Things are always the most calm right before the storm, right? I think we can apply that theory to more than just the weather.
Over the past couple months, my wife and I have essentially poured our lives out to "strangers". Not strangers in a strange sense, but strangers in the fact that we just didn't know them, but would come to. "Tell me about your childhood?...What are you strengths?...Tell me about your sister?" she would ask. "Good and happy....open-mindedness, empathy, and resiliency....haven't spoken to her in years" I would answer. All of this, on top of having to endure criminal background checks from three separate states, despite the fact I already hold a top-secret government security clearance. Now I'm not saying I can talk intelligently about alien landings, but I think that is just enough to show I'm not a criminal.
Another kick in the nuts (or in my case, just nut; we'll get to that later) came when, after all this, one of our strangers, K, would tell us to find pictures of us having fun on vacation for our profile, but "No Sunglasses In Your Pictures!"
Now my wife and I love the beach and tropical places. After going through our pictures of us having fun on vacation in warm sunny tropical places, just as K had asked; how many pictures do you think we found of us not wearing sunglasses? Not many.
It was a heartbreaking feeling to think after pouring our lives out to strangers, we could potentially be "unfit" parents because we wear sunglasses at the beach.
So far, I think I was just being dramatic.
Back to the storm. After all this, the inquisition with one stranger, the picture orders from another, and learning from Georgia, Kansas, California and North Carolina that I'm not a criminal, the "easy" part was now over. Now we wait.
The storm came last week, when after being "out there" for a week, the emails came. K, who is becoming our closest stranger, started filling our inbox with hope. Unfortunately, some of them were just not a good fit for us. Too expensive and history of drug use were the major obstacles, but one caught our attention. I was at work when these came in; my phone started vibrating like crazy, and my wife M would give me the good news.
I came home to very emotionally filled household. I gave M a hug and a kiss and read a profile that might be a match. After reading it, I wasn't getting a "warm fuzzy."
Now one of the things I have vowed to do during this process is make the best and smartest decisions from the best information available, and not out of emotion. Just like West Virginia University learned after the 2008 Fiesta Bowl, the worst decisions are the ones made out of emotion.
The next major obstacle was explaining to M just exactly why I didn't have a "warm fuzzy". With this being our third profile, and potentially the third one turned down, She even even questioned if I was showing a lack of commitment to this process. That could not be further from the reason.
The way I see it, we have one shot at this and that one shot has to hit the target. A miss would be devastating. Storms are like buses; it's ok to let one pass, another will be shortly behind it. I couldn't intelligently explain why I didn't have a "warm fuzzy", you can't explain instincts. You have them and you listen to them. If it doesn't feel right, it doesn't feel right. You cannot force it. We both wanted more information on this profile.
Our favorite stranger, K, was our conduit to that information. After a couple frustrating days of just not getting it, the "silver bullet" email came in. K, who is becoming less of a stranger now, informed us that she was also unsure. The lawyer involved was questionable, the birth mother's story was flimsy, and the agency she was talking to, turned out to be "Bobs Adoption Agency", not very credible. Now the names are changed, but the story is the same. We trusted our instincts and it was worth it. We rode this storm out, now just waiting for the next. It will inevitably come.
Saturday, March 31, 2012
Friday, March 30, 2012
The Question
"So, do you guys have any kids?"
{cringe}
For four years now well-meaning people have asked us The Question. They haven't meant any harm in it, and there was certainly no offense taken by it. It's a natural question that comes up in conversation. If someone is asking, then they obviously don't know us, or the back story to our "no" answer.
So I don't hate the question, and I'm not going to go off on a tangent on how it should never be asked because you just never know what that person has been through. {I will say there are forms of that question that should 'never' be asked... "so, what- do you just not want to get pregnant, or something?" is definitely one of them. Yes, I was asked that. By someone I barely knew. In front of a group of women I also barely knew. But that's another story.} But for four years I've dreaded it...
or probably more honestly, I've dreaded not knowing if the answer was ever going to be "yes."
