Friday, December 28, 2007

Mighty Aphrodite

Justin and I spent Christmas at my dad's place in Tampa this year. Since Justin is Jewish, the merry-go-round of where to spend the holidays is a trifle more simplified than if his family celebrated Christmas. I say a trifle because as the childless couple, we still seem to spend a lot of Christmases rotating through my mother's, my father's and my sister's. Having young children seems to grant you an instant pass on travel, should you choose to take it. Understandably so, as I've seen the safari it requires to get my sister and her two boys mobile and travel-ready. I can still see her limping towards security, a permanent dent in her shin formed from the car seat banging into it as she hefted it from car to plane to baggage.

I wonder if it will be me next year, declining travel with a weary sigh. B the G might be almost two by then. It might add a whole new wrinkle in the Christmas destination discussion. I tend to think however, that unless I adopt a troll, I'm going to be toting that child from location to location and basking in the glow of people fawning over B the G, as I have fawned and fussed over all the children I come across. Whether I'm in the fawning mood or not. I've got a little beaming and strutting coming my way and I intend to make the most of it.

That being said, though, I do have remarkable role model moms to look to when I do heave that weary sigh. My sister, the above mentioned travel martyr (my words, not hers), who once paused in the middle of a phone conversation with me to untie a shoestring that her youngest had tied around his penis. I can still hear the calm and patience in her voice through the phone she had put down as she said, "Yes, I see it's tight. That's why it's not a good idea to tie things around your penis." Like she might have been explaining why you should brush your teeth or wear a helmet. Just an all around good idea.

And then there is Jen whose adoption process and subsequent journey into the extreme highs and lows of of this business allow me to feel slightly less bipolar and manic. Or at least a little less lonely while I'm riding it out.

And another friend who shall remain nameless, but who gave up her own child for adoption some 15 years ago. Her honesty, bravery and vulnerability both then and now are inspirational to me and have shown me a different facet to motherhood and adoption than I will know, but so greatly affect me and my future B the G.

I could extend this list quite a ways now that I think about it and realize I am surrounded by these wonder women who motivate me in this quest. The patience, the perseverance, the selflessness it takes to do this job well. Well, I started this entry writing about future holiday travel plans, but this one turned out to be a jam for the ladies.

Friday, December 7, 2007

Christmas Condi

Wow, that was quire a prolonged absence, but I have been doing a tremendous amount of traveling lately with the holidays. Lots of driving time which led to a lot of highway thought about B the G. No more news as of yet from the agency, but right now I'm taking that as a good sign.

I'm watching Condi Rice closer than I've ever cared to, mentally willing her to sweet talk her way into Russia's heart over the Iran sanctions issue. I don't know if sweet talk is her strong suit, but I'm sending her the vibe just the same. I can't afford any international diplomatic breakdowns or even political gaffs to put a hold on Russian international adoption.

I know it's enormously egocentric of me to put my impending adoption on par with nuclear weapons development. But if they could all agree over some caviar and vodka,-and really how can you disagree with caviar and vodka involved- it would ease my mind a bit. Interesting that the countries that are holding out on imposing these sanctions are Russia and China. Maybe Guatemala and Kazakhstan will join in to make it consistent.

Speaking of that, my adoption agency just opened up adoptions in Liberia, which makes me happy. I like to see new countries open up those possibilities for their children and for waiting parents. Although I suppose it also indicates deeper socio-economic troubles for said country. Silver linings and clouds, and all that it implies.

So to to stick with my GOP theme here, this season I am simply staying the course. As GW so eloquently stated, I've got to be ready for any unforeseen event which may or may not happen.

Tuesday, November 20, 2007

Zoikes!

I received the following from my adoption agency in response to my inquiry about my dossier status.

