# 30: BEFORE THE FLOOD

PAGE # 30

Wednesday

12/14/11
6:00 pm

"Where the hell is that Elf on the Shelf?"  

I was talking to myself, but my mom was there too.

"It's over there," she pointed toward the bookcase.  "When's the last time you moved him?"

"How should I know?"  I asked.  "I can't keep up with him this Christmas."

"You're very irritable," my mom noted.

"I'm sorry," I said.

She hugged me.  

"It's okay.  I'm here now.  I can take over Elf duty from now on."

"Shh!"  TJ scolded us.  "Don't let Sara hear you!"

Sara was playing quietly in the corner.  A few days earlier, I had tried to prepare her for our maybe baby.  I explained that she might be getting a baby sister.  Her response had been short and somewhat surreal:

"Two mommies!" she had said.

Sara is a very bright two year-old, but this seemed extraordinary.

"Maybe she heard you talking on the phone," my mom reasoned.  "Maybe you said something about the baby having two mommies."

TJ had a different explanation:

"Maybe she thinks having a little sister means she is going to be a mommy too.  Maybe she thinks the two mommies are you and herself."

My mom nodded.  "That's probably it."

"I still think it's weird," I said.  "Because if this adoption happens, this baby really is going to have two mommies."

I looked over at Sara.  She was still playing with her stuffed Mickey Mouse.

"But the baby isn't going to know that," my mom said.

"Of course she will!" I exclaimed. 

"Are you going to tell her she's adopted?"

"Mom!  Of course!"

"Well, that just seems very confusing for the child."

"Grandma," TJ interjected.  "You're not supposed to lie about it.  You're supposed to tell the baby all along."

"Oh, what do I know?" my mom asked.

I could see TJ was getting excited to talk about all the adoption research he'd been doing.

"There's so much information on the internet," TJ explained.  "I found this one website that has all these ideas for projects we can do with her.  One of them is this family tree, where you branch together both sides of her family:  biological and adoptive.  We have to help her integrate everything," he clasped his hands together.  

 I was proud of TJ.  He was growing up to be a kind and thoughtful young man.

 "It's not easy to be adopted, Grandma," TJ added.  "We have to learn all about adoption issues so we can help her throughout life."

"Oh, what do I know?" my mom repeated. 

"Sara!" he called out.  "Come sing with me!"

"Brother!"  She ran to him.  

My mom watched as the kids sang and danced together.


I took the opportunity to sneak into my bedroom and check my phone for text messages.  


Tom was gone.  He was probably eating dinner with some very important people.  We were informed earlier in the day that Kendra was likely getting induced in the morning.  But she might not make it till then.  Tom had promised he'd catch the last flight home.  


At exactly 6:32 pm that night, he sent me the following text messages:

No flight after 8 and will not make it.

Traffic would be impossible.

Will take 6 am flight.

I wrote back:

Fuck

I thought you said there was a late night flight?

He wrote:

That's only in the summer.  

It's winter so less flights.

Did not realize.

I managed to text back:

I thought you checked!

Before making this decision!

You said last night, "I am sure that there is a 9:30 flight out." 

Remember, you looked it up.  And then reassured me.

He wrote:

My mistake.

Must have made an error.

And I wrote:

What the fuck are we doing?

And then I dropped the phone.  


A terrible sound was coming from the laundry room.  


I flung open the door and saw that water was flooding everywhere.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" 

I was talking to myself, but my mom was there too.


To Be Continued...

# 29: THE UNSENT LETTERS: DEAR BIRTH MOTHER,

PAGE # 29

Sunday

5/6/12

10:00 pm


Dear Birth Mother,


If you are considering an adoption plan for your unborn child, I sincerely hope you read this blog first.  If anyone is telling you that another couple is more fit to parent your child, because of money, or age, or whatever, please remember that all couples have problems.  


I shared an inside view of what my own marriage looked like a few days before the birth of our prospective adoptive child (see previous two blog posts).  Our marriage is imperfect.  All marriages are.  In fact, a couple may adopt your child, only to get divorced later.  Or worse.  As my husband always says, "No one can see the inside of another couple's marriage."


It's unlikely that the people in your personal life are encouraging you to keep your baby.  If they were, you probably wouldn't be considering the adoption option in the first place.  And the people working in the adoption industry are not going to tell you to try and keep your baby.  They want to make money.


Have faith in yourself to parent your child.  If you are considering placing your child for adoption because you have been told that your child will be better off, think again.  I think this is the worst insult to a woman.  And you deserve to know that you are strong and capable.  There is no power greater than motherhood.