We had talked about raising a family well before we were even married, so after not having the same 'luck' as our friends were having when it came to getting pregnant we were a little bummed, but certainly not discouraged. The Army was moving us to Fort Irwin, CA, and we had heard amazing things about the infertility specialists at Balboa, the Navy hospital in San Diego. Without question, we knew we would do whatever it took to have a family.
It was a three hour drive one way to get to Appointments, but I didn't care. The Drs were fabulous, and we were feeling hopeful. The tests on me weren't coming back as happy & rosey as we'd hoped, but we were given a 50% chance that IVF would be successful. At the time - because of funding - there was a 6 month waiting list before you could start the process. We got our names on the list right away, but the Drs decided to do some tests on Mike in the meantime just to cover all the bases.
One thing we learned awfully quick: when a specialist calls you at 9AM on a Saturday, it's not good.
We were sitting in San Diego, enjoying a gorgeous sunny morning at an outdoor coffee shop. Our dog, Quilla, was with us, and we were excited to be linking up later that day with a good friend from college and his girlfriend.
Mike was diagnosed with Testicular Cancer. They wanted to operate - immediately. It had already spread.
Our world crashed down. Our life became months of week-long chemo treatments.
In a cruel double-punch, as soon as Mike's treatments were over and we started to be able to breathe again, I got sick. It took 6 months, nine doctors, and me getting to the point of being malnourished, living in extreme pain, and losing 20% of my hearing before anyone could figure out what was wrong with me.
I was diagnosed with a rare vascular disease called Wegeners Granulomatosis. Treatment included taking an oral chemotherapy for over a year. Between everything our bodies had been through, coupled with the fertility problems we had already faced prior, being able to conceive was no longer an option.
We got a call saying our name was now first on the list for IVF. We could make our appointment. Our names had not been removed from the list in all the hubbub. That phone call stung a bit.
In an odd way I consider us lucky, though. Talking to a lot of people who have had to go through infertility treatments, and just from our own brief experiences with it, it's easy for one person in the relationship to feel like they are "faulty" and "defective," and the emotions and finances of dealing with multiple attempts to have a successful pregnancy can really put a huge strain on even the best of relationships. It's certainly beautiful and worth every penny and tear when the result is a sweet little newborn, but the time in between can be a long, hard road.
Cancer and Wegeners took that option away from us. It was difficult to cope with knowing we would never be able to experience a pregnancy, but looking back now I see that in the end we were 'spared' from having one of us feeling inadequate compared to the other. We are both "defective" so in theory neither of us can feel like we are robbing the other of something. That certainly doesn't mean we haven't felt like that at times, but we understand how the other person feels.
It took me a lot less time than it took Mike to accept our infertility. I just couldn't picture my life without a child in it, and I knew immediately that I wanted to pursue an adoption. It wasn't easy to give Mike the time he needed to heal and find again that desire to be a Dad. But almost a year ago now, on a pre-deployment getaway to St. Croix, Mike turned to me on the beach and - out of nowhere, we were both just reading and relaxing - said, "You're right. I do still want to be a Dad. Let's adopt."
It was then that I stopped dreading The Question, because while the answer we give is still "no," at least we know that someday, thanks to the most incredible gift imaginable, we will be holding a baby and that answer will finally be "yes."
For four years now well-meaning people have asked us The Question. They haven't meant any harm in it, and there was certainly no offense taken by it. It's a natural question that comes up in conversation. If someone is asking, then they obviously don't know us, or the back story to our "no" answer.
So I don't hate the question, and I'm not going to go off on a tangent on how it should never be asked because you just never know what that person has been through. {I will say there are forms of that question that should 'never' be asked... "so, what- do you just not want to get pregnant, or something?" is definitely one of them. Yes, I was asked that. By someone I barely knew. In front of a group of women I also barely knew. But that's another story.} But for four years I've dreaded it...
or probably more honestly, I've dreaded not knowing if the answer was ever going to be "yes."