Megan, just received your final paperwork last week. We are currently authenticating it, and we will send to Russia as soon as that process is completed. Hopefully we'll have it back from the Secretary of State's office before we go off for the Thanksgiving weekend so it can be sent to Russia on Wednesday. If it doesn't come back, then it will go to Russia next Monday. It then takes about 3 weeks for translations and authentications, and then registration. From December 29- January 10 is when the Russians celebrate their Christmas, so pretty much nothing goes on. So, I would guess that you would be invited to Russia sometime during the last part of the month of January for travel in February or early March. Certainly that could change depending on the availability of children in Moscow District, but since you are open to either a boy or a girl, I am fairly confident you will be traveling before March of 2008, most likely in February.

After the initial visit and acceptance, we wait 6 weeks and then go back to Moscow to bring Baby the Great home. So maybe mid-March to April will be the last step? Wow. I'm a bit blown away at the moment. China was so vague and so far away and now it looks like I will have be dipping B the G's toes in the Atlantic Ocean this summer.

Once bitten, twice shy and I still hesitate to get too excited or buy baby furniture or send out announcements or choose names. I think Justin expected me to be more excited and I am, but I still feel wary. Cautious. Nervous. Will I feel this way until I'm flying Aeroflot back to the ATL with B the G on my lap? Definitely if we are forced to fly Aeroflot, but that's another story. In relation to B the G, probably, just in lessening degrees of intensity. But I will allow myself to do the Cotton-Eyed Joe dance in the privacy of my own living room, when nobody else is home. Dig if you will a picture....

Monday, November 12, 2007

Last Piece

My I-797 arrived in the mail last Friday which gives me the federal green light to adopt internationally. Not only that, it arrived about 3 weeks earlier than I expected. I didn't even check the mail that day. Justin brought it in when he came home from work, which made it all the sweeter in it's surprise arrival. Usually I'm a mailbox-watching bloodhound, when it gets close to expected delivery times for these documents, bounding out of the house as soon as I see the truck. My mailman thinks I have a crush on him.

This little piece of paper is the last piece in the puzzle and my dossier should be ready to ship as soon as my agency receives it. I Fed-exed it Saturday, needless to say. According to them, in 2-4 months after the dossier goes to Russia I will get my invite from Moscow. So say it gets to Russia at the end of November. Could be possible travel in March or April. Even May or June factoring in hurdles and glitches. Unreal. What was so far is now faintly visible, dare I say imminent. I'm nervous.

Thursday, November 8, 2007

Flash Gordon


I find myself trying to draw comparisons and gauge my abilities to parent B the G in the most ordinary and unusual situations. Like with Gordon. Gordon is my dog. I know very well that Gordon is not a child and there is no need for anyone and everyone to comment that having a dog is in no way like raising a child. I KNOW that. But it's really all I've got and like I said, I'm busy drawing comparisons with what I've got to work with. And frankly, and I always speak frankly on la blog, I think it's quite legitimate to draw a few parallels here.

Unlike B the G, I got to choose Gordon out of many, way too many, other beasts at the dog pound. All these beasts desperately need a good home much like all of the orphaned and institutionalized children out there. And there are just so many, it's hard to single out just one to help. But one is all I can manage, financially, emotionally and physically. Am I talking about dogs or kids? I don't even know. When you begin the adoption (child this time) process you are bombarded with photos and documentaries and websites featuring beautiful, diverse, babies and children. You want to read about each one and find out about each country and fantasize about each story. And somehow fate and finances, contacts and research, lead you down a path that starts to fit you. The path gets narrower and narrower as you choose country, agency, which then chooses region and orphanage. And at the end there's this little being that's going to call you Mom for the rest of your life. It's extraordinary. My path towards B the G is still narrowing and really won't end until right up to the time I get to Moscow, and see him/her.

It's different adopting from Russia because you don't actually get assigned a child until you get to Moscow. You get an invitation from Russia to come on over and they will have a baby there for you. Which baby, they're not saying. My agency says that the good news with this is that if I'm not happy with the health of the child with the first referral, they will assign you another child while you are there. This is a little troubling to me but brings me back full circle to Gordon, which is why I started this post.

