Chapter 18

Pam’s friends and family were excited about meeting Naomi and offering emotional support. They stopped by intermittently over the three days of our hospital stay. It seemed to always happen just after I fed Naomi and got her settled, ready to catch a bit of sleep myself. But I excused myself, respecting Pam’s privacy and supporting her desire to parade Naomi in front of the masses. She was adorable and, if I had the option, I probably would have done the same thing.

I do not remember much of the time I spent in the small cafeteria, my sleepy head bobbing above the stale cup of coffee — I didn’t even mind the grounds floating on top, happily sucking them down with the warm liquid. I remember putting my arm on the table and nestling my head into the crux of it, thinking to myself how comfortable it was. I remember telling myself to stay awake in between the involuntary shut-eye so that I would not be gone from the room too long — I had to be present. My support was helpful, necessary, and I did not want Pam to get the idea that they would be alright without me.

I was in a very vulnerable position, both physically and emotionally. I was constantly wrestling with my own thoughts, my own selfish desires, exhausted and not able to process things clearly. I loved Naomi with the very core of my being, in such a short span of time, but I loved Pam also. I wondered if it was even possible for those two loves, my desires to coincide. 

The situation Pam was in was not ideal for a baby, and the best place for Naomi to be was in our home, under our care. I knew this, and wanted this for her, for us. Palpable feelings of hope intermingled with fear and impending loss; it was not my decision to be made. At the end of this road, someone was going to have to wade through the overwhelming grief. It was something that could not be controlled or avoided.

I kept watching for signs. Pam should have been wearing her sports bra to keep the milk from coming in, but she was not, and I was not going to be the one to tell her. Naomi needs to be fed, “Can I feed her this time?” Pam was awake and wanted to get involved. Bad sign. Meanwhile I was the camera woman, catching these moments, hoping they would be mine to share with Naomi. I also left my camera for her visits so that she could cherish and remember the moments, hoping it did not impress upon her an inkling to not follow through with the adoption plan. 

It was very difficult to remove myself emotionally from these situations. I had feelings of ownership and a drive to be territorial, to be the one carrying for and protecting Naomi. I did not know how to handle my “mothering” desire amidst the reality of the given situation; I was an outsider who had no rights, no say. I had to juggle both of my very real positions, and it was emotionally taxing, to say the least. 

Meanwhile, I felt that Pam was enjoying the starlight of the post-birth experience. She was sleeping whenever she felt like it, through mid-night feedings and lazy-day hours. She was awake and alert for visits, proudly showing Naomi off to both family and friends. Showers, t.v. watching, and bathroom visits were unabated in the full-bed comfort of the hospital room. All the while, I was exhausted, trying to make do with my sub-par conditions – a filthy existence bred in a portable, plastic nursery container and sorry-excuse-for-a-bed, also known as my beloved camping chair. 

The emotions ebbed and flowed. I would do it all again in a heartbeat, to have the honor of being a part of my daughter’s life from the very beginning. But it is from the depth of a mother’s love for her child that these sentiments ring. Any self-respecting, self-preserving person would flee from such painful convictions. 

The nurses kept telling me that I could leave with Naomi. (I think they could see how the experience was exhausting me.) I thanked them kindly, and then told them of Pam’s wishes: she wanted us all to leave the hospital together. We stayed three nights total in that hospital, per Pam’s request. I think she was just not yet ready to say goodbye.