We had talked about raising a family well before we were even married, so after not having the same 'luck' as our friends were having when it came to getting pregnant we were a little bummed, but certainly not discouraged. The Army was moving us to Fort Irwin, CA, and we had heard amazing things about the infertility specialists at Balboa, the Navy hospital in San Diego. Without question, we knew we would do whatever it took to have a family.
It was a three hour drive one way to get to Appointments, but I didn't care. The Drs were fabulous, and we were feeling hopeful. The tests on me weren't coming back as happy & rosey as we'd hoped, but we were given a 50% chance that IVF would be successful. At the time - because of funding - there was a 6 month waiting list before you could start the process. We got our names on the list right away, but the Drs decided to do some tests on Mike in the meantime just to cover all the bases.
One thing we learned awfully quick: when a specialist calls you at 9AM on a Saturday, it's not good.
We were sitting in San Diego, enjoying a gorgeous sunny morning at an outdoor coffee shop. Our dog, Quilla, was with us, and we were excited to be linking up later that day with a good friend from college and his girlfriend.
Mike was diagnosed with Testicular Cancer. They wanted to operate - immediately. It had already spread.
Our world crashed down. Our life became months of week-long chemo treatments.
In a cruel double-punch, as soon as Mike's treatments were over and we started to be able to breathe again, I got sick. It took 6 months, nine doctors, and me getting to the point of being malnourished, living in extreme pain, and losing 20% of my hearing before anyone could figure out what was wrong with me.
I was diagnosed with a rare vascular disease called Wegeners Granulomatosis. Treatment included taking an oral chemotherapy for over a year. Between everything our bodies had been through, coupled with the fertility problems we had already faced prior, being able to conceive was no longer an option.
We got a call saying our name was now first on the list for IVF. We could make our appointment. Our names had not been removed from the list in all the hubbub. That phone call stung a bit.
In an odd way I consider us lucky, though. Talking to a lot of people who have had to go through infertility treatments, and just from our own brief experiences with it, it's easy for one person in the relationship to feel like they are "faulty" and "defective," and the emotions and finances of dealing with multiple attempts to have a successful pregnancy can really put a huge strain on even the best of relationships. It's certainly beautiful and worth every penny and tear when the result is a sweet little newborn, but the time in between can be a long, hard road.
Cancer and Wegeners took that option away from us. It was difficult to cope with knowing we would never be able to experience a pregnancy, but looking back now I see that in the end we were 'spared' from having one of us feeling inadequate compared to the other. We are both "defective" so in theory neither of us can feel like we are robbing the other of something. That certainly doesn't mean we haven't felt like that at times, but we understand how the other person feels.
It took me a lot less time than it took Mike to accept our infertility. I just couldn't picture my life without a child in it, and I knew immediately that I wanted to pursue an adoption. It wasn't easy to give Mike the time he needed to heal and find again that desire to be a Dad. But almost a year ago now, on a pre-deployment getaway to St. Croix, Mike turned to me on the beach and - out of nowhere, we were both just reading and relaxing - said, "You're right. I do still want to be a Dad. Let's adopt."
It was then that I stopped dreading The Question, because while the answer we give is still "no," at least we know that someday, thanks to the most incredible gift imaginable, we will be holding a baby and that answer will finally be "yes."
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
Telling our Story {our hopes for this blog}
A lot of ideas spring to life over nothing more than a beer, a napkin, and good company. Deciding to share our adoption story in the form of this blog was no exception.
When we were going through our Home Study we initially decided that we would just do our best to keep things quiet. Our friends & family knew that we were starting the adoption process, and inevitably there'd be a frustration that lead to a Facebook post - but knowing The Wait was going to be a bumpy ride with a lot of emotions, we felt like it would be best to just hold back and not say a peep about any of it until we were on a plane headed to meet our sweet baby. It was going to be hard enough for us to deal with the ups & downs, so why put our parents and others through that as well?
As the Home Study process wrapped up I started getting messages and texts (even a phone call from someone I truly hardly know) wanting to know how things were going, and a few other people reached out wanting to know more about the adoption process because they had been considering it for their families. As I wrote them back - especially the ones wanting to know where to start with an adoption - I felt like there was just so much we had learned from our experience so far that I wanted to make sure they knew about, because it wasn't spelled out on any brochure or website or article we had poured over in our research.
