8. How to Meet Firemen Up Close and Register a Baby's Birth

Doughnuts Optional but Highly Recommended

I’ve changed my look over the years and this is not my favorite, but at the time we snapped the photo, no one ever thought it would be shared much. These are two of the three frontline heroes who delivered Addie and aided Jennifer. (The third, the ambulance driver, was actively saving lives on a call at this moment.) Thank you Dusty Blechman for fixing the photo for me!

Ned’s superpower isn’t obvious to the untrained eye. He possesses mad driving and navigational skills beyond the mere mortal. In stark comparison, there is I, who will inevitably choose the wrong way every time unless manned with GPS on my cell phone, which I’ve become dependent on. “Opposites attract.” We compliment each other in this way. I supply the address with a Google maps search (or he figures it out) and Ned gets us there, despite traffic jams, construction, or insane lack of parking common in the city.

Baby Addie was a joy when not going through withdrawal. She was passing her medical tests and resolving every physical malady suffered. There were a ridiculous amount of doctor’s appointments when we met the local pediatrician minutes from our house. Screw CPS’s idea of supporting the parents with inconvenient doctors miles away from us. Who was supporting us? I’m sure we looked shocked, sleep deprived, and disheveled. Dr. Jon pretended nicely not to notice and told us exactly what to expect in the days to come. He was spot on, and we loved him. He specialized in babies born addicted and came highly recommended. He put Addie on a special formula for sensitive babies because opioids affect the intestinal system with hyper motility (fast digestion) and gas in quantity. He even took care of WIC (Women’s, Infants, and Children’s food aid program) getting the special formula approved to be given to us, and I was still facing the learning curve on how to shop. (Don’t laugh till you try it. WIC shopping takes some education.) (I remain grateful to this day, this month, our last on the WIC program as Addie is now five so we no longer qualify.) There were downtown specialists to visit too from my hospital system. In fact, I talked to Angel, our caseworker, maintaining a calm demeanor when I told her that many doctors in my hospital system accepted Medicaid, so what was the problem? She disclosed that the doctors they “recommend” (commanded) give them copies of the reports so they can track care. I assured her I’d get her copies, but we were done with being inconvenienced. She actually surprised me with agreeing that if given report copies, we could take the children anywhere Medicaid was accepted. I was feeling brave now. I asked again about the birth certificates to register Andy for preschool and primarily for speech therapy. Angel told us to get them ourselves. She “doesn’t do that”. I was amazed when she told me it would be an easy trip in and out of the big city courthouse. Surely, with all the identity theft, they’d never give Ned and I a copy?

It really was that easy-for Andy Jr., but Addie’s posed new challenges that required detective work on our part. She was “unknown” on their computer.

In the big city we were a suburb of, at the courthouse, trying to get copies of birth certificates, the nice round faced man at the marble desk explained that there was no record of Adeline. He smiled and told us that we should start at Vital Statistics, a few blocks away. No problem.

A few blocks away was quite a trip in a car through construction, one way streets and a building with no discernible parking lot, but Ned dropped me off at the front door and stayed in the car. (“Aunt” Karen, had volunteered to babysit for the morning.) A security guard searched my purse for sharp objects keeping the nurse bandage scissors I always have for opening Andy’s gummy snacks, etc. (For the record, that was ridiculous because you can’t stab someone with bandage scissors and their rounded edges-they are made to cut dressings and spare people’s skin.) He directed me to the third floor at the elevator ahead. On the third floor, with impressive marbled interior, a the pretty receptionist listened to my brief story, and she excused herself to talk to someone in the back of the suite who immediately walked back to me with an outstretched hand.

“Alfred Wimbley. How can I be of service?” Mr. Wimbley was an exceptionally well manicured man. His shoes shined and the kerchief in his suitpocket matched his shirt. His soft brown hand gripped mine with the perfect amount of business grasp. I quickly launched the briefest version of my search, as he listened with awesome eye contact. He had nice eyes. Mr. Wimbley picked up a phone and called the pretty receptionist, “Michelle”, in. “Please search for a record of birth, date —-, baby girl, in South City.” Michelle brought up the search on Mr. Wimbley’s computer screen and angled it to share the view. There was nothing matching the information in their database. “NO RESULTS” glared at us.

“When a baby is born in a hospital,” Mr. Wimbley offered, “the hospital registers the baby’s birth. If a baby is born at home, the parents have to register the birth. Do you know what hospital the baby was born at? Could the baby have been born at home or on the way-because then the receiving hospital has the responsibility to register the birth?”

Those were excellent questions. We didn’t know if baby Addie had been born at home or on the way to the hospital, or possibly, at the hospital. Jen had told us the baby had been LifeFlighted to the big city hospital immediately from the local one so I doubted the last possibility. I thanked Mr. Wimbley, wildly appreciative of the information he offered so helpfully. At the end of the hall from the elevators, I collected my bandage scissors from the over zealous security guard, smiling sugary sweet. I went back to the car with thoughts swirling in my brain about how to find out where Addie’s birth had taken place. Calling her parents was not an option at this time without chaos ensuing. They weren’t reaching out to us either. I had brought the CPS contracts as proof of our kinship status but so far, no one had asked to see them. I doubted we’d be so lucky dealing with a hospital and HIPPA (Health Information Privacy and Protection Act).