Walking through the kennels, looking at dozens of dogs, I saw Gordon's sad face behind a manic shepherd mix that was bouncing up and down in front of me. Gordon looked like a sad clown. And I say that because I could tell the potential for a happier face was there, but had been beaten out of him by his circumstances. Plenty of other dogs there wore this same face and anyone who's ever been to a shelter knows this look. Gordon also had other things working against him. His tail for one. Half of it was gone and half of the half that was left had been shaved down and was scabby and mangled looking. It looked like a fresh sausage was stuck onto the end of his tail. How's that for a visual? Really not appealing. He had some sort of skin condition that was making his hair fall off in patches around his face and ears. They had just put him on flea and tick meds at the pound, but he still had a nice heaping helping of bloodsuckers on him that I tried frantically to pull off while Justin wasn't looking. Justin is not big on ticks. Oh, and he had contracted some sort of kennel cough while there and had developed a hearty, hacking cough accompanied by a green, runny nose.

Justin thought I was mad and asked me repeatedly if I was sure that I wanted that one. But I knew Gordon was in there, underneath the stupid "Ritchie" name tag they put on his kennel. And more than that, I knew that nobody, but nobody was going to take this sad little clown home if I didn't . So, cut to the chase, here we are three months later, and that's three months of cleaning up spit balls hacked up as we battle the upper respiratory infection, and wiping up snotty green piles from his leaking nose, and bathing him terrified and shaking in the tub and putting betadine on the skin condition that turned out to be ringworm and is very contagious to people. Three short months and I've got a honey of a dog who is healthy, happy, loyal and cracks me up every single day.

I'm not touting all of this to say what a hero I am to all of dogdom. But I am going to draw a puppy/people parallel and say that as nervous as I am about B the G's health, disposition, and personality, I know that a majority of the kids available for adoption are like my Gordon and that if given a chance, a home, some patience and some parents, they too can become slobbering, blissful, sleeping sacks of love that fulfill and enrich as they are enriched and fulfilled.

Thursday, October 25, 2007

Hope Floats

I realized that for the past three or four months I have been getting my period. Just getting my period. Sounds simple and routine, but it has taken me a very long time in the mental process of beginning a family to get to this point where I am not counting days and peeing on sticks and strategically planning sex dates with Justin while trying to make him think I am just horny. I know you would think that in the many, many steps that lead up to international adoption, at some point you let reality seep in and release the hope of getting pregnant and float over to the hope of just bringing home a baby. From the hospital or from the airport. But letting go of that hope doesn't just happen with the decision to commit to adoption. Especially in my case with no firm diagnosis on my infertility.

However, somewhere in the past few months I guess, I floated and my period is now just...a period. It's such a relief to be here now, with my period without all of the angst that used to come with it. I used to curse it and question it and cry from it and I confess, pray to it. "Please don't come period...please don't come when everything has been so very carefully put in to place to make sure you don't arrive." But she came. She always came, welcome or not.

Lately, and for the love of all that is good it's taken me a long time to get here, I just stopped caring about the old girl. I have no idea what day I'm on in my cycle, and was actually caught off guard by her arrival this month. It sounds ridiculous and insignificant, but it's a tremendous shift in thought for me. And the fact that it has happened rather unconsciously (i.e. without group therapy, drugs or the threat of divorce) is a a little pat on the back for me in the quest to get to B the G. My energy, my thoughts, my work is focused now on the next step in my path to adoption, not necessarily the next step in my path to adoption because I can't get pregnant.

I dreamt this week that a voice whispered in my ear right before I woke up, "You are exactly where you are supposed to be." Of course this is open to lots of speculation and analysis depending on where your leanings are in spirituality, dream interpretation and the effects of red wine and Eckhart Tolle before bed. But it was such a crystal clear voice, very female and very matter-of-fact. I like to think that perhaps it was the Period Goddess giving me a little nudge, happy to be innocuously back in the fold, so to speak and celebrating the new absence of clocks and calendars and curses.

Saturday, October 13, 2007

Tree In The Wind

On the advise of my clever little adoption agency, I have decided to renew my 1-600A, which is the equivalent of a bathroom pass from the USCIS to adopt a child internationally. They are however, much harder to come by than the high school bathroom pass. This is where all the parts come in - the home study, which is the holy grail for adoption, the birth, marriage and divorce certificates, and the appropriately filled out forms accompanied by a pleading, but well-crafted letter explaining why I am making this request.

