A Mother’s Desperate Fight to See Her Baby in the Hospital

The night before my baby's operation, I lay awake anxiously. In the morning, I packed her pitifully small requirements, and we went to the hospital. She cried when they took her away. The world had contracted to the small size of her face and her clenching, waving hands. The poignancy was intolerable. I went away and walked around outside the hospital for hours. When I went back at the appointed time, the senior nurse told me that the operation had been successful and that Octavia was well. I could not believe that a mere recital of facts could thus change my fate. I stood there dumbly, wondering whether she had got the wrong name, the wrong data, the wrong message. When I got round to speaking, I asked if I could see her, and they said to come back in the morning, as she was still unconscious. Such was my nervousness that I did not ask again. I went home and wept copiously.

It was only then that I began to be preoccupied with certain details about which I had not previously dared to think. Would there be a nurse with Octavia at all times? Would they feed her properly? Earlier, these things had seemed trivial, but now their importance swelled in my mind. Because the thread of fatality had been removed, life seemed to have gone back to normal. It was the strangeness, more than the pain, I thought, that would afflict her, and strangers she disliked with noisy vehemence.

When I went around in the morning, the senior nurse told me that Octavia was comfortable. Summoning some courage, I asked to see her, but was told that was impossible. "She will settle in more happily if she doesn't see you," she said. I didn't like the sound of the word "settle"; it suggested complete inactivity. "I am afraid that for such a small infant, we don't allow any visiting at home," she continued. Octavia had never been settled in her short life, and I pictured her lying there in a state of lethargy. Furthermore, it was now imperative to see her. Already, we had endured the longest separation of our lives, and I began to see it stretching away, indefinitely prolonged. Why would they not let me see the child? Had the operation not been a success?

The senior nurse showed me the surgeon's report. Although it was nothing but a mass of technicalities to me, I felt better. For all the senior nurse knew, I might have had enough medical knowledge to understand the report, and she would not have taken that silly risk. By this time, I could tell that she considered my behavior to be tedious, and I left.

But I had been outside the hospital for only a few moments when I thought of my baby's possible distress, and I went back inside. Two junior nurses greeted me nervously, repeating the earlier message. But I told them I had no intention of not seeing my baby. My voice hardened. They had that whole building behind them, and I had nothing behind me except my intention. Just then, the senior nurse returned. "Well, well, you are back again," she said. She took my arm and began to push me towards the door. At first, I was unable to resist her physical propulsion, but then she took hold of my elbows and started to exert greater pressure, so I started to scream. I screamed very loudly, shutting my eyes to do it, and listened in amazement to the deafening noise. Once I had started, I could not stop. I stood there, motionless, screaming, while they shook me and yelled that I was upsetting everyone.

Through the noise, I could hear things happening, and I felt I had to keep doing this until they let me see her. Inside my head, it was red and black and very hot. After a while, I heard someone shouting about the din:' For goodness sake, tell her she can see her baby.' I instantly stop and open my eyes. I looked at the breathless circle surrounding me; the surgeon himself looking white with anger; the senior nurse crying; the junior nurse looking stunned. It was as though I had opened my eyes to a whole new narrative in which I myself had taken no part. But I had no interest in this story; I wish to know only my own.' Of course you can see the baby,' said the surgeon, kindly.' I will take you to see her myself.