her story - part two

If you haven't read part one, go HERE.

Although I was assured by our agency that an x-ray is not an unreasonable request and should be easily attained, we were never promised that it would happen.  Every few days, I checked in with my main contact there and quickly made myself "the squeaky wheel."

Inside of a week, we received an update about Mrs. Nesbit, consisting of thorough answers to our follow-up questions and six recent and PRECIOUS pictures of her.

Some of our major concerns were taken off the table simply by reading the updated information about her.  But before we announced to the world that we had a daughter, we decided to wait for the x-ray so that we could have a better assessment of her future surgical needs.

We then entered a time of delicate emotions.  My husband wanted as much information as possible so that he (the amazing provider and planner that he is) could prepare himself for what was ahead and make a confident decision that we were the right family for her and her medical needs.

Being less detailed and more a "step of faith" type of girl, this was a struggle for me.  I wanted to take a chance and believe that whatever need met us in the future, we would rise to the occasion with our best effort and God would take care of the rest.

Not being just a planner, but also a very wise man, my husband told me at one point, "Laurie, I can't be pressured into this by you.  I want to be 100% in this so that down the road when it gets hard, as it surely will, I won't blame you.  I will own it."

Enough said.  He made a great point and it reinforced the vow I made on the day we made the decision to pursue adoption.  I promised myself and God to never be in the driver's seat.  I did not want to pressure or force our family into a direction that my husband (and God) may not be on board for.

I immediately imagined my inner emotions toward this little girl as compressed air inside of me.  I kept them to myself.  I prayed for her, prayed for the process, our decision, for my husband, and for our marriage.

When we did finally get word on the x-ray, it wasn't what we hoped.  Her caretakers had taken her for an x-ray, but she wasn't cooperative (go figure for a 21 month old toddler).  Her caretakers had reservations about sedating her in order to get an x-ray, and Kenyon and I were grateful for that.  The last thing we wanted was to cause her any harm.  I dare say that we were feeling like protective parents already.

Although the information relayed was that they would try again, I think we both realized that it was unlikely that we would get this piece without sedation.

I continued on keeping my mouth shut and letting my husband process this life-altering decision in his own way.  Each time the subject came up, I would answer his question or give a short answer and then let the subject die.  I had full faith that he would make the right decision for our family. And whatever it was, I was dedicated to unity.

In the midst of all this, he also decided that we should ask God for a sign.

Hold the phone here..... my husband is not the "sign from God" type of guy.  In fact, although I consider his faith to be one of the most genuine I know, I often tease him that he can be such a cynic sometimes.  A sign from God can be a tricky thing for a cynic to process.  In fact, this was the first time in the 15+ years that I've known him that he was asking for a sign from God.

Next up, we ask and God delivers.

her story - part one

The call for Mrs. Nesbit's referral to us came quite unexpectedly.  I was at the very tail end of putting our dossier together and had left a message at our adoption agency with a question about a specific portion of the paperwork.  When my phone rang with the agency's number on the other end, I was assuming it was just the call back to answer my question.

When I heard the director of the China program greeting me, I had a teeny-tiny suspicion that she wasn't calling to answer my rookie dossier questions.

She calmly informed me that they had a little girl's file that they wanted us to look at and did I want to hear about her?

Um, yes please! (Imagine shaking hands, pounding heart, regretting that my Beloved was away on business, and scrambling for a piece of paper -all in the next few seconds.)

I then reminded myself to cherish this moment, because it would likely be a highlight when we tell Mrs. Nesbit her adoption story.  I grabbed the only paper I could find which happened to be too small for all the things I wanted to jot down.

She was described as 20 months old and living with foster parents.  She was found nestled in a paper box on a doorstep of a home on a cold day in January, 2010 when she was just 11 days old.  Her birth mother was loving and cared about her future as evidenced by the note she left with her.

I have not seen the note yet, but it said something to the effect of, "She was born on {gave her exact birth date}.  I would appreciate if some kind hearted people would adopt her."

Gulp.

People, if that is not evidence that there are trials in this world that we cannot even fathom, I don't know what is.  I think about her birth mother all the time and have so many thoughts about her possible situation and struggles, but that is for another post.

The kind woman on the phone from our agency then described her medical need to me as " a deformed right ear and an asymmetrical mouth."  Hmmm, what might that look like?  Did we want to see her file and photos?

Well, I couldn't make that decision without first talking to my man, who was working hard in Denver and had no idea that this call was coming.  Luckily, he answered his phone the first time and we quickly discussed it.  We had some fear over the vagueness of the description of her medical need, but in the end, we wanted to see her.

I nervously called the agency back and asked them to send her file over.  Then I hit "refresh" on my email box about 764 times, waiting for them to come through.

The bulk of her file was from her 18 month check up.  Her development and milestones exceeded some of my boys' timelines and the description of her personality made us giggle.  "Outgoing," "Likes other children and cats and dogs," "Lovely."

I have never even met her and she is lovely to me.