I have acquired all of the parts needed to re-apply for this pass and have sent them off to my local USCIS to ask for re-permission to adopt. My agency fears that I may overlap the time limit put on the 1-600A and accompanying fingerprints while I wait for my referral for B the G. I think it's quite funny that your fingerprints expire after 15 months with USCIS. How can that be? They are still your fingers, right? Do they think you'll be able to slip some new ones on there with 15 months of research?

But with my newly-possessed, tree-in-the-wind frame of mind, which I do believe comes from being at this process for two years, I just bend over and take my shot as they ask me to do. All of this is just processing, just time, while they put me in line, find my old files, and update my requests in their database. And on the bright side it means going to Moscow a bit later in the year when possibly, maybe it just might be a bit warmer over there. Justin is trying to avoid his busy season at work in April/May for our trip to get B the G. This may be a problem for him, which translates into a problem for us. But there's no point in worrying myself about it now. Tree in the wind, tree in the wind....

Thursday, October 4, 2007

Cue the Chorus..

It's here, it's here. My precious, precious home study. Waiting for me in my mailbox like a valentine. Forgive the sentimentality, but these forms begin to take on a life of there own, especially as they are linked so deeply to the getting of your own little life.

I raced to the post office to get it to my agency toute suite. While completing my transaction, a mom with baby carriage struggled to get in the door. I held it for her and she handed the clerk a $20 that she said she found in the parking lot and that someone had probably dropped. The sales clerk and I both looked at each other astonished and then back at the mom as she exited with me holding the door. "You are such a good person..." was the only weak comment I could manage. She just shrugged and went on her mommy little way. The sales clerk says to me "What am I supposed to do with it? Nobody is coming back for this, they probably don't even know they dropped it." I agreed with her and again expressed my amazement that this woman would take the trouble, baby carriage and all, to turn the bill in. The clerk said, "It breaks my heart that there are such good people out there. People who are so much better than me. " It does break your heart. In a good, heart-breaking way.

I hope whoever dropped that bill comes back in for it and realizes that sometimes life IS fair. Or if nobody does come back for it, I hope that sales clerk gives it to someone who needs it more than she does. Or if she needs it, then I'm glad it came to her. I took the whole event as a very good omen as I sent my life history with stamps and seals and degrees from a myriad of different people on why I would make a good parent off to my adoption agency.

Friday, September 28, 2007

Hiawatha

One of the things that make international adoption such a gas is the myriad of forms, documents and exams that you have to complete in order to qualify for parenthood. One of the things my beloved Ruth at the SW agency "forgot" to tell me I needed in the state of Georgia is an online parenting course that is worth 8 credit hours. I have no idea how much all of the other paperwork I've filled out is worth or who sets the standards for these credits. I think I could probably qualify for a doctorate at this stage. I'm sure I could find out about the standards and committees in charge of these things if I dug deep enough, but at this point, they tell me to fill out a form, take a course, get a shot or drop my drawers for this adoption and I pretty much do it. I don't care if it's interesting, meaningful, or educational. I'm an automaton now. I may weep tears of frustration while doing it, but I will sit down and hammer it out. The bloom is off the rose.

So Justin and I have to take this online course which is about 19 different chapters and a slide show on each chapter with homework questions that you must turn in to your social worker. So, once informed that this is another necessity in the obtaining of B the G, I diligently sat down at the computer to tackle it. I knew I was in trouble when the first instruction given to me in Chapter 1, The Image of Your Child is to draw a picture of your future baby. I do believe I said out loud, "That is the stupidest thing ever." and skipped ahead onto Question 2, which asks you question about your drawing. Peeking ahead, I realize all of the question in Chapter 1 are about this picture of your future baby and different aspects of your feelings about what your child will look like. Now I'm no dummy. You can't be to apply for international adoption. In fact they should offer a degree in it. Perhaps a doctorate.... I know they are trying to prepare you for the fact that your future child is probably not going to resemble you in any way. If you have made it this far in international adoption, and you haven't considered this possibility, you really shouldn't be allowed to go any further.

