Page 7 of Until Waverly

Once I finished this last round of clinicals, I’d be done with school for a while. I planned to take my NCLEX before the end of the fall semester, then accept the offered position on the Labor and Delivery floor where I’d already spent most of my time honing my craft. From there, I planned to work and go back to school to become an NP—Nurse Practitioner. Although, my endgame was to become a midwife or doula. Both would take a hell of a lot of more schooling and obviously money, hence why I’d mapped it out so that I wouldn’t be in so much debt while trying to achieve my dream job.

Can’t do any of that, if you don’t get out of the car,I chided myself, finishing the overly-caffeinated drink, which probably wouldn’t even touch the fatigue consuming me.

Alandria had been a minor speed bump along the way to attaining my dreams. Not even her birth had stopped me. If anything, she’d motivated me every day to improve our lives. I knew from the beginning going alone wouldn’t be easy for either of us. However, the potential outcome allowed me to take care of us without worrying about our expenses.

I glanced at the clock on the dash and frowned. Any other day, getting myself into gear had been easy. Today, all I wanted to do was sleep. Today, I questioned why I wanted to do any of this—go to school, be a mom—alone.

Until recently, Alandria had been the perfect baby. She slept through the night at six weeks. Never fussed or cried unless she was hungry or had a wet diaper. She slept when she was tired and ate when she was hungry. Now, at four months, it was almost like a regression. Like her days and nights were all discombobulated. Obviously, my hospital rotation hours weren’t the best, so guilt lay heavily on me. Had I caused this bump in the road?

Being a single, college-bound mom with no support—my choice—also caused mini-issues, and I hated knowing Alandria might be feeling those too. It hasn’t always been easy. I had to juggle a lot, and there were times I thought I wasn’t going to make it. But those days were behind me. Or at least I assumed they were.

Since the past weekend when my shifts changed, sleep had become almost nonexistent for her. The baby who’d hardly ever cried did nothing but sob all night long. Long naps during the day were a thing of the past as well. How I wished I could call my mom and ask her what to do, but I couldn’t depend on her more than I already had. Because I knew the minute I asked my mom for extra help, my dad would find out the truth too.

Humiliation led me here.

Not now, girl. You have to get yourself to work.

True.

I’d been at my wit’s end when I finally gave in and took her to the doctor two days ago, only to be told she might be teething, or perhaps Alandria was going through a growth spurt. She seemed a little young for teething, but the doctor tried to reassure me all babies were different. She also conveyed I’d had nothing to worry about. Alandria would start napping again and stop crying so much when she was settled. Until then, she gave me a list of things to try, including sensitive formula, just in case stuff changed or the crying continued.

Those reassurances did nothing for me or my sweet girl.

Alandria wasn’t a fan of whatever adjustments were happening to her.

And neither was I.

Which led back to my original complaint.

Lack of sleep for both of us.

It was only a matter of time before I’d be slamming back sodas and coffee like they were going out of style. I’d been drinking the double-shot for twenty minutes at least, and so far, not even a buzz had touched my tiredness. I had to be careful though. Since I pumped through my shift, I had to be conscientious about my caffeine intake. Didn’t need poor Alandria getting a caffeine high because I couldn’t stay awake. If I was lucky, I’d take my lunch hour and a nap. Even thirty minutes to an hour’s rest was better than nothing.

I groaned, seeing the time once more and knowing I couldn’t put this moment off any longer. I got out first, gathered up everything I needed, then pulled Alandria out of her seat. Once she was secure in my arms, I headed into work.

I wouldn’t be late.

Ever.

It was unprofessional, and even though I hadn’t been responsible for patients on the floor per se, I liked to be present when the nurses did their shift changes. I found by being there during the meeting times, the information provided by other nurses answered questions I might have. Plus, I learned about the individual moms and how their birthing experiences were going. Also, if there were any complications or questions, I could always ask Joyce when it was quiet.

My baby girl didn’t even wake up as we took the elevator to the main entrance to the hospital and stepped foot on the busy main floor. Proof of how tired she truly was.

Poor baby.

After checking her in and saying a quick goodbye because I wasted so much time in the car, I had to hurry to the L&D department so I didn’t miss the meeting. I’d say I was proud of myself for making it with only seconds to spare, but that was a lie.

I was late.

While we were given updates about our patients, I guzzle down some of the water in my tumbler, hoping the shock to my system would wake me up. No such luck. I stepped out onto the floor with a moment to spare, feeling off-balanced and stressed to the max.

Looked like I’d be off my game for the rest of the day.

I’d been what the other students considered a Goody Two-shoes, someone who liked to be in early, in my case, by a half hour so I could make sure everything was stocked. I also did a quick once-over to review the laboring moms, paying particular attention to those who would be assigned to me through Joyce as I shadowed her. Even help the CNAs, since technically, I already was one, if they were in the weeds and needed the extra hand.

Since babies were always being born, some days there was a steady rotation of moms to-be along with their husbands or boyfriends. Other days, the time slinked by with hardly anything to do. Today, it appeared, we’d be busy. Full moon and all. Though, I wouldn’t jinx us and say as much out loud.

Joyce would kill me.

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