Someone recently asked me if being a nurse made my adventures in the hospital easier or harder. For the most part, I found it to be more helpful. I understood lab values. I knew what to ask for. I suggested changes in my medications that ultimately helped me heal faster. Overall, I better understood what was going on. That being said, I asked the nurses and physicians to treat me as if I was not a nurse, because while I know a lot, I am not an OB nurse.
I am, however, a pediatric nurse. So I should be able to handle the baby part pretty well. And I am confident in the department of caring for Oliver. Bathtime? Diaper changes? Reading his cues? No problem. But when it comes to medical issues, I seem to forget most everything I know. It's different when it's yours.
Take, for example, the first time I met our pediatrician. It was Oliver's second routine check-up; I had missed his innaugural visit because I was still in the hospital. I had concerns about his reflux. He was spitting up; when should we consider something like Zantac? The pediatrician blessedly did not treat me like a pediatric nurse, because if she did, she would no doubt be concerned about my lack of knowledge base and skill set. She explained all of the things I already knew: all babies spit up. If he was uncomfortable, ie arching and crying, we might consider an antacid, otherwise just invest in the burp cloths.
Duh. Home care nursing 101. Where was my brain?
Last night, Oliver threw up. And I mean, really threw up. The poor kid lost an entire bottle's worth of feeding. His face turned the shade of a Bushel Boy tomato and I thought his eyes were going to pop out of his head. The nurse in me sat him forward so he didn't choke. The rest of me, the Mom part, apologized, cuddled, kissed, reassured, and worried like hell. I parked myself in a living room recliner, where Ollie spent the night in the crook of my arm. We spent the next six hours like that, two very new and fragile beings.
I am, however, a pediatric nurse. So I should be able to handle the baby part pretty well. And I am confident in the department of caring for Oliver. Bathtime? Diaper changes? Reading his cues? No problem. But when it comes to medical issues, I seem to forget most everything I know. It's different when it's yours.
Take, for example, the first time I met our pediatrician. It was Oliver's second routine check-up; I had missed his innaugural visit because I was still in the hospital. I had concerns about his reflux. He was spitting up; when should we consider something like Zantac? The pediatrician blessedly did not treat me like a pediatric nurse, because if she did, she would no doubt be concerned about my lack of knowledge base and skill set. She explained all of the things I already knew: all babies spit up. If he was uncomfortable, ie arching and crying, we might consider an antacid, otherwise just invest in the burp cloths.
Duh. Home care nursing 101. Where was my brain?
Last night, Oliver threw up. And I mean, really threw up. The poor kid lost an entire bottle's worth of feeding. His face turned the shade of a Bushel Boy tomato and I thought his eyes were going to pop out of his head. The nurse in me sat him forward so he didn't choke. The rest of me, the Mom part, apologized, cuddled, kissed, reassured, and worried like hell. I parked myself in a living room recliner, where Ollie spent the night in the crook of my arm. We spent the next six hours like that, two very new and fragile beings.
Add "Mommy Brain" to your list for a while...I felt like I was in a fog for quite a while after going back to work. It gets better. Really.
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