I'm going to brag a little here and tell you there are a lot of things I can be rated as marginally good to pretty competant in doing. I'm quite good at training my neurotic pound puppy who already knows how to come, sit, roll over and high five. I can change all the locks in my house and key them the same. I can make a banana bread that will make you smack your lips and I can recommend a wine to go with pretty much anything you're eating. But I can't draw. Even my stick figures look like I did them with my left-hand. I'm right-handed. But here I am stuck with my credit hours to fulfill so I am forced to draw a picture of my future baby. If I could figue out how to scan and post something one day, I will because what I drew was...a papoose. I drew a face and then the head sort or went all the way around the baby. I stuck in a little comma-like chin to differentiate between the head and the body - clever that - and there was my baby. And strangely, I recognized this baby. It looked just like a little black-eyed papoose from my Hiawatha book I read as a kid, albeit much, much more poorly illustrated. I put a feather coming out of the head part, just to go along with the theme. I spent a lot of time on the feather. It was much easier for me to draw as I know what feathers look like.

Now I have to answer questions about the drawing. Questions like "What part of the drawing did you spend the most time on?" That one was easy. But then it asks me "Why?' And "What does this tell you?" I sepnt a lot of time on the feather coming out of B the G's head because it's the only thing I was comfortable drawing. It's a really lame answer. It tells me that I'm a rotten drawr-er. I am failing already.

Next question - "Is it what you want?" No! I wish I could draw a beautiful chubba wubba baby with spit bubbles in a Gymboree onesie giving me the thumbs up. But if somebody stuck this little Hiawatha in my arms and said "Here's your baby." I know I would smooth his little feather, change his leather diapers and saddle up my pinto pony for the long flight home. And then I think A-Ha! Maybe I actually have passed the test, even with my body-deprived picture of B the G. I am thinking about the faceless baby of my future and know that I'll be ok not having any clue or concern with what the child looks like. I am open to the glorious mystery of it, and I am thinking exactly as an adoptive mother should be. At least for Chapter 1.

Friday, September 21, 2007

Damn you, Ruth!

God, she's like Lex Luthor to my Superman. I get the following from her today after I have pestered her only once about when my homestudy will be ready.

Sue is working on your study. We need some paperwork. We need a copy
of your birth certificates, marriage license and divorce decrees and
your certificate you took the online training course "Eyes Wide Open".
In the China adoption we did not need these because we were just
updating your move here but for this one we have to have those.

Now I called this woman in early August to inquire about my update and what I would need. Why, Ruth, why couldn't you have pulled my files then and told me I would need to get these documents to you? It just makes me hate you more and feel like you are even less qualified than I originally thought to do your job. Are other adopting parents working with this agency having as much trouble with this waterhead as I am? I tried to call the director today after I received the email to complain and ask that my case be transferred to someone else within the agency. But of course she is on vacation and her pleasant-voiced message referred all callers to her administrative assistant Ruth if they needed immediate assistance. Is Ruth vastly overworked and the agency underfunded to hire someone to help her? Probably. But here I have to project my inner Peter Parker and say "Not my problem." Yes, I know this attitude got his Uncle Ben killed blah, blah, blah. It's going to kill me if I keep having to deal with this ridiculously incompetant woman.

I'm calming down now, but I was so filled up with frustration when I got this email that tears literally popped out of my eyes. Not the rolling down the cheek kind, but the angry kind that seem to leap out of your face. I called everyone I could think of to talk me down and no one is available. Dear old blog, you will have to play therapist for now.