So this past weekend, over a beer and cheeseburgers, we outlined our goals for this blog:
When we were going through our Home Study we initially decided that we would just do our best to keep things quiet. Our friends & family knew that we were starting the adoption process, and inevitably there'd be a frustration that lead to a Facebook post - but knowing The Wait was going to be a bumpy ride with a lot of emotions, we felt like it would be best to just hold back and not say a peep about any of it until we were on a plane headed to meet our sweet baby. It was going to be hard enough for us to deal with the ups & downs, so why put our parents and others through that as well?
As the Home Study process wrapped up I started getting messages and texts (even a phone call from someone I truly hardly know) wanting to know how things were going, and a few other people reached out wanting to know more about the adoption process because they had been considering it for their families. As I wrote them back - especially the ones wanting to know where to start with an adoption - I felt like there was just so much we had learned from our experience so far that I wanted to make sure they knew about, because it wasn't spelled out on any brochure or website or article we had poured over in our research.
So this past weekend, over a beer and cheeseburgers, we outlined our goals for this blog:
- Keep our parents, family, and friends (and those who are just curious) up-to-date on our journey.
- Write honestly and openly about our adoption journey in hopes that our experiences will help other couples who are considering adoption. This will include talking about the financial aspects, "red tape" frustrations, emotional ups & downs, and why we chose the route we did.
- Include links to sites and information we found extremely helpful.
- Write from both of our perspectives. (Mike will post on a weekly basis, Missie at least weekly)
I can't help but feel that writing this blog will be a great form of 'therapy' as well.
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
Waiting...
It's a beautiful spring afternoon and I'm proud of myself because I've made it through 75% of the day without shedding a tear, and - despite checking my e-mail almost every 2 minutes of the day - I have managed to get my "to-do" list tackled. This is a small little victory for me since The Wait officially began just about a week ago...a week that has been just too silent for me.
Just 24 hours earlier I was upstairs making a pouty face towards my hubby. That quickly turned into a few silent tears rolling down my cheek, prompting my hubby to say "stop it. just stop it." and hug me...
Knowing he's right and that I'm just going to drive myself bonkers if I allow myself to dwell on the silence. I have soldiered through my Monday. I haven't called, texted, or e-mail K to say "any news?" I haven't bitten off all my nails. I haven't devoured a box a Thin Mints. I checked my e-mail way too often, but I'll allow myself that...As a reward I'm going to fill the gap between finishing up my work day and my hubby coming home with a nice long walk with our dog...
The phone rings. I almost let the machine get it, but decide to grab it at the last minute. It's K. My heart flutters for a second, but I get it under control - I'm not going to let my hopes get up; we haven't even received a profile yet, so surely this isn't The Call.
K informs me she just received a profile, that it's just about exactly what we've been hoping for.
"It's twin boys" she tells me. They've already been born. If it all worked out we could be parents. Like - NOW. I just about jump through the roof.
But K has more information. The cost to adopt these little boys is extremely high. Extremely. Double what our adoption savings is. She doesn't want to send us the profile without us knowing the cost up front...I thank her profusely and rush to call Mike at work. We are quickly doing math in our heads...
it's just not there. This can't be happening...our dream is in front of us, and because of a price tag we are going to have to turn and walk away.
There's call waiting. It's K again. "You're not going to believe this, but I just got another case. It's another little boy... He's due in July..."
The profile is on its way.
By the time Mike walks in the back door from work, a THIRD profile has come into our hands. Another little boy. He'll be born in June. As K's e-mail began in the third e-mail, we "are a hot commodity!"
I can only hope we are.
By the time Mike has come home I have cried about the twins. I've wiped the tears, and eagerly read about the two other Birth Moms and the little boys they are carrying. There's hope. One we can afford, the other would be a stretch but we just might be able to do it. My heart is already "in".
Rookie mistake.
