Crazy, Cracked Out, Psychotic, Control Freak, Bitch....

 I'm going to sound like the biggest, most ungrateful, bitch in the world. But what I'm about to say needs to be said. Let me start by stating for the record that I'm not a nurse hater. My sister has been in the profession for the last fifteen years, and I have nothing but the utmost respect for the work that she does. There are so many amazing women and men out there who dedicate their lives to the well being of strangers. We've had the absolute pleasure and privilege of meeting several of them during the past forty three days. Some have been heaven sent. They don't just care for Little Bird, they care about her. She isn't just another patient to them. Even beyond their bedside manners, we've watched them go the extra mile for our baby. Paula, noticing even the slightest skin imperfection and treating it before it became a problem. Patti, pushing for the doctors to recognize that she needs to be held. Warren and Vanessa, who sense the bad days and spend their break times hanging out at her isolette and talking her thru it. Kay, who pays attention to every detail, and who makes sure nothing goes overlooked by anyone. When we know they've been assigned to Little Bird, we are completely at ease. 

And then, there's Chrissy. 


In this unit, the nurses are assigned two babies per shift. It's pretty rare to get the same nurse two days in a row. But every now and again and due to scheduling conflicts, this happens. No biggie. Sometimes, and especially when it's one of Little Bird's buddies, this is something we look forward to. Sometimes, a nurse will actually request to take of her, which is something we would usually find endearing and sweet. 

And then, there's Chrissy.

Chrissy is a crazy, cracked out, psychotic, control freak of a bitch who hides behind the professional title. And I mean that in the nicest possible way, because that's about as nice as I'm going to get as far as she is concerned. On Wednesday morning, Chrissy arrived at the unit and was assigned to Little Bird for her shift. For reasons not yet made clear to us, even after her twelve hours ended, she was still there, and taking care of her for another shift. On Thursday, she got her again. And then again on Friday. And yesterday, though she rambled on and on about not sleeping in days, the same. 

Like I said, we aren't exactly sure why or how she was able to maneuver herself around our daughter for such an extended period of time. The NICU is a highly stressful and emotional field to work in. One of the main purposes of rotating the nursing staff the way that they do is to prevent attachment toward the babies that they care for. With the exception of the hospital being severely understaffed, which they currently are not, the only other reasonable explanation is that she specifically requested to take care of our daughter. 


Normally, this would be a non issue. But crazy, cracked out, psycho, control freak, bitch, sorry-excuse-for-a-nurse Chrissy is anything but normal. On Wednesday, she thought Little Bird seemed restless. So she decided to try and remedy this by shoving a suppository up her ass. Oh, I'm serious. I wish I wasn't. Her reasoning was that she hadn't pooped in "days and days". Except, she had. Every day. On Thursday, she was so concerned about the possibility of a NEC diagnosis that she sent a culture of her throat secretions to be tested for pneumonia. The test turned out to be negative. I'd have been grateful for the cautiousness, had she not later told us "I was really praying she had pneumonia!". Yes, I understand that compared to a major bowel perforation, this would have been so much better a situation, but really? Really, now? You're going to say that to the parents of a three pound baby who is struggling to stay alive, let alone be able to breathe? 


Yesterday, we got into the unit and approached Little Bird's isolette. I opened one of the hand terminals so that she could hear me speaking. The smell of poop was the first thing I noticed. I immediately informed Crazy Chrissy of the dirty diaper, yet she did nothing. She told us that because the baby seemed so comfortable, she didn't want to disturb her and would rather wait until her next scheduled care time to clean it up. That wasn't for another hour and fifteen minutes. Are ya fucking kidding me? Too lazy to get off your ass and supervise a diaper change so you're going to risk my child getting a skin infection? 


I bit my tongue. Little Bird also didn't need the stress and anxiety of her mother being forcibly thrown out of the NICU. So I opened the other terminal and placed one hand on her head and the other on her back, and we gossiped together for a little while. Well, I did all of the talking. Little Bird is a great listener. Within minutes, Crazy was hovering right behind us. She then spouted the most attacking and angering statement from her mouth. And it wasn't as much what she said, but the way she said it. With a very cocky head tilt and a sly smile, she decided to very ignorantly repeat what I already knew: "Because she's not doing so well, it's going to be at least another week to ten days before you get to hold her. Maybe even two more weeks!". God clearly granted me the serenity to not beat a bitch in that very moment. It was miraculous. 


She then began to bury her head in the baby's chart, pretending to be making a written copy of information. And she asked me, "So, how many children do you have?". I get asked this a lot, by nearly every nurse I've met. Not a problem. I went on to explain our family to her and answered her other question about the kids ages. And she so politely exclaimed, "Well, at least you took a break between the eleven year old and the three year old. I hope you're using birth control now". 