Back in the car, I told Ned what I’d learned. He smiled and put his keys in the ignition. “Call South City Fire Department. See if we can visit the firemen who saved Addie, and we’ll stop to get doughnuts.” I called and spoke with a helpful fireman who got happily excited at our offer. “Gee, we don’t often see the result down the line to know what good we did.” When we arrived, we went inside to the main desk. The dispatcher called “the Chief” who came out and shook our hands. “Let me look the call up and see who the guys working were. I’m positive they’d love to see you!” “What day was that and do you know the address?” We told him the facts and he came up with two names. They weren’t there today but would be back the day after tomorrow, which as luck would have it, I’d be off work! “I’m a little hopeful here. Does the report with the names happen to state where Addie was born? I mean was she born in the Emergency Room, or at the duplex? There was a brief pause before he answered, clearly studying his computer screen report. “She was definitely born in the ambulance on the way to the hospital.”

With answers in hand, and knowledge to help us get Addie’s birth registered, we had one more stop to make. At this point I was full of doubt about the ease with which people had helped us. I knew that privacy laws were strictly upheld at the hospital I worked for over a decade ago. Doughnuts wouldn’t be the ice breaker needed.

While working at this particular “Health System”, I had enjoyed the neighborhood clientele and staff, my friends and neighbors, and I knew my way to medical records in the basement. The one nurse in charge of the department was out to lunch but was due back any minute if we didn’t mind waiting? We chose plastic seats in the dim hall. Shortly after, a rushed nurse in white (actually unusual these days) hurried by speaking over her shoulder as she got out her keys to follow her with apologies for the wait.

Sheila, RN, was very nice and surprisingly open to us. She looked at our Children’s Protective Services Contracts and scanned them into the computer. Then she listened to our story. We explained that Vital Statistics told us that the receiving hospital, this hospital, was responsible for filing the baby’s birth since Addie was born on the way here. She printed out a page from the ambulance report verifying receipt of the baby before flying her downtown. Sheila, the starched and polished nurse, asked if we’d like to talk to a Social worker (SW) from Labor and Delivery (L&D) since they register the births? She could call one and we could meet them upstairs in L&D, which we did. Talking to the SW was very painless with one pause, Addie’s name. For one brief moment we realized that we could have named her anything, but we respected her mother’s wishes and gave her the name Jennifer, Ned’s daughter, had told us. A name that irked Ned because it was in honor of Suzi’s mom (Addie’s maternal great grandmother), (but he’s adjusted now. He adores Addie).

Two days later we found ourselves armed with fresh doughnuts and turnovers walking into the fire station in South City. Two men from the night Adeline was born greeted us warmly! The third, a driver, was out working. Andy and Addie were excited to see inside a fire station. The guys gave the kids hats and let us pose with them by the fire truck. One had worked to help Jen that night and the other worked to save Addie. Ron, the bigger of the two, had tried to find out what had happened to Addie after the call without success, and was particularly glad to see her thriving. Our littlest family member was born in the back of the ambulance on the way to the hospital. She never took her first breath and had to be intubated immediately (a tube placed to help her breathe). She was given Narcan to try to reverse the opioid effects depressing her respiratory system. Blood from a traumatic delivery was in her tiny lungs. They suctioned what they could, and bag ventilated her to the nearest hospital. They had arranged for the helicopter to meet them to whisk her away to the city Neonatal Intensive Care Unit (NICU). That meant Adeline hadn’t taken her first breath of life till the ventilator tube was pulled in the hospital a month and a half later after her birth. The men hadn’t thought Addie would make it but they had hoped and one even prayed for her!

We said good bye to our frontline heroes, and we thought that we were done with our quest for a birth certificate. Of course it wasn’t that easy. Ned was contacted two more times and had to take information to our local suburban Vital Statistics before an official letter came in the mail. The birth certificate came six weeks after that. Addie was legally a citizen now and we could apply for her Social Security card, which helps with medical insurance (like Medicaid). Angel, the CPS caseworker, wanted a copy at some point, and I begrudgingly gave her one of the documents (but I really wanted to say, “I don’t do that.”). When we eventually told her how we got the documents, (honestly, I waited till after we got custody because she scared me) she looked horrified that we knew so much, and asked if we at least gave the baby the name Jen wanted? I reassured her we had, but thought it odd that she wasn’t appalled that CPS had had a child in their custody for over six months that had never had its birth registered, as far as they knew. I was surprised that we had to do that. The reality was, we were doing everything anyway, and CPS was not our friend. It was time to separate our family from CPS, and lose the added stress, but we weren’t quite there yet…

Takeaway: Birth Certificates are easily obtained at the courthouse in the county of the baby’s birth, unless the event wasn’t registered. If this is the case, try the courthouse first, then access your major city’s Vital Statistics to verify if the problem is in registering the birth. They can look up the facts if you know them. If you don’t know, ask them for their input and do your best detective work. If you have a positive experience with Children’s Protective Services, try enlisting their help. As a kinship caregiver, or as a legal custodian, you do have the right to the baby’s medical record for the purpose of their medical care. (You do not have the right to the mother’s unless you are caring for her as well.) CPS should be able to help you locate the hospital or in our case, the Emergency Services workers, if they see a need. It is in everyone’s best interest to have a birth certificate for the children in their care. Lastly, if you are fortunate to be working with mom and dad for the well being of the children, their help would be ideal, as their rights are all encompassing with regard to the baby’s records if they have maintained their parental rights.

Are there questions you have as readers? as caregivers? My one friend Grace asked curiously what it’s like when a baby is in withdrawal, and how long does it last? Addie took 4-5 months to stop her “spells”. She’d stiffen up rigidly, then shake. Her cry was one of pain. It was uniquely warbled. Usually, there was gas involvement in quantity. (We now joke about that!) Clearly, her condition messed with her digestive system. Around the last month, the frequency slowed considerably from every few hours to one or so a day, then a week, and then gone. You’d never guess anything unusual about her today. In fact, she’s developmentally ahead on the charts, especially when reading aloud with expression…cracks me up every time!