We had a short amount of time to review her file and have medical professionals advise us regarding her health.  I immediately called my "personal medical professional" - a.k.a. my brother's wife who is a brilliant neurologist at one of the most highly regarded medical facilities in the country.  She is always willing to help us and has been excited for our adoption journey.  Did I mention that she is one of the smartest people I know?

Mrs. Nesbit's health needs are not exactly in my sister in-law's area of specialty, but she was eager and anxious to get the ball rolling for us and dig a little deeper in order to get a thorough medical assessment.  If she wasn't an amazing doctor, I think she would make a great police detective - except her big heart wouldn't be able to handle the tragedy in detective work.

I also called my friend from church who had adopted a son from China with a cleft lip and palate.  She gave me the name and number of her son's craniofacial plastic surgeon AND the name of the office manager, Bonnie, who turned out to be wonderful.

I called the office before they opened and left a message for Bonnie explaining my situation and my time crunch.  Five minutes into business hours, she called me back and offered me an appointment for noon the next day (over the surgeon's lunch hour).  Bonnie was warm and friendly and had a calming effect on me.  After traveling all week, Kenyon just happened to be home the next day AND have a flexible schedule that allowed us to go to the appointment together.

We walked into the office the next day and gave our names at the front desk.  I informed them that Bonnie had booked our consultation and she immediately came out of her office and around the front desk to the waiting area where we were standing.  I extended my hand and started to introduce myself, but Bonnie would have none of that, she wrapped her arms around me so quickly that I wasn't sure what just happened.

What just happened was that just when I needed it most, God sent that warm, reassuring person that I needed to calm my fear and nervousness.

We talked with her a little bit about our family and our adoption journey as she walked us back to an exam room.  She hastily cleaned the room up, as the rest of the staff were all clearly on their lunch hour.

Shortly after she exited, the surgeon came in and shook our hands as we all introduced ourselves.  This man is Asian himself, and has a very calm, soft spoken nature to him.  He reviewed our daughter's file and confidently gave a name to the larger syndrome that he is certain that she has (which of course, was the exact syndrome my sister in-law came back with the night before).

He calmly explained it at a more basic medical level.  The most impressive part was the fact that he sat and let us ask as many questions as we could think of in that moment.  We even repeated and rephrased some of our questions.  He let large moments of silence pass comfortably, never rushing us to get going and let him be done.

Overall, we felt he gave us a generally positive prognosis with the little information we had at hand.  In order to solidify his diagnosis, we left with a plan to request a jaw x-ray and answers to some specific medical and developmental questions about Mrs. Nesbit.

We never asked in advance how much the consultation would cost us.  But, we had discussed it and knew that even if we had to pay $200 out of pocket, it would be money well spent in this process.  When we got back to the front counter, I took out my wallet and asked Bonnie how much we owed.

"Oh, there is no charge."

The wave of emotion immediately flooded me.  I choked back the tears and tried to force the words of gratefulness out of my mouth.  Seven months into this adoption journey, I had not yet met a major component of the process that didn't cost us money.

We walked out in a bit of a daze.  At our favorite sandwich shop, we visited some of the tougher scenarios and things to consider about her future needs.  Our goal was not to go in this blindly, but to face the situation head-on.

I called our agency that evening and expressed the need for a jaw x-ray and then compiled the email of remaining questions to be answered about her.

Then we faced some of the hardest times of waiting yet.

the blind will see

For twenty years, this was me.

Well, I'd like to think that most of the time I looked better than that (black is NOT my color).  But see those suckers on my face?  Never far from me and for the last ten years almost always on the bridge of my nose.

I was very farsighted (+3.75 if you care to know).

Ten years ago, my beloved had his very nearsighted eyes fixed with the magic of Las!k, but unfortunately at that time the technology to fix farsighted eyes didn't exist.  AND, I was just beginning my child-birthing years when those pesky hormones continued to affect my eyesight.

2011 was to be my year.  My baby is three and a half and I've managed not to get pregnant again (whew!).  After a free consult and carefully planning putting the additional $3,300 into our flexible spending account for this year - coincidentally the final year that we'll be allowed to have more than $2,500 in our flexible spending account thanks to the government healthcare changes - I made my appointment for surgery!

I counted down the days as I reached for my glasses each morning before my feet even hit the floor.

The day arrived and I was ready!  Squirt was just ready to eat all the free Or#o cookies (for breakfast) at the surgery center.

The procedure itself was much more physically taxing than I thought it would be.  After all, I had watched Kenyon go through it ten years ago and he breezed through it and was up and running the next day.

He is a bad a$$ though.

Still, I thought after four natural childbirths that this would be no sweat.  Apparently, I have quite small eye sockets and the amount of pressure that had to be put on my eyes to get the equipment in place was immense.

Beyond that, I didn't feel anything from the actual laser.  After about 10 minutes per eye, I was sitting up looking at my surgeon face to face.  She said that my distance vision (previously my best) would not be as sharp for a few weeks, but after the swelling goes down, I should see everything just fine.