Does encountering numerous brick walls and hurdles in the quest to get to the thing you want signal that maybe you should proceed with caution in obtaining your goal, that maybe this thing isn't right for you and the universe is giving you plenty of opportunity to back out? Or does it mean that nothing worth getting is easy and if you want it that bad, you are going to have to chew glass to get it? I know this is just a very minor issue in finishing my homestudy, and of course I will complete the course, whatever it is, and get the paperwork to Rrrruth, but all of these bumps, little and big crop up at every corner. Is that the lesson? That it's never smooth sailing in getting a kid, having a kid, raising a kid? I'm trying to find the lesson in these bumps to make sense of it all, the difficulty, the frustration, the hurt and the anger that patches my road to starting my family. Because if I don't look for the lesson, let alone consider the possible answers, I will cave in emotionally. There HAS to be a reason. To persevere with this, I'm forced to be philosophical about it. Oh, man the next person that tells me how easy their adoption process or pregnancy was is going to get a sharp stick in the eye from me....

Time to chew more glass....

Wednesday, September 19, 2007

The Dark Worry

We had the last homestudy for our Russia update completed on September 14 and now I get to bounce in my seat for awhile until I receive the final notarized copy in the mail. I have to be very patient with this part. The last time I went through this with my social work agency, I was really under the gun and trying to submit my updated homestudy before May of 2006 (!) to meet the new China deadlines which placed more restrictions on who can and can't adopt from their country. People of a certain age, income or those with more than one marriage were in this newly despicable group and I would have had to get right in line with them with my second marriage on record.

I went around and around with my agency trying to get them to speed it up. Eventually, I cc'd the director on an email to Ruth, the AA in charge of my file. I got it toute suite after that, but of course in the process, made an eternal nemesis of dear, pokey Ruth. At the time, thinking I'd never need her services again, I thought good riddance and carried on with the rest of my day. Doesn' t the universe work in mysterious ways to jam a good lesson back in your face when you haven't learned it? So of course, three months later, I'm back in touch with Ruth trying to get her to help me transfer my information to Russia. Needless to say, Ruth isn't very warm, fuzzy or fast in anything she does with me now and I'll just bite my knuckles until it gets to the ridiculous point. I am paying her and she is providing a service for me so eventually she has to pony up. But I should have stayed on her good side.

That's the dark worry for adopting parents with this whole process. You have so many questions and concerns and you are paying dearly for every step of this adoption and it never seems to be as 1-2-3 easy as they first lay out to you when you are shopping agencies. So there are times when you want to explode and raise hell and ask why no one has gotten back to you with an answer about immigration forms or you ask two people in the agency the same question and they each give you a different answer. This is where I start to get a little crazy and the customer service part of me begs to be...serviced. But I dare not get short, snippy or curt with this group because in the back of my mind, I know that they hold the key to the door that's going to get me to Baby the Great. They could lose my file, never receive my email, or worst of all...the dark worry - assign me a colicky, two-headed monster that is not going to come anywhere near to my vision of Baby the Great. I can just see them holding the phone two feet away from their ear while I am hollering at the other end about why it's taking so long to get an answer. "Oh yes, Ms. Burdash we have the perfect baby for you...Hah aha haahah." I've voiced it, we all think it. I want a darling baby, a cute baby, a healthy baby. And if I have to suck up my temper and treat people whose service I think is lousy like they are the bees knees, then suck up I must.

Again, it's all part of the bigger lesson I am learning here as I shorten the distance between me and B the G. You would think, reading this, that I have some sort of Medusa like demeanor, but honestly I don't. It's a stressful process, made worse by the possibility of the rug being pulled out from under you at any time. And honestly some people I've encountered are truly slack about doing their jobs, and unfortunately for me they are tied in with my progress in adopting a child. Which is not to say there aren't also some truly heroic people in this business who have provided the best service I could have asked for. I guess it's like all aspects of daily life I guess, you deal with winners and losers, slackers and professionals. heroes and hangers on. I just want it all smooth and easy for MY adoption. And by god I should know by now it never will work that way.

Thursday, August 30, 2007

MD's in the ATL

I realized yesterday as I was waiting to get my PPD test read, a requirement for international adoption, that I have lived here in Atlanta for almost twelve months. In that time I've seen 5 different doctors. Five! I haven't seen Sicko yet, but I've had plenty of opportunity to develop an opinion on the hurdles of health care and insurance for the young, healthy and insured.