Sincerely,
Jennifer
Former Prospective Adoptive Parent
Now a Concerned Citizen

Who Worries About The Coercion of Vulnerable, Pregnant Women

# 28: THE TRUTH ABOUT MARRIAGE

PAGE # 28

Tuesday

12/13/11

Still Early Morning

The fight was brutal.  

Thank goodness the children were still asleep.  They were momentarily shielded from their parents' flaws, if only for a short time; for back then, I had no knowledge of the future:  that a crazy writer, posing as myself, would expose the less attractive details of our marriage for all the world to read about.  (Including the children themselves, who just might stumble upon this post someday).

But on this morning that I write of, the kids remained blissfully unaware of anything.  There was one casualty of the battle, however, and that was our dog, Jersey.  He trembled against a pillow, and if we did not already have a diagnosis, we might have misinterpreted the dog's terrible anxiety for a full-blown seizure.  I hoped the episode would pass quickly and not warrant a phone call to the veterinarian.

Jersey suffers from a chronic anxiety disorder called 'White Dog Shaker Syndrome.'  In case the reader is not well versed in canine psychology and/or thinks I am inventing some fiction in the interest of dramatization, I have included the Wikipedia link here:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/White_dog_shaker_syndrome

An episode of white shaker dog is typically triggered by severe acts of God (i.e. thunderstorms), but also by acts of human celebration (i.e. fireworks).  Clearly, Tom and I had unveiled a third category responsible for inducing canine terror--good, old-fashioned marriage.


Moreover, I had lost the battle.  I fought hard using my superpower of extraordinary autobiographical memory, but at the last moment, Tom pulled a fast one.  He utilized the superpower of profound loyalty to his family of origin, when he should have stuck strictly to one superpower--the superpower of denial.  This was unjust.  I could not help but pull out my own additional aid.  I opted for a defensive strategy by selecting the severe case of moral indignation superpower.  It was a miscalculated choice.  Alas, the family of origin triumphed over justice.  I had lost.

What follows is a play-by-play description of the battle, but first, a short recap as to why we were fighting in the first place:


Our birth mother was about to deliver a baby.  Any moment now.  Tom had a work meeting in another state.  I did not think Tom should attend said work meeting.  I thought he should stay for the birth of our maybe baby.  Tom thought otherwise.  


The first assault came from my side.  Using my superpower of extraordinary autobiographical memory, I described in "as if we were there again detail," our most recent experience with childbirth:


On the morning after Sara's birth, I struggled to get her to latch onto my breast while Tom sat nearby in a hospital chair.

"How's it going?" he asked.

I was scared.

"Tom, there's something wrong with our baby!" I trembled.

"What are you talking about?" Tom said.  "She's perfect."

But Sara did not appear perfect at all.  She was struggling for air.  A strange, grunt-like noise accompanied her every breath, and then her entire chest seemed to collapse into a deep cavity.

"Oh my God!" I gasped.  "She's not breathing right.  Go get the nurse!"

Tom examined Sara.

"Relax," he said.  "All new babies breathe like that."

And with that, he left to go home and take a shower.  


I was terrified for my baby.  Moreover, during my epidural, the anesthesiologist had punctured the wrong spot.  I was suffering from a spinal leak and could not stand up without suffering excruciating pain.  With all the power that only a new mother has, I managed to place Sara back into her bassinet.  I "raced" down the hallway toward the baby nursery, my brain banging against my skull.  

"Hey!  Momma!" a woman called out to me.  

I couldn't tell if she was a nurse or just someone visiting another new mom in the hospital.  I didn't stop.  I had to get my baby to the nursery.  I had to find help for my baby.

"Momma!" the woman called out again.  "Your backside is showing!"

I was still wearing the hospital gown from delivery.  It was open in the back, but I didn't care.

"Momma!"  the woman ran up to me.  "Are you looking for the nursery?  I can take your baby for you," she offered.  And then, her voice fell to a whisper.  "Your butt is exposed and you are covered in dried blood, honey."

"Which way to the nursery?" I screamed as I pushed the bassinet.  "I'm not giving you my baby!"

By the time I rang the nursery buzzer, I could barely speak to the nurse who opened the door.

"There's something wrong with my baby," I managed to say.  "Her breathing..."

Several hours later, we learned that Sara had a spontaneous pneumothorax.  Her lung had collapsed and some of her organs had shifted.  She was in respiratory distress and it was an acute medical emergency.  She could have died without intervention.  Sara spent two weeks in the neonatal intensive unit and recovered fully.  Only long-term consequence:  Sara will never be able to go scuba diving.  We were lucky.


