Babysitters, and caregivers, and nannies! oh, my!
One of them nearly scared me to death.
Choosing and employing the right nanny was always critical (to me) during my years practicing full-time in the NICU. If I was to be away from my children for those long hours, I wanted the best caregiver I could find. We were fortunate to have enough income to cover the costs for a nanny.
When we moved to Little Rock, I used a finders’ service to narrow down my choices and obtain background checks. I personally called each reference the women gave me. After conducting six candidate interviews, I decided to hire Tammy, the twenty-year-old wife of a pharmacy student. She had years of babysitting experience and was eager to earn money for their living expenses while her husband was in school. Tammy had a sweet personality and terrific energy, she seemed well suited to my children, and they liked her. I enjoyed watching her learn how to balance nap time for the youngest and pick-up after school for the older two. She happily worked for us for two years.
Sadly, after Tammy’s husband graduated, they moved away from us. Then I hired our next nanny. Bonnie was an unforgettable, sixty-year-old, petite woman from North Little Rock. She had a lively personality, a sweet smile, and cheerful disposition. She came to us with incredibly good references. Many of her previous employers raved about her skills with children, cleaning house, and shopping for groceries. Bonnie wore lots of makeup, had short, permed hair, and was always dressed nicely. She usually wore blue jeans and a nice blouse. I liked her distinctive, twangy, Southern accent and her vivacious personality.
Bonnie turned out to be a wonderful nanny, always happy, and great with the kids. She cleaned, did laundry, drove, and met me with the children in specific places – like the orthodontist. She supervised schoolwork and kept track of play dates. She acted like a grandmother. She attended the kids’ soccer games and swim practice until I met her there. Bonnie worked for us for over two years, and all the while I thought she was the perfect nanny.
One autumn day my neighbor called to inform me that Bonnie had had a heart attack. Apparently, Bonnie collapsed while trying to call 911, leaving Laura at four years of age, to speak into the phone and report to the dispatcher, “Bonnie’s sick.” My neighbor cared for Laura while the paramedics bundled up Bonnie for a ride to the hospital. After collecting Anne and David from school, I frantically drove home. I fretted about what happened, tried to explain what I knew to the kids, and worried about how unstable Bonnie might be. What would I do about childcare? It was frightening.
The next day I proceeded to visit Bonnie in the University Hospital, where she was admitted. She was on cardiac telemetry, continuous heart monitoring, and seemed quite glum sitting up in her hospital bed. This was unlike her. I asked about the heart attack, asked if she was in pain, and if she was getting her questions answered. Then, when I asked how I could help, she seemed so sad. She just smiled weakly and said, “No, I’ll be fine.” She did not sound like herself. Assuming that she felt bad, I left her room and proceeded to the nursing station to find her cardiologist. No one was around, so I peeked inside her hospital chart. I read that her admitting diagnosis was “60 y. o. Caucasian female w/ cocaine overdose + cardiac arrhythmia,” and I slammed her chart shut.
I was absolutely stunned! At that time, I was forty-four years old, and having practiced medicine for many years, I had seen lots of things that were surprising and terrible. I thought then that nothing surprised me anymore. But this, this was unbelievably astonishing! How in the world had I missed this?
How long had she been snorting cocaine while caring for my children? Is this why she was always so cheerful and upbeat at the end of a long day? My thoughts were wild, and they were angry. How could she do this? How did I miss this? How long had it been going on? Had the children seen her snorting cocaine? It hit me like no other surprise ever had. And I felt guilty for missing her drug use. I never had a clue.
After she recovered from the episode, of course, I fired her. She begged me to let her continue working, doing some housecleaning. I allowed her to clean the house for a while, so she would have some income, but then the children became scared of her, and I had to let her go. This was such a sad and strange story about a sweet lady with a dreadful drug problem. Regrettably, I did not follow up with her to find out how she fared.
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