5. For Unto You, a Child is Born

The Call and Meeting Addie

Dear Readers,

Hope you’ve had a good two weeks. I’ve been working on the structure of the book, but received some feedback that the backstory is important, so I’m continuing with it. Thank you Mary for the feedback. I’m not good expressing my feelings, but I’ll try (because I think you are right, lol).

We were pulling into the hospital drive, a long tree lined street, into the medical city unto itself, to see baby Adeline, and we froze after we answered Ned’s phone by pressing a button on the dashboard. We heard the voice booming over the Hummer’s hands free phone car system, “This is Children’s Protective Services”. It resonated (six months after Ned’s heart attack) and for a moment, neither of us responded. My husband pulled over before even finding a space, to give his full attention to the caller. I asked them to wait a second. We hadn’t even parked the car yet after the trip from the smaller community hospital our daughter had fled.

“Ummm…your daughter has shown a lapse in judgement, and ummm…should her boyfriend have to work, would you be willing to be “on call” for the purpose of caring for your grandchildren?” I stifled an urge to laugh at the “at work” part, and replied for us, “Of course!” The caller was talking low to someone in the background and a new voice came over the phone, “Your son-in-law…”, Ned winced. He had no love for Andrew and his daughter wasn’t married to him, “has also shown a lack in judgement. Would you be willing to babysit, if needed, if your daughter also has to work?” Now they had our complete attention. I was no longer stifling laughs. We both moved in our seats uncomfortably as if we knew what was coming next but couldn’t believe it. “Actually, since they both have shown a lack in judgement, would you be willing to take your grandchildren for a month to care for them while their parents get some help, at your place or their home?” “Yes” Ned said. Muttering in the background could be heard about their home not passing something. “Actually-their home isn’t in the best condition so are you willing to do the care in your home for a month?” We looked at each other, and didn’t miss a breath as we both answered this time, “Yes!” I heard someone say in the background, “They want them,” with some relief.

We found a spot and parked. We navigated the maze of the huge hospital, world renowned for their care of children, to the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit (NICU). After donning yellow gowns, puffy paper hats, and washing our hands, we were led into a “pod”, five rooms connected by a nurse’s station with each housing a single incubator. Most had a ventilator wheezing and tubing running in and out. There were over forty rooms in groupings of five. In ours were several IV poles with bags marked “Morphine” and “Fentanyl”, heavy duty narcotics. Here in the beeping and wisping of the machines, nestled in the heated aquarium, lay a tiny person who had yet to take her first breath. Electrodes were attached to her small head trying to pick up brain waves. “It’s okay if you want to put your hand in but don’t touch her head, or over stimulate her. She’s hypersensitive to touch so try to keep to her feet or hands.” “Talk to her quietly, or just be present.”

Ned reached through a hole and held the miniature foot. “Hello there Adeline. It’s Grandpa.” I cried inside witnessing the scene, knowing this addicted baby was the proof Ned had never wanted, the evidence his daughter was doing heroin. I was saddened to see such frank reality, wondering how long she’d been without oxygen. We were later told that Adeline hadn’t breathed for seven minutes after being born and then intubated so the paramedic could “breathe” for her.

“How’s she doing?”, I asked the nurse knowing Ned needed to hear it from someone else. “Are you family?”, she asked. “Yes”, we answered. “I’ll have to check the list”, she responded, turning on her heel and walking away from us. She didn’t return. We were on “the list” or wouldn’t have been given gowns, hats and instructions. Quietly listening to the experts flitting in and out, we found out that Baby Adeline was not expected to make it through the night. She had pulmonary hypertension, blood in her lungs from the traumatic delivery, encephalitis (swollen brain), and a heart defect common in premature babies, but no one mentioned she was “addicted”. It was the most common thing to them, yet to us, it was the worst of all.

Our return home that night brought a call from my son James. He was in trouble. He hadn’t worked in a year but pretended to, and had run out of money. I told him to pack his things and I’d drive him to a rehab. I felt the weight of the world crushing down on me. Despite going to Alanon, I felt a failure as a parent. My adult child wasn’t different than Ed’s really. How could I judge anyone? On day two, Adeline sported a cooling vest, miniature to Ned’s during his recovery from his heart attack. The electrodes on her head to measure her brain waves were gone.

I questioned the Fentanyl and Morphine drips because the dose marked on the one bag seemed higher rather than lower than the day before. The nurse hesitated, asked what I did and I told her, as well that we’d be the ones taking her home, and then she explained to us both. When a baby is born addicted, there is a scale that measures how much narcotics to give them to help them wean down. If the baby tolerates a decline in medication, the process continues slowly, but if the assessment numbers get worse, and the baby “plateaus”, not tolerating the reduction, then more is given in increments, till the numbers come back up and she can have dosages reduced further again. Addie “plateaued” at least three times during her hospitalization, and we were told she suffered multiple substance abuse. Heroin wasn’t the only drug in her newly born body.

She had possible brain damage, but like Ned during the heart attack period, I never believed Adeline wouldn’t be alright. She didn’t look skeletal, and had some plumpness to her body. She looked so regular. Signs on the wall educated parents to hold addicted babies for at least two hours a day to lessen the pain of withdrawal, but I knew Jennifer wanted to be the first, so I just touched her tiny hand whispering love to her. We stayed a long while coming back every day to visit her. After a week, I gave up on Jennifer showing up to care for Addie’s pain with any regularity. We saw the visitors’ log at each visit signing in and her name was absent. When the nurse asked me if I’d like to sit in the rocker and hold my granddaughter, I said “Yes”.

We brought her clothes, and hats. Addie knew love, as we rocked her. We were there for her and already hopelessly attached.

The day after our granddaughter’s birth brought a Children’s Protective Service intake case worker, named Margie, Andy Jr., and his parents to our home to drop off the little guy…