am left in the room to think about all that’s happened.

I’m 37. If you’d told me I would be a grandmother by this age fifteen years ago, I would not have believed it. I was on the eve of getting married 15 years ago!

But God has a way of changing our plans.

When I was nineteen, I told my future husband I didn’t want to have kids. I didn’t believe this world was a good place. Why make more people suffer? My painful childhood was evidence enough for me that I didn’t want anyone else to experience such challenges.

Fast forward, at 25 the Lord moved on my heart and showed us we didn’t have to bring kids into this world to suffer. There were already lots of kids here who needed loving parents to point them in the right direction. A year later, we brought home an older sibling group from foster care.

Talk about pain. Childbirth is painful, no doubt, but it lasts for a moment and then most people have their baby to hold on to and love. The pain is eventually forgotten, and happy memories are made.

This isn’t the way it works with adoption. Adoption starts with loss. One of the worst losses a person can experience. Whether a mother willingly gives up her child so he or she can have a brighter future, or, the child is forcefully taken away from abusive parents, an intimate loss occurs. The child is left to navigate questions like, “Why did my mom give me up?” and “Am I loveable?”

There is research that shows the younger a child is received into a new home, the greater the chance that they will recover positively from this deep loss. While the older a child is, the more baggage they bring with them, and the more challenges they will face. This is our story.

God didn’t call us to bring home babies. He called us to jump into the fire and trust Him to take care of the details. So many details!

It took ten years to raise our trio into adulthood, but it took twenty years of life out of us. It’s said you grow up with your child. We grew up super-speed to handle the advanced needs of our older children. In the moment, it was overwhelming much of the time. But looking back, I would not change my story.

We each have a calling. A purpose. Something to do that no one else can do like us.

Day 3 in the NICU. The head nursing administrator comes to apologize for the hospital’s 90% performance on the day of our daughter’s delivery. She was referring to the difficult experience we had when the doctors switched shifts Friday night. The loud arguing between medical professionals early Saturday morning had disturbed all of us. Fortunately, life-saving measures were carried out successfully despite the confusion.

Day 4. Our daughter is about to be discharged and move over to the Children’s hospital so she can be with her baby full-time. I pack up the last of my belongings. My husband will arrive any moment.

“Are you going to be okay?” I look at my daughter for confirmation.

She gives a brave nod. She is ready to leave this room. She is ready to take her baby home, but that could still be a few more days away. He needs to meet their seizure-free and feeding requirements. Right now, he is on a feeding tube, so she must pump to keep her milk supply.

My husband arrives and gives me a kiss. We load our arms with belongings and exit. Later this afternoon we will return with groceries and take our daughter to coffee – her first time out of the hospital in six days.

Day 7. Why are they keeping our grandson? His weight is increasing. He’s been seizure-free for five days. The doctor’s information doesn’t make sense to the young parents, and we are on the sidelines. No one is allowed in except the two guardians, one of which works full-time in a city 50 miles away.

I encourage my daughter to advocate for her son’s mental and emotional health. Skin-to-skin contact is critical in these early days. She finally gets to hold him and try nursing.

Day 10 in the NICU. More scans are done. Results are looking great, but doctors still don’t seem to trust the parents to take care of their child. Our daughter takes it upon herself to never miss a feeding. She is confined to her room, waiting for each and every opportunity to prove she can feed her child.

Day 11. My daughter calls me and says they might release our grandson tomorrow. I finally get to hear directly from the doctor. I assure her we are available as a support for our daughter and grandson.

My husband and I work on prepping the house for their arrival. He is taking the next few days off to lay the floor in our main living area and kitchen. Then we hope to install the cabinets and sink. The transition would be so much easier it we had a finished kitchen. No more dish washing in the bathroom.

Twelve days have passed since I was separated from my grandson. I’m the only one besides the parents that has met him. We scramble to lay the flooring, still unsure if this will be the day he comes home. Nervous energy fills the air as we have never lived with a baby before, at least not one that was actually baby size. (Our youngest came to us at eight years with the emotional needs of an infant.)

Our daughter calls. They are on their way. We have one hour to get this project done so the front door will open. I adjust my knee pads and get back to work smoothing out the vinyl wood grain surface. It looks amazing and I know it will feel good for our daughter to walk into her home again after two weeks sleeping in three different cold and sterile hospitals.

I hear noise outside. I carefully press the flooring material against the adhesive tape right in front of the door. It is finished. I slowly stand up, knees and back both cracking. I open the door and put up a finger signaling, one moment please. After laying down an entry carpet, our grandson is brought in by his proud parents. His dad carefully sets him on the brand-new floor in his car seat, an oxygen tank in a backpack is set beside him.

I am in love. No mama could be prouder. I have a beautiful daughter with an amazing husband and they’ve given me a grandbaby to hold and cherish.

We learn that more oxygen tanks will be arriving soon. Our ginormous refrigerator is blocking access to the bedroom. Our daughter, having quickly lost her tummy bump, is able to squeeze by and grab her husband’s vest for work. After he departs, the three of us try to use 2x4’s to seesaw the fridge over the remaining roll of vinyl that still needs to be laid in the hall way. Our grandson is content sleeping in his seat in the empty living room.

Never a dull moment, we finally set the fridge in its resting place just as the oxygen guy arrives. He loves our new floors. We are motivated to keep going, tired as we are. This job must be finished and the story must go on.

I’m 37. I know what it is to receive a new child into our home, and I know what it’s like to lose a child I desperately love. I know that loving someone who doesn’t love you back is exceptionally hard, but it doesn’t mean it isn’t worth it. God sent us to love those around us, and love to the fullest I will certainly do.

The future is bright. I have a hope that no one is beyond reach. Jesus is right beside my kids, wherever they each may be. And as my new grandson’s name reminds me each day, God is my help. I will trust in Him.