The memory of Sara's birth had me crying.  Of course, she was fine now.  But the feeling of abandonment and rage I had experienced toward my husband--it was fully activated again.  Tom had abandoned me then.  And I felt that he was abandoning me now.  

"You left me alone at the hospital!"  I screamed.  "And now, you are going to leave me alone again? I cannot do this alone."  I was devastated.

There was no way Tom could win this fight.  His superpower of denial would never overcome my painful memories.  He could not deny the truth of what had happened.  


But.


He could deny the future.  He could minimize the entire act of receiving a baby from another woman.  He could deny that it would be difficult.  And he did.

"I can't do it alone," I begged him.  "I can't do it alone."

"I have to go," Tom declared.  "I have to see this business transaction through.  You're going to have to man up and take care of this without me."

"I cannot man up!" I yelled.  "I am not a man!  I cannot be the mother and the father!"

"And I have to meet my father for this meeting!" Tom yelled back.

And with that, Tom pulled out his sneak attack.  From the bottom of his weapon bag, he grabbed the superpower of profound loyalty to his family of origin.


About a decade ago, at Tom's 30th birthday party, my father-in-law gave a speech in front of about a hundred or so of our friends.  In it, he referred to Tom as 'The Messiah."  While this was certainly humiliating for my husband, it amounted to a full blown epiphany for me.  And now, with Tom leaving me during this adoption process--I realized it was not about money or business or any of that.  No, this was an unconscious force, formed long before Tom ever even knew me.  This was about a small boy, cast in the role of the perfect son, doomed to abide the wishes of his (narcissistic?) parents, at any and all cost.  Cost to himself, his wife, his present and future children.  At least in my not so humble psychoanalytic opinion.  I'm sure Tom holds an entirely different, almost equally valid, perception of things.


Tom and I really do love each other.  This is just one of the dynamics in our marriage that we unconsciously enact, again and again.  I believe all married couples are cast in their own unique marital plot.  Sure the years go by and things ostensibly progress:  there are costume changes (fashion evolves), new scenery (people tend to move around quite a bit), and there are the exits and entrances of background characters (friends come and go--well, at least before Facebook). But the basic theme of a married couple's life is impervious to change.  Sometimes, we try to fight against it, and other times, we merely 'go with the flow.'  But inevitably, we are all doomed to recreate some aspect of our earliest relational trauma with our spouse.    


By the time I pulled out my additional superpower--that is, my severe case of moral indignation, it was far too late.  What could I expect?  By definition, moral outrage is never on time.  I was so mad at the injustice of it all.  How could the primitive bonds of early childhood still be impacting my current middle-aged life?  It didn't seem fair.


I took the only logical next step and called my mother.  


Mom booked the earliest flight she could find.  She would arrive the next day at noon.  I imagined her plane would pass by Tom's as he flew away in the opposite direction.


I thought of Kendra too.  Her husband was planning to abandon her as well--after the birth of her baby, just after the relinquishment of her very own flesh and blood.  He would be taking their two sons on a Christmas vacation.  And with his parents.  And Kendra was not invited.  It seemed clear to me that she too suffered from the devastating effects of a husband's profound loyalty to his family of origin. 


And so, I became more and more psychologically enmeshed with this mysterious woman.  It was one-sided, of course.  I have no idea what Kendra was thinking about me.  I only knew that I was emotionally identified with her, or my idea of her, and the more I thought about it, everything seemed to link me with Kendra.  It felt as if Kendra and I had been weaving our own separate lives, oblivious to each other's existence, until this adoption plan happened.  And suddenly, we found ourselves trapped together on the same sticky web.

# 7: IS THE BIRTH MOM MY DOPPELGANGER?

PAGE # 7


Monday

12/5/11
4:00 pm

I had not heard from the adoption attorney since the previous Thursday.  After obtaining my husband Tom's consent to move forward, after faxing the necessary forms, and even after sending the link to my "We're a Great Family!  Please Pick Us!" photo album, we heard nothing.


The weekend felt eternal.  The kids were happy that their dad returned from his business trip, but after the soaring excitement of a possible adoption, we were all feeling defeated.  


TJ, our teenager, offered his consolation:


"Eh.  It's better off.  You guys can hardly handle the two kids you already have."


Tom offered his version of optimism:


"Yeah, what were we thinking?  TJ is almost the age we were when we had him.  We could be grandparents soon." 


"Don't look at me!"  TJ jumped up.  "I'm not making you no baby!  I 'm never having kids.  They're a pain in the butt."


I chimed in:


"But you do watch an awful lot of 'Teen Mom' for someone claiming to be so disinterested in parenthood."  I couldn't resist teasing him.  "In fact, I think you look forward to Tuesday night even more than we do."