After reading both profiles more closely and talking it over, we just don't have the "warm fuzzies" about the second profile. Figures - that's the one we could afford. But we have to go with our gut, and there are details involved in the profile that just tell us this isn't the baby that's meant for us. We've been told by many adoptive families and K that this will happen, and that we have to trust our instincts. But still - after crying 24 hours earlier about not wanting to wait any longer I'm now - in the span of an hour - having to 'walk away' from twins AND from a little boy?
This is torture.
The third profile...a little boy due in June...it's promising. But yet again the cost may force us to have to walk away. The lawyer the Birth Mom is using is known to ask for up to $15,000 in 'at risk' fees on top of the adoption cost. This means we risk losing $15,000 if we were to try for this baby, get matched, and then the Birth Mom were to change her mind or something were to go wrong with the pregnancy.
We have a few more days until that Birth Mom will be looking at profiles. A few more days to get more details on the full cost of the adoption. A few more days to decide whether or not we go for it...
It looks like today I will yet again be checking my e-mails every 2 minutes.
Just 24 hours earlier I was upstairs making a pouty face towards my hubby. That quickly turned into a few silent tears rolling down my cheek, prompting my hubby to say "stop it. just stop it." and hug me...
Knowing he's right and that I'm just going to drive myself bonkers if I allow myself to dwell on the silence. I have soldiered through my Monday. I haven't called, texted, or e-mail K to say "any news?" I haven't bitten off all my nails. I haven't devoured a box a Thin Mints. I checked my e-mail way too often, but I'll allow myself that...As a reward I'm going to fill the gap between finishing up my work day and my hubby coming home with a nice long walk with our dog...
The phone rings. I almost let the machine get it, but decide to grab it at the last minute. It's K. My heart flutters for a second, but I get it under control - I'm not going to let my hopes get up; we haven't even received a profile yet, so surely this isn't The Call.
K informs me she just received a profile, that it's just about exactly what we've been hoping for.
"It's twin boys" she tells me. They've already been born. If it all worked out we could be parents. Like - NOW. I just about jump through the roof.
But K has more information. The cost to adopt these little boys is extremely high. Extremely. Double what our adoption savings is. She doesn't want to send us the profile without us knowing the cost up front...I thank her profusely and rush to call Mike at work. We are quickly doing math in our heads...
it's just not there. This can't be happening...our dream is in front of us, and because of a price tag we are going to have to turn and walk away.
There's call waiting. It's K again. "You're not going to believe this, but I just got another case. It's another little boy... He's due in July..."
The profile is on its way.
By the time Mike walks in the back door from work, a THIRD profile has come into our hands. Another little boy. He'll be born in June. As K's e-mail began in the third e-mail, we "are a hot commodity!"
I can only hope we are.
By the time Mike has come home I have cried about the twins. I've wiped the tears, and eagerly read about the two other Birth Moms and the little boys they are carrying. There's hope. One we can afford, the other would be a stretch but we just might be able to do it. My heart is already "in".
Rookie mistake.
After reading both profiles more closely and talking it over, we just don't have the "warm fuzzies" about the second profile. Figures - that's the one we could afford. But we have to go with our gut, and there are details involved in the profile that just tell us this isn't the baby that's meant for us. We've been told by many adoptive families and K that this will happen, and that we have to trust our instincts. But still - after crying 24 hours earlier about not wanting to wait any longer I'm now - in the span of an hour - having to 'walk away' from twins AND from a little boy?
This is torture.
The third profile...a little boy due in June...it's promising. But yet again the cost may force us to have to walk away. The lawyer the Birth Mom is using is known to ask for up to $15,000 in 'at risk' fees on top of the adoption cost. This means we risk losing $15,000 if we were to try for this baby, get matched, and then the Birth Mom were to change her mind or something were to go wrong with the pregnancy.
We have a few more days until that Birth Mom will be looking at profiles. A few more days to get more details on the full cost of the adoption. A few more days to decide whether or not we go for it...
It looks like today I will yet again be checking my e-mails every 2 minutes.
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