In between being slammed for being a mother, she also took it upon herself to question my obstetrical care during this last pregnancy. Wait, let me rephrase that. She insinuated that I didn't have any obstetrical care. After quickly flipping thru the baby's chart, she asked me about the events surrounding her birth, and asked me if I'd ever "gone thru with" the typical prenatal lab work. I was completely confused by this, and responded by asking her why she was so curious. She said she wanted to "double check" that Little Bird received her thirty day Hib. vaccine. Yes. My sentiments exactly. What the fuck does the price of apples in China have anything to do with it? At this point, my tongue was bleeding profusely. I assured her that yes, I was and still am under a doctor's care. That yes, there were complications that hindered the baby's gestation. And that no, absolutely nobody suspected what occurred to actually happen. 


You'd think she'd have satisfied her personal need to provoke a fist fight with me, but she kept going. 


By this time, MFH sensed a beat down coming, and tried to change the subject by asking her random medical questions about Little Bird's latest x-rays. Not only could she not answer anything, she proved incompetent to even understand what he was curious about. So she continued on to tell us how just the evening before, she "felt bad" for her, and took it upon herself to dress and swaddle her "so that she'd be more comfortable". Yes. Dress and swaddle my child, who is in an isolette that is continuously held at a temperature of ninety eight degrees. Because that isn't a life threatening stunt to pull in and of itself at all. Weeks ago, I specifically asked Doc H about clothing. Could I bring her something? Maybe even just a hat? And he specifically said she could not be dressed. Because the bed maintains her temperature for her, clothing will cause her to overheat, raising her heart rate and blood pressure and potentially causing her to stroke out. Aside from that is the factor of overstimulation caused by the effort it takes to secure clothing to her body and around all of the equipment she is attached to. Just recalling the conversation as I type this has me pissed off to the extent that I want to punch the fucking monitor. 


Oh, but I'm not even finished explaining the best part of yesterday's ordeal. So, Crazy finally decided to do Little Bird's care, and asked me if I wanted to take her temperature. Really, does she even need to ask? Do you think I'm going to refuse? I did take it, and it was fine. And so I anxiously stood there next to the bed, awaiting what should have been the first dirty diaper I would have gotten to change. Except I didn't get to. Instead, I was informed that "there'll be plenty more of these for you to clean up down the road". 

And then came the vent tube. Little Bird doesn't have the ability to cough in order to clear her throat. Even if she did, she can't because of the machine. Part of her care procedure involves the manual suctioning of this tube in order to help her breathe. I've witnessed this done several times by many a different nurse, and always with the slightest of hand that she doesn't even realize it happened. Ya think Nurse Ratchet could accomplish something like this? Awe hell no. When she yanked the plunger back, she did it with such force that you could visibly tell she took her breath away. It was in that moment that I realized I'd been granted sainthood by Jesus Christ himself, because I still didn't hit her.


Literally trying not to cry, I pulled out the camera and did my best to ignore her until I could go thru the proper channels and make sure I do my best to have her ass suspended. Oh yes, I'm already on it. I took close to a hundred photos of MFH and the baby playing together. Little Bird's eyes began to drop and she was showing signs that she was ready for a nap. So I handed the camera to MFH and told him I was going to scrub up again. I wanted to touch her, to hold her hand one last time before we had to leave. No sooner did I do that and return to her bedside did Bitch walk over to me and state, "I really don't know how to say this the right way, but don't touch her again. I really think she needs her rest". 


That. Was. IT. I turned to Little Bird, told her I'd be back after I had Psycho's license revoked, blew her kisses, went home, and started making phone calls to the unit's director. 


I'm not done with that crack head. Not by a long shot. I promise everyone who is reading this post that by the time my daughter come's home, there will be one less nurse on that rotation. There will be one less nurse legally licensed to practice in the state of Pennsylvania. And there will be at least one set of parents who will no longer be subjected to her bullshit. Don't get me wrong. I respect the facility that she's in. In fact, it's the same hospital responsible for saving Number Four's life eleven years ago. Personally, I can't think of a better place, and I do trust them a hundred and ten percent. But never in the last fifteen and a half years of being a mother have I ever felt so uncomfortable about someone even being in the same vicinity of one of my children. If I find out that she so much as inquires about Little Bird from this point on, I am so going to be on the news. "New tonight at eleven, a local woman arrested in an area hospital for assaulting a staff member!". It's coming. God help her. She's going to need it. 


PS- Karma really is a bitch. After reviewing yesterday's videos and pictures, we discovered that we have quite a bit of proof of the events that took place. I'm going to post them separately, coming up next...






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