It's almost as difficult finding a good doctor in a new city as it is getting your insurance claim to cover you for a visit. They like to make you think they are your friend, these insurance companies. Friendly little websites with pictures of families at a picnic and laughing senior citizens. They refer to you as a "member". Not a client or a customer or a patient. Like it's some kind of cool club that they've let you have access to. My company does offer a little clue as to what's in store for you though, cryptically naming their website Southcarolinablues.com. It very effectively summed up my state of mind as I tried to decipher whether or not I had coverage for fertility treatment, how much surgery would cost for fibroid removal, why I have to pay each separate hospital department towards my deductible, and the list goes on. Justin would come home from work and I'd be at the kitchen table with my head in my hands, policies, notes and bills spread out before me. Eventually he just stopped asking and would quietly open a bottle of wine, place a glass in front of me and go and get changed.

My first doctor visit was simply to get my third inoculation in the series for Hep B, another recommendation for travel to China. I had already received the first two in NYC and if you don't get the third in the proper period of time, you have to start all over ( see Justin for more info on that). So, not knowing a soul here in Atlanta, especially when we first moved here, I went to a local teaching university and asked for a visit with the first available MD in the General Practice clinic. I asked for a woman MD, as it always makes me feel more comfortable seeing a woman, especially without any prior referral. No dice, though - the female practitioners in the clinic were not taking any new patients. So ok, I'll take first available with whoever. All I need is this shot anyway.

Do you feel the foreshadowing here? So as a new patient they give you all the goodies that go with your first visit, weigh-in, temperature take, blood pressure, all done by a friendly nurse. Then in comes my doctor as I wait on the examining table. I tell him about my impending adoption and travel, my need for shot number three and we are on our way. Only he says since I'm here he wants to do a full exam anyway. Now I have already had a physical done in NYC for the adoption not six months prior. I've also been poked, prodded, tested and had more people looking into my vagina as a married woman in her thirties than I ever did as a hot, young, single chick. Fertility treatment brings with it all sorts of gifts like that. But never look a gift horse in the vagina, because that wasn't getting me out of another physical with new MD.

Why do we all roll over for doctors? If I had said "No, I don't need a physical. I just want my third Hep B." does he get to wave it in front of me like a carrot until I agree to the physical? Does it matter to him medically? Professionally? Financially? I'll never know because I went along with it, like I always have with doctors. So he tells me to remove my shirt, wrap the blue sheet around me and he'll be back in a minute. More annoyed that I have to partially undress, I follow instructions and wait there on the table, the blue sheet wrapped under my arms like a bath towel. So in comes the doctor again to finish the exam. Looks in the ears, the eyes, then tells me to extend my arms out in front of me, flex my wrist so that my fingers are pointing at the ceiling and close my eyes. Close my eyes? Yes, the red flag went up in my mind. Yes, I hesitated, knowing that the sheet was not going to stay up with arms stuck out in front of me. Yes, I then stuck out my arms and closed my eyes doing exactly as asked. The sheet falls down around my waist as I knew it would and then he tells me to shrug my shoulders up and down. Is he testing my reflexes? My ability to follow directions? Or is he checking out my rack? I'm now feeling pretty vulnerable there in my black bra with no nurse in the room. I shrug a few times and open my eyes. He is taking notes, like this is all very routine. He comes over to listen to my heart and as soon as the stethoscope is off of me I pull the sheet up around me and begin to seethe. Something finally shifts in me and I actively begin to hate him now. Hate him for making me feel vulnerable and confused.

Before he leaves he checks my blood pressure even though the nurse had already taken it when I arrived. When I mention this to him he checks the chart and comments that my blood pressure is lower now than it was when she took it ten minutes ago. Then he says "But you’ve been sitting down and taking your clothes off since then. Maybe you ought to think about a change in careers”. And gave a little laugh. WTF? I don't even know what this means. I should consider a career change where I have to take my clothes off and sit on a table? I can't get out of there fast enough. I review the whole visit in my head and wonder where my hair trigger temper went during all of this? Me, with all of the vagina viewers in my past? It's not like I'm a novice with these office visits. I kick myself all the way home for my lack of action and my paralysis. And thus ended my first and last visit to MD #1, here in the ATL.