Tuesday night was when our favorite television show, 'Parenthood,' was on.  There was even an adoption story featured in the current season.  Now we'd be more hooked on the weekly drama.


Sara woke from her nap and I went to get her.  When my cell rang a few hours later, Tom was busy working in our home office and TJ was doing his schoolwork.  


"Oh my God!  Seriously?  She picked us?  Is she sure?"  I couldn't believe it.


"Yes," the adoption attorney replied.  "Of course, there's no guarantees with any adoption.  There is always the slight possibility that she may change her mind after the baby is born.  But that seems unlikely in this case."


"Oh, sorry, that's not what I meant to ask," I explained.  "I was wondering if she was sure about us?  About picking us."


"Yes.  Of course.  She was in my office looking through a whole stack of prospective parents.  She loved you guys.  Jennifer, I swear, I never say this to anyone, but you even look like the birth mother.  Kendra looks like she could be your little sister."


"Does she want to meet us in person?"


"She's not requiring that."


I was confused.  I knew that our friends, Tracey and Jim, had met with their birth mother a gazillion times.


"She prefers a closed adoption," Shelley stated.  "Can you and Tom come in tomorrow to meet with me?  There's a lot to get done in a very short time.  Kendra thinks the baby could be here by next week."


I scheduled an appointment with the attorney for the following afternoon.  There was only one problem.  The birth mother did not want to meet us, and even though plenty of people were telling me this was ideal, I did not agree.  


By the time I went to bed that night, I knew I would not be able to adopt this baby unless I met the biological mother.  I had plenty of adopted friends who reconnected with their biological parents later in life.  If I were going to raise this child, I wanted to make sure that this woman was a decent human being.  And given the ease of locating people in today's world (i.e. social networking sites, etc.), I felt pretty sure that I'd be dealing with the biological family at some point down the road.  I wanted at least a hint of what this baby's birth mother was like.


Tom didn't think it mattered much.  "Even if you find her to be a miserable witch, I know you too well.  You'll feel bad and want to protect the baby."


"Ha!"  I countered.  "That's your rescue fantasy!"


And with that, we tried to sleep.

# 5: MY BLADDER LOVES THE ADOPTION OPTION

PAGE # 5

Friday 

12/2/2011

8:07 am


I texted Tracey to update her on everything.  


"Application is in and I spoke with Shelley late yesterday.  She sounded really optimistic that Kendra will like us.  I'm exhausted though.  I was up all night with Sara again.  She has gone vampire on me.  Can you believe I actually want more of these creatures?"


Tracey wrote back:


"I feel the same way about wanting more!  Must be crazy!  Adoption is easier than pregnancy though.  Trust me."


Tracey was quickly becoming my lifeline.  It was a total role reversal.  During my pregnancy with Sara, Tracey was going through the adoption process.  I'd text her complaints about nausea and fibroids; she'd text me about their birth mother.  Now, she was puking daily and I was already imagining our (hopefully) birth mother:

Pick Me!

I had so many questions for Tracey.  I felt awkward asking about the cost of adoption, but I texted away:

"Dude!  I hate to ask about money, but what kind of cost should I anticipate?  I'm sure we'll be fine, but I just want an idea of what it cost you guys."

I was curious because Shelley said this adoption would bear a relatively minimal cost.  Since Kendra was due in a few short weeks, we wouldn't have the expenses typically involved in supporting a birth mother through pregnancy (i.e. rent, healthcare, etc.).  Tracey and Jim were involved with their birth mother from a much earlier point.  I wanted to see if the price, as "quoted" by my attorney, was truly a significant difference. 

Tracey was helpful:


"In general, I think the cost is usually around $30,000.  But it should be much cheaper because Kendra's practically due now."


Shelley had told me this adoption "bargain" would empty our bank account by at least $40,000.  Perhaps she'd made a careless overestimation.  Still, adoption was turning out to be an expensive means of growing the family.  On the other hand, the long term health consequences of another pregnancy were priceless, perhaps even fatal.  


I sent Tracey a reply:


"Well, adoption is quite inexpensive, actually, when you consider the cost of a new bladder if I attempted another pregnancy:  'It's a Boy!  It's a Girl!  No, sorry Mama, but we just delivered your bladder.'  Sorry for that image--hope it doesn't get you too nauseous."


I was only half joking about the bladder.  Sara's labor & delivery left me with the horrifying diagnosis of Detrusor External Sphincter Dyssyngeria (DESD).  Read about that here:  http://www.americanmedicalsystems.com/conditions_detail_objectname_mens_desd.html 


And that's not all.