I asked her if I should put my glasses on if I was struggling to see during the healing process.  Her response stands out in my memory, "Your glasses won't work anymore.  If you put them on they will feel like they were made for someone else."

A few days later, I tested her answer and she was RIGHT!"  It was so weird to put on my glasses that I wore every day and not be able to see a single thing through them.

The recovery process has been exactly as she described as well.  The first day - not fun.  The first week - variable.  The second week - mild discomfort due to prolonged corneal swelling, but getting better.  And through it all, I can see!

Here I am in the car post surgery waiting while my beloved went in a restaurant to buy me lunch to go - the sweet part was that he actually offered to sit in the restaurant and eat with me with these taped to my face.  I think he loves me. :-)

Sauce says, "That freaks me out!"  The Las!k love bites (looks bad, but didn't hurt) that have already healed.  I thought I looked like a battered wife though. 

I can see!  I'm reading books to my boys, reading stuff on the computer, texting on my phone, reading labels, and plucking my eyebrows ALL CLEARLY!!!

Money well spent.  I had a check up two weeks after the surgery and could read the 20/15 line on the eye chart.  I'd say a good result and I'm not even completely healed yet!

it's five o'clock somewhere

Shall I say "Part One?"

Welcome to my periodic series recognizing the end of a long day - or possibly even several trying days in a row - with a rant and a glass of wine (well deserved, in my opinion).

Our household has been passing around yucky-fever-cough-snot-congestion-can't-sleep-staying-home-from-school-whiny-fussy-watery-eyed-only-want-mommy-illness for the past week.

Our little Squirt definitely had it the worst with fevers nearing 104 degrees and lots of crying for a boy who normally does a lot of smiling.

A trip (with four kids in tow) to the pediatrician won him the prize diagnosis of an ear infection and a trip through the drive-thru... pharmacy.

During our prayer time this morning, Sauce prayed that Daddy would be sure to use lots of hand sanitizer on his trip - I'd say we're all sick of being sick if we're going to the Lord about hand sanitizer.

Our neighborhood is having some sort of water issue (picture brown tinged water coming out of the faucet) and we can't use our water to drink or cook with.  Another errand was needed to the fire station where a nice firefighter loaded up my trunk with gallons of tax payer funded free drinking water.  Two days of this and it still isn't resolved.

Call me a spoiled American, but if I have running water in my house, I would like to actually, ahem, use it.

There are some more little punks at school giving my eldest a hard time and I'm growing weary of guiding him to rise above their crap antics.  I'm about ready to tell him to unleash his recently acquired cuss words karate training on them to silence them - no matter the consequences from the principal.

My beloved is on the east coast receiving some specialized training for his job, but I sure could have used him here today to kick some butt when my two middle muddles, Sauce and Rufus, couldn't get along for the life of them (for no particular reason at all, I might add).

In an attempt to "aid" their reconciliation, they spent quite a bit of time holding hands.  Then they graduated to sitting cheek-to-cheek when they still couldn't find love for each other.  Sauce was still having a hard time cooling down his hot temper, so I'm sorry to say that he was shoved out on the front porch (high temperature of 29 degrees today) and his fed up mother someone promptly locked the doors behind him.

He heard the muffled instructions to, "Calm the heck down!" through the door.  After about five minutes of teeth chattering, he came in to reluctantly make peace with his younger brother.

I thought I was feeling better, but tonight I can't take a breath without an over exaggerated coughing fit.

But since my beloved won't return until late tomorrow night, I'm heading upstairs to curl up with my body pillow that fills his vacant spot - and a healthy shot of Nyquil.

got my mammies whammied

A few weeks ago I had my annual physical and examination of all things girly.  I am happy to report that so far, I am a picture of health.

BUT, because my paternal grandmother died way too young of breast cancer, and I have fibrocystic, or "dense tissue" breasts (more than you wanted to know, huh?), my doctor wanted me to get a baseline mammogram.

Yesterday was the day that I finally arranged childcare for the four young men (an ordeal worse than the mammogram itself) and made my way to the hospital for a full digital image mammogram.

This was what I feared might face me:

Wait, is that my husband?  No, but I'm surprised he didn't think of that first.

Let me put some of the rumors that you might have heard to rest:

Yes, the machine squeezes the mammies into a shape closely resembling a pancake, but it DID NOT hurt.  (I didn't personally see much change in mine thanks to nursing four babies!)

The machine does NOT use cold metal plates.

The plastic components were warmer and more comfortable than I thought they would be.  Other than awkward positions that made me feel like the preparation should be a couple of yoga classes, it really wasn't bad.

Also, I must mention the wonderful technician... who was sensitive to the fact that I was standing half naked in the middle of a room, AND acted so casually about handling my personal body parts, it was like an elbow to her - no big deal (which made me feel as comfortable as possible).

One down - hopefully it will be another six years before I have many, many more uneventful whammies.