Our Adoption Story - Part 1 - Infertility

I really, REALLY want to post old snapshots with this story! Hopefully, a more diligent search will procure the discs (unfortunately, I've been having issues uploading photos since Christmas time --- that's just one more huge task I have got to get to in the next couple weeks, along with a birthday party, a tricky Leprechaun treasure hunt (of which I'm really excited about and hope to be able to share with anyone interested) and, possibly, a day at court (dreading this), and this all will lead me into a full week of work. When I get caught up with all that, I hope to produce a bunch of mini posts, with pictures, about my children --- which is ultimately what this blog is suppose to be about. (However, I truly have enjoyed blah, blah, blahing, about whatever, on this blog lately.)

So, back to Our Adoption Story. I have wanted to write this for the past 6 years. I have attempted it many times, but usually get stuck and give up. This time I forced myself to finish. I have decided to break it up because it's long --- I wanted to include as many details as I could possibly remember --- for my children. I am posting it in it's entirety because I simply don't want to rework it right now. I am sharing it because I have been asked to share our story by different friends who are also hopeful adopters --- and because I want to. For me, it's an incredible story to tell. However, words have failed me throughout my telling and, someday, I hope to rewrite it with better words. If that day never comes, at least we'll have this.

--- Part 1 - Infertility ---

1980s

Once upon a time, 5 little girls imagined up, and played out, various little fantasies during their long, lazy afternoons in the heat of summer. I was one of them. Often, we'd pretend we were dirty and unloved orphans. Sometimes, mystical, but, motherless mermaids; other times, abandoned kittens --- a bath would reveal our soft, shimmering fur. Even our Barbies were orphans. No matter the character, we'd start out dirty, poor and mistreated. Eventually, we'd escape from the "bad guys" and struggle to make it on our own --- which never lasted long because everyone noticed how beautiful we were and would give us free stuff or just plain throw money at us. 

So, naturally, I began to wonder about real orphans. Some could live with us! An excited and hopeful child now, I took my solution straight to my mom. "Mommy, why don't we adopt some kids?" Her answer, "I can't even take care of all the kids I have!" We only have 5 including me (number 6 was yet to come), not to mention her full-time job outside the home as well — "No BIG deal!" my child-size brain retorted silently. I hoped that one day I will adopt.

Over time, my view of adoption matured and my desire to adopt moved to the background. I had to meet my man first!



1996

Fast forward at least a decade and then some... to when I meet this man of my dreams. He is perfect in every way. You know the old saying "Too good to be true, usually is?" I try to keep that in mind but he fails to prove it right. Sure, it's only been a few weeks since we started dating, but I had fallen in love before, so, I knew this was love --- but, this time --- love is even better.

One day while walking hand-in-hand, our conversation turns to how many kids we each want. Embarrassed to admit I'd be happy with a dozen, I say 7 or 8 (secretly hoping he'd want more!) He wants less! (5 or 6). Dismayed for only a moment, I wonder if the number of children really matters if I have him. Perhaps we'd have little boy versions of him... now that would be something! Then, remembering my childhood promise, I ask him if he'd ever considered adopting. (Perhaps these could be in addition to the number he's considering?!?!) I at least have to know how he feels about it.

He is fine with adopting! I am thrilled! Oh, a few stipulations, such as we ought to raise children first so that we could have some experience behind us... then we'd adopt. Ok. Sure! Whatever... as long as it is a possibility!


August 1999

Fast forward through the next couple years, a marriage proposal and a looooooong 9 month, long distant engagement... to the week before I get married. I go to see the doctor for a premarital. He suggests that we might want to see a specialist if we have trouble conceiving.

I read between the lines. He has just pronounced my greatest fear. I can't have kids! (Ok, he didn't actually say can't — but I do get dramatic about things I don't like.) Numb, I dial Eli's number, but once I start speaking, my voice breaks and I almost can't blurt out the bad news. After my admission of being broken, I feel an urgency to remind him it's not too late for him to find someone else --- someone whole. I'm not sure that he actually takes me all that serious. But he manages to calm me down and convince me that he still loves me. He's sure it will all work out fine. I put my trust in him and hope he is right because --- I JUST DON'T KNOW! However, I do know that I love him and I fear I could take away his chance at creating children.


1999 - 2000

A wedding to Mr. 2Good2B-True, and another year later, not pregnant and another doctor's visit... this time to find out why. Doctor makes a diagnosis of Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome (PCOS) and hands me a booklet. Glancing at the title, the word "infertility" unexpectedly, stabs through me. She sends me off to have blood work done to confirm her diagnosis.

The white-coated man with the needle can't find a vain in my arm. He keeps saying he doesn't want to draw it from my hand because it will hurt. After his fourth poke he tells me he's going for the dreaded hand draw. The energy drains quickly from my head and I tell him I need to lie down. He proceeds anyway. I wake from a deep sleep, disoriented because there is pressure on my head and I am leaning forward face down. I begin to realize my head is actually being held up against Mr. Needle's stomach. He calls to Eli to come back to be with me. He humorously tells him all about the dorky position my body went into as I passed out. The two men have a good laugh on me as he draws blood now from my other hand. I am still sitting, I feel physically awful, and, now, I am thoroughly annoyed.

We get home. My energy still sapped, I crawl into bed. I crave a milkshake and hamburger. My good husband heads out to make me happy and comes home with a strawberry slushy from Sonic. Unappreciatively, I say, "I don't want this." I want to send him back out, but I don't. I shouldn't be having such a hard time recovering from that little incident anyway. I take a few sips for visual gratitude and go back to sleep. My arms and hands are all bruised. The blood work confirms the previous diagnosis.

Shortly after the doctor visit, I come home with some adoption paperwork. I really want to get going on it, but, for whatever reason, Eli does not. I am terribly upset, I finally tear up the paperwork before crying myself to sleep.

Part 2 - Waiting