Motherly Guilt

I was just reading a blog where a mother was asking a question in relation to motherly guilt and I decided I could expand on the topic in today's post.

Children's Hospitals, no matter how many trains are running through the lobby or how brightly painted the hallways are, can be places of intense loneliness. "You would be amazed," my favorite nurse told me, "at how many people drop their sick children off at the hospital and never visit them."

How on earth can a mother worth her salt do that to her child? If I so much as leave the room for one second to go ask the nurse something, Little Husband senses my absence, bolts awake and starts screaming as if he's going through another open heart surgery minus the anesthesia. (Yes, my kid is spoiled but we'll fix that later.)

I first witnessed this phenomenon in the ICU in Houston. They ran out of rooms so LH was put in a room with a tiny baby whom I suspect has Down’s syndrome. He was asleep most of the time--I almost never saw him move or open his eyes. He had tubes taped all over his body and wires that led to multiple monitors that were constantly alarming. I noticed, after several hours, that no one ever came to visit him. Clearly he had loved ones as his crib was adorned with toys and balloons, but for the duration of our stay in that room (7 + hours), he was on his own. This was especially heartbreaking when I noticed a movement in his crib and looked over to see that he was crying – silently because he had a tube going down his throat – with all his might. His tiny little fists flailed in the air and his head shook from side to side, but no one was there to calm him and I couldn’t do so because the nurses would have killed me. I did the only thing I could think to do: I sang a lullaby which I directed at Little Husband but was meant for him. I’ll never forget that sweet little baby crying for a mother who wasn’t there to comfort him.

After we moved over to the Dallas hospital I shared that story with my favorite nurse. A shadow passed behind her eyes as she commented, “You wouldn’t believe the parents who drop their kids off here and never visit them. It’s heartbreaking and it happens all the time. We have volunteers who come in and visit the kids, but it isn’t enough as they don’t work the weekends. These poor kids go without a visitor the entire weekend. The nurses try to keep them company but we still have to do our jobs and sometimes the parents complain when we bring the kids out to the nurses’ station and play with them.”

“I don’t suppose I could go into their rooms and just talk and hang out with them for a bit…” I began. She shook her head sadly, “No, I’m afraid that’s against hospital policy and privacy restrictions.”

I vowed right then and there to volunteer at our local children’s hospital once Little Husband was enrolled in preschool.

A few nights later I was chatting up the ICU nurse and the topic of parents who don’t visit their children came up once again. The nurse told me, with tears welling in her eyes, how a little, tiny baby girl had been taken off life support just the day before. Not one single family member or friend cared enough to show up at the hospital and say goodbye to her. This poor little baby had to make the transition into her next life with just the hospital personnel by her side.

Yesterday, my favorite nurse and I were chatting again and I told her what happened in the ICU with the baby girl. Again a shadow passed behind her kind eyes and she told me this story:

Favorite Nurse had a patient who had been in and out of the hospital throughout his teen years because he was morbidly obese and his heart just couldn’t handle the strain (he was approximately 400 lbs). In fact, his mother passed away a few years prior from the same sort of thing. This boy desperately needed a heart transplant but he wasn’t a viable candidate for one due to his weight. The hospital tried over the years to control his diet but every time he was discharged and went back home, he’d revert to his old habits and regain all the weight. When he was 17 his heart was in such bad shape that he was admitted to the ICU. No one visited him, not even his father. The hospital called Favorite Nurse at home and asked her to come in and stand by his bedside, but by the time she got there he had passed away (she missed him by minutes). This poor boy was all alone with no one there to say goodbye to him and tell him that he would be missed. I cannot begin to imagine how unloved he must have felt.

This morning we had to take Little Husband down to radiology for an x-ray. In the waiting area there was a man with his four year-old son. The little boy was engrossed in the cartoon as his dad and Favorite Nurse conversed. It turns out that this little guy was on his second heart transplant. It turns out that his first transplanted heart was found to be “as hard as a walnut” when they performed the second transplant surgery. The doctors commented that this little boy should have died. The father laughed and said, “It was amazing—we had no idea that anything was even wrong with him! He was still running all over the place and full of energy up until it was time for the new transplant!”

After he left, I turned to Favorite Nurse and said, “I wouldn’t last a day working here.” Then I let the tears fall.

“I know,” she said, “It’s tough. But then you see parents like that and it makes it all worthwhile. That little boy survived on a bad heart because he has such strong, loving, devoted parents. Their strength makes him strong.”

Then she looked directly at me, “And that’s how I know that Little Husband is going to do just fine.”

This changed my perspective on motherhood. For instance, tonight my little family of three hung out in our hospital room joking and laughing and loving on one another. “We’re probably spoiling Little Husband by letting him sleep on us all the time,” I informed Husband. “I’m not worried about it,” he responded, “we can worry about all that after he’s healed. For now, I’m holding him whenever he needs me to.” I agree.

There are so many sources out there (books, friends, doctors, family) who make you feel guilty—like you’re spoiling your child—by giving them too much love and attention. I’ve decided that there’s no such thing. From what I’ve seen, when you are doing everything you can to love on and protect and comfort your baby, you’re doing just fine. In fact, you’re perfect.