Epilogue: I reported this MD to the State Board and they did follow up with me that they were investigating my complaint. In the meantime, I know he is still practicing at the same clinic because I am now seeing a female practitioner there. It might seem crazy to go back to the same clinic, but the warped side of me is longing to run into him there and tell him that I got a job as a topless tabletop installer and my blood pressure couldn't be better.

Tuesday, August 28, 2007

B the G

Because we were originally adopting from China the decision to adopt a girl was already made for us. And that suited me just fine since I wanted a girl anyway. I've been thinking of little girl names, activities, clothes, sports, etc. Girl, girl, girl. But now with the switch to Russia, I have the option of choosing. The agency tells me that little girls require a slightly longer wait than boys, but that both are available. Justin says let's stay with the girl plan. Others say if you are definitely getting a girl from China in the future, get a boy now and you will have one of each. China was easy because of the lack of choice. So I have decided to treat this like a pregnancy, as it's the closest I'll ever come to one, and leave it up to chance. No preference. Male or female. I'll have to re-do some forms, but it's not a big change. It's disconcerting sometimes as I discuss with my friend Jen who is also adopting internationally. Sometimes you feel as though you are picking out wallpaper or furniture with the questions you have to answer on these forms. Hair color, eye color, age, health issues. Will this baby "go " with me, my husband, my house? My life?

And that's how Baby the Great as I've come to think of him/her came to be. It is Russia after all. There's Peter the Great and Catherine the Great. When I was in grade school my little girlfriends and I would sign slam books and notes from each other as Meg the Great or Krista the Great. A little self-appointed greatness in the 4th grade, when you weren't really recognized for much of anything. So I am dubbing this future child Baby the Great, endowing him/her with a little Russian greatness that is inherantly theirs just by virtue of having been born there. And because I don't know if I will bring home a boy or a girl. And because I haven't decided on a name for either sex.

Wednesday, August 22, 2007

In the beginning...

...there was China. Well actually in the very beginning there was Russia. Our first choice to adopt when we were looking into international adoption. Justin and I both share Eastern European heritage, he has a brother living in Moscow and it just felt like the right choice for us. This was in early 2005 and right at about that time, Russia began changing it's allowances for international adoption, the minimum age of children being adopted out began to rise and then eventually the whole program went on hold. As we hadn't really done any paperwork or paid for anything yet, we were encouraged to switch to China. Which we did happily, having heard wonderful stories and feedback about families that had experienced a straightforward process, a relatively small wait for a referral and a beautiful healthy baby.

Oh China...where did we go wrong, you and me? Fast forward two years and two moves later. We are in Atlanta now, having begun the adoption process in New York City. This put a another waiting period on our home study as we had to find a new social worker, do an update and then of course decide that it was a good time to buy a house and then do another update. Finally - home study complete, log in date to the Chinese Consulate confirmed on March 30, 2007 and we are in for the real wait. Only things have been changing in China since I began this process and my wait time from login date to referral crept up while I was busy updating and moving and fretting and waiting. First 12 months, then 18 month, then 24 months and rumors even began circulating that 36 months was a possibility.

And then here comes Russia, trundling along like a big bear, re-accrediting agencies, lowering ages again for children eligible to be adopted and generally, welcoming us back with open arms. Now don't get me wrong. I haven't given up on China. Assured by my adoption agency that I can be back wtih a Russian child before I even get a referral for China as the current situation looks, I am taking my chances and plan on visiting Moscow and the new baby in the lovely month of February when I've heard it's very...cold.

So you're up to date now, fans of love. I've squeezed at least 20 months worth of angst into those little paragraphs up there. And I feel a bit like Ed McDonnough from Raising Arizona in my quest to "get me one of them babies". But it's all systems go now and so hang on and stay tuned...