Momma Bear

I am normally one of the most polite, good natured goody two- shoes that ever lived. I don’t like confrontation, I don’t like contention, but when I had kids, all that went out the window. When my daughter was released from the hospital at three months, on oxygen, acid reflux medication, heart monitors etc, we were told not to put her into daycare and to really minimize her contact with the outside world. Social distancing, before social distancing was cool if you will. A few of the nurses in the Nicu recommended Dr. Kammerer and so I loaded her into her baby bucket for her first well child check up. I had one of those “wash your hands, before you touch mine” images hanging right off her car seat. I would say for the first year of her life, I was super unfriendly to most everyone I knew and loved. I was terrified of her getting a cold, getting sneezed on, anything that a term baby could fight off, but she could not. I think our inner circle deemed me pretty psycho and I must have seemed it, but still she got sick nonetheless. It must have happened at a family party, or one of our trips to Target, or someone leaning in too close on the rail trail. Previous to that, on my first few visits with Dr. Kam, I could see why the nurses at Maine Med had recommended him. He is incredibly down to earth and not a whiff of the narcissistic cologne that I had sniffed out with some of the lung, heart and preemie doctors I had come into contact with. Don’t get me wrong, I want a little bit of ego in a doctor, it lets me know they are doing their job AND good at it, but it also can be super off putting. Sometimes, at the beginning of our wellness check ups, Dr. Kam would ask me how she was eating (terribly), how she was sleeping (none of us were) and then he would always say and how are you doing Mom? Readers, this would always kind of freeze me in my tracks because I was incredibly, incredibly, undiagnosed but shoulda been diagnosed depressed at the time. I was barely getting through, between all of her needs, my lack of sleep, and family members saying now why did you have her so early again and me wanting to punch them in the face. So for some one to ask me, when it wasn’t even my check up, how I was doing, was really refreshing and special. When I would drive home, it would really cause me to put the mirror up to myself and say how am I doing? This would allow me to make any changes I could think to make to ensure mothering would become as easy for me as it was to other people. Despite all our precautions, Nat came down sick with a cough that turned into a phlegmy cough, that turned into coughing up mucus, that turned into coughing up blood. Four times I took her to Kennebec Pediatrics, but our savior Dr. Kam was on vacation and couldn’t be reached. We met with an adorable, newbie doctor who said and did all the right things but kept sending us home. I knew in my heart of hearts, in my guts of momma guts, that something wasn’t right. Finally, after waking in the middle of the night and just not being able to shake the inevitable doom that was approaching , I looked at Nat and she was really working to breath. Joe looked at me and said do what you gotta do. And I did. Because that job fell to me and I knew I could do it at that moment. As we got the dog out of the way and waited for the ambulance to arrive, I was determined to not be turned away this time. When we arrived at the Augusta E R, the adorable pediatrician met us there, in his Yale sweatshirt and jogger pants. He looked worried and stressed. She was quickly put on oxygen while he consulted back and forth with the nurses there. After an hour and what felt like much longer, he came into the room and I looked at him and I said “if you don’t know what this is, call someone who does.” In that moment, I was so grateful he was not offended or ego stunned by my behavior because it really pushed things onto the fast track. He called a colleague and we were soon loading up to be taken to Maine Med in Portland. I jumped into the ambulance with her and discovered that someone I graduated college with, was joining us as an EMT. You would think this would have upped my polite behavior, but a Momma bear knows nothing of the sort. He checked her oxygen numbers and said that those numbers couldn’t possibly be true. Her color was far too good for that and he didn’t think she needed oxygen. I took one look at him and I said “you give it to her, give her some oxygen right now, numbers don’t lie.” He must have thought me this most raging b on the planet, but he did exactly as he was told. Once we wheeled into the busiest emergency room that I had every seen at Maine Medical Center, we were quickly informed that she had contracted RSV, which for preemies can be a death row sentencing. I sobbed into my fleece sweatshirt. They set us up in the ICU as Barbara Bush was full and we watched as she battled it out, coughing and retching and vomiting. Once a quad room became available, she joined a fellow preemie Davis who was also battling it out with the RSV. Her condition worsened and I demanded a chest x-ray because being polite never gets anything done in these situations and it was revealed she also had pneumonia. Once on meds, she slowly began to improve little by little. During our journey, Dr. Kam would call us, between his appointments, to check on her, which is maybe part of his job description, but I have already given him a superhero cape, so I will continue to see him in that light. He would also ask how Mom was doing, because it’s okay to be a pediatrician and still be an awesome human being and check on more than just the patient at hand. Our time at Barbara Bush might have felt long, but the nurses there were amazing. We were tight on money and when I would leave for work, they would turn to Joe and say oh the breast feeding plates are free, what would Taryn like to order and when they brought it to him, they would say oh she must be in the bathroom, wink and leave. Bless. Them. It was during this time, that I really found what a Momma Bear I could be, I haven’t had to pull out all the faces and the words since, only bits here and there, but I know I have it in me if I need it. We spend a lot of time in this life going through the motions, being silenced, being polite, but not when it is time to Momma the f out of the situation. Be proud of your inner rage and intuition, it can mean everything in the moment. I hope you can connect with this blog post, as I try to write raw, human experiences and maybe you have had one or several. Maybe you experienced postpartum depression and had someone who asked you how YOU were doing, not just the baby but You. Please comment, or message, publicly, or privately. I love all my Mama Bears!