Chapter 16

Torn, I did not know where to direct my attention. Naomi had not yet settled down, and Pam was surrounded by assistance, still in a drugged state. I thought it best to stay where I was, though in both positions I felt utterly helpless. No matter how hard I tried, I could not comfort Naomi and I could not help Pam. As the nurse finished with her post-delivery exam of Naomi, I stepped in to swaddle her tight. Content at last, her crying ceased and the room began to calm. Kimberly gathered the excess supplies as assistance cleared the blood-soaked rags, and I brought Naomi over to the bedside. 

Placing her in Pam’s arms I felt a tinge of jealousy as my fingers released grip. I wished at that moment that I could have held onto her forever. After just a short time in Pam’s embrace, Naomi began to wiggle and root. Pam was still a bit loopy, so I offered some advice. “I think she might be hungry.” 

Exiting the room, I returned with a bottle. Pam held out her hand and one of my anticipated fears was realized; she would be feeding Naomi her first bottle. Swallowing hard, I handed over the formula, trying to comfort myself in the fact that at least she was not breastfeeding. But as I watched Naomi suck down the nutrients, I could not help but wish it were me providing it. I had to remind myself to be still, that it was a privilege just to be here.

Half way through the bottle, I offered to burp Naomi. Still groggy, Pam gladly accepted and handed her over. I placed her on my knee, hand cupped under her chin, body supported as I gently bounced my knee and rubbed her back. I could not help but take note of the critical stares. The nurse kept in close proximity, a watchful eye on the whole process. Cute bubbles gathered on Naomi’s lip and I lifted her up so Pam could see. 

Quick as a wink, the “expert” dove in, whisking Naomi out of my hands and onto the examining table. “She probably can’t breathe!” she said in a huff, attaching a blood-oxygen-saturation monitor to her little finger in order to better assess the situation. Blood oxygen saturation – 100%. “Well it is better to be safe than sorry,” and with that proclamation she quietly left the room, Naomi’s arms still flailing as she lay on the hard surface. 

As I gathered her from the cold examining table I could not help but feel violated. Although well-meaning, that nurse had passed judgment. I was an “adoptive mom” who obviously had no idea how to properly burp a baby, and it was up to her to point out the folly of my ways, intervening when necessary. Never mind the fact that this was my fourth child, my second new-born experience. Somehow I was unsuited to be a mother. I tried to gather myself, emotionally scarred. 

Did she not know what a delicate situation this was, to have placed any bit of doubt in Pam’s mind about my ability to properly care for Naomi? Fortunately, Pam did not even remember, but I was devastated none-the-less. From that moment on (for the next few months) I feared that Naomi would stop breathing, and die of SIDs. I found it difficult to sleep.