In the two years following Sara's birth, I've spent over 10 hours getting MRIs.  I've had multiple CT scans and X Rays.  I've been tested for Lupus, among other autoimmune disorders.  I've developed strange rashes, am subject constantly to sudden outbreaks in hives, have experienced nocturnal vision changes, cardiovascular issues, and to top it off, I cannot lose any weight.  Those who know me from an earlier life will not believe the size of me now.  Those who never knew me before tell me "Oh, you're just big-boned."  My entire endocrine system is messed up:  I now have hypothyroidism, empty sella syndrome (yes, a part of my brain has actually shrunk), and pre-diabetes.  Add sleep apnea to the list and I'm a freaking nightmare.  In the interest of moving on, I will simply note that my current medical state includes but is not limited to the above mentioned conditions.


I was beginning to realize that adoption was hardly pricey; in fact, it would be like winning the lottery.

# 4: UNPRECEDENTED BEHAVIOR

PAGE # 4


Thursday 

12/1/2011

1:30 pm

I couldn't believe it.  

When I called Tom, he excused himself from his business meeting.  He listened to everything I had to say about the adoption opportunity, the birth mother, the attorney.  

"I think we should go for it.  Call Shelley back now and immediately fax her the application form.  Hurry up!"

I was excited.  We could have a new baby in less than 3 weeks!

PLUS...there was hope for my husband and his sympathetic nervous system.  






                                                        

# 1: STORK ALERT!

PAGE # 1


Thursday 
12/1/2011
11:30 am


I could not get a reservation at Chef Mickey's.  We were headed to Disney in ten days and I was getting desperate.  Our two year old, Sara, was in love with the mouse; surely, a chance to dine with him would be a vacation highlight.  I wondered if I could bribe our sixteen year old, TJ, to wear a Mickey costume during the Disney trip?  Sara could literally be escorted by Mickey throughout the theme parks.  Take that Disney!  But TJ would likely refuse.  And I could already hear Sara:  "Where's Brother, Mommy?"  Moreover, would Disney even allow an "alien" Mickey into the parks?  Sure, everyone wears those ear headbands, but a full-blown Mickey suit?  We'd just have to wait in line, like everyone else, at one of those designated character greeting locations.


I sighed and logged off the Disney website.  There were more important tasks awaiting completion that morning.  Like showering.  And brushing my teeth.  It was probably noon and I was still in my pajamas.  I went to check the time on my cell phone, and saw that a new text message came in.  It read, "Call me urgent" and was from my good friend, Tracey.


"Call me urgent" was not punctuated.  True, it was only a text message, but "urgent" pretty much demands an exclamation point in my opinion.  At least if the receiver is to take the sender seriously.  But Tracey was barely into her second trimester of a difficult pregnancy, so I could cut her some slack.  And then I got seriously worried that "urgent" was regarding my friend's pregnancy and I immediately called Tracey:


"I just got your text!  Are you okay?" I asked.


"I'm fine.  Everything's okay," Tracey replied.  "Look, I just got a call from our adoption attorney, Shelley.  We got a match.  It's a baby girl.  Obviously, we're not accepting a baby right now.  But we told Shelley about you guys.  If you guys are serious about adopting, you need to call her.  Today.  Like now."


My husband, Tom, was away on a business trip.  "I can't adopt a baby right now!  Tom's in Spain at the moment!"


Tracey reiterated the importance of taking quick action, "We've been waiting on that list for over a year.  I'm telling you, Jen, just call."


"But why would Shelley want us for this baby?  I mean, doesn't she have dozens of families working with her already?  People who've been waiting for a baby, for like, for like years?"


"I don't know all the details on the situation.  Just that the birth mom liked our family profile because we're young and already have two kids.  I told Shelley that our friends are the same age and also have two kids and live right next door to us and are hoping to adopt a baby girl.  I'm texting you her number now."  Tracey hung up.


I wanted to call Shelley, but a part of me felt like that would be cutting in line.  My husband and I talked about adoption over the years, and we were certainly beyond contemplation and in what I call the exploration phase (we had watched a documentary on adoption in China only a week earlier), but we had not officially signed up with any attorney or agency.  To call now seemed like cheating.  


Then again, perhaps it was meant to be!  Tracey had been told she'd never get pregnant again.  She'd been trying for over four years.  And what were the odds that she'd be matched with a birth mother right then?  We just told Tracey, and her husband, Jim, about our plans to adopt someday.  We discussed that plan with them only ten days earlier!  What were the chances?


I reached for my phone.  There was a stork nearby and it seemed to be searching for our house.