Taking Custody

Believe it or not, it has been just over four months since we took custody of Misgana.  While I would have loved to write about that day quite a while ago, I feel like I am just now catching my breath...barely.  And now that I'm attempting to put this day into words, I'm realizing that it is going to be much more difficult than I expected.

We started the day, Monday, May 30, 2011 (the day after Misgana turned eight-months-old), at the Lucy Land Guesthouse (formerly Jemimah Guesthouse) with the as-per-usual fabulous breakfast in the dining room.  We, like everyone else in our travel group, were very excited, anxious, and didn't have much of an appetite.  Our nervousness stayed with is as we moved from the dining room to the lobby area, unrelenting.  The guesthouse staff was kind enough to send us off with another beautiful coffee ceremony which we were able to enjoy far longer than we expected because our driver was tardy, as usual.  No big deal.

The drive to the care center was like any other drive through the city - beautiful people everywhere you look with animals interspersed, erratic (yet now familiar) driving, black exhaust billowing from surrounding vehicles, etc.  The excitement was boiling over in the van.  We couldn't wait to see our kids again.




It wasn't long before we turned onto a dusty, unpaved road riddled with potholes - a sign that we were getting closer.  Be still my heart.  We passed a few people along the way.  Young.  Old.  Wearing tattered clothes.  Shoes.  No shoes. 

 

A breath-taking young woman appeared to open the gate and we entered a beautiful scene.  A multistory building adorned with colorful, hand-painted artwork.  A stark contrast to the road we took to get there. 

We discarded our shoes for the yellow, way too big sandals that were provided to us and entered...one step closer.  We ascended two, maybe three flights of stairs (for some reason the high altitude didn't seem to bother me this time).  Clean.  Quiet.  Sterile.  Doors were closed.  Vacant.

We were ushered into the playroom.  A very large room with handmade pictures on the walls, a futon-type sofa, a couple chairs, some toys, a flat screen T.V., and four sets of parents that were pee-your-pants excited.

View from care center.

Anxiously waiting parents.

They let us sit on that excitement for a few minutes.  It was pure torture.  Take photos.  Lots of photos.  I want to remember this room.  There was a photographer/videographer from our agency who was equipped to take photos/videos of the reunion with our kids.  Thank goodness. 

Here they come.

Here they come.

First...I don't remember...but I know it wasn't us.  Eyassu and Mihret??  Quite possibly.

Second...I don't remember either...but I'm pretty sure it wasn't us.  Beby?  Whether or not it was Beby's turn, I don't remember, but I do remember how beautiful it was to watch Beby's parents receive their FIRST child on that day.  It still gives me goosebumps.

The nerves and anticipation are building - even without the golden staircase of my dreams.  It was a door.  Just a door.  But behind it, was my son.  My son.  Sister Yodit.  Beautiful Sister Yodit walked through the door holding him in her arms.  They said his name.  Misgana.  We rose.  Took a few steps forward and I extended my arms to receive my son.  I reached for him.  He fell back.  My heart stopped, then started racing.  We smiled as large as we could possibly smile, embraced our son, embraced each other, and posed for the photographer.

 

We took our son back to our seats and watched as another family received their child, but our thoughts were 1,000 miles away.

We spent the next hour (or was it two?) with Misgana - holding, kissing, loving, snuggling, trying to make eye contact, trying to engage, trying to connect - while purposefully avoiding eye contact with each other, for fear of confirming what the other one felt.  There was so much joy in the room.  Parents, children, families.  Joy.

They brought a HUGE bowl of mush, a spoon, and a bib, and I was encouraged to feed my son.  He couldn't have been less interested.  I shoveled it in as quickly as I could.  "I'm sorry...he just doesn't seem to want anymore."

What is going on?  Why won't he engage?  Why won't he make eye contact?  Why isn't he responding to us?  Why won't he put weight on his legs?  Why can't he hold his head up?  Why isn't he sitting on his own?  He's eight months old.  Yesterday.  What's going on?  God, what are we in for?  Yes, he's our son.  Of course, he's our son.  What are we looking at here?  Will he ever be able to walk?  Will he be "normal"?  Is there something wrong with his sight?  Can he hear us well?  God promises that He won't give us anything we can't handle...with Him.  Here we go.

The other parents are connecting with their children.  Playing, laughing, feeding.  Joy.  So much joy.  Occasionally, they would look at us attempting to do the same with our son.  Their gazes were met by our worried faces and their eyes turned sympathetic.  They were just as surprised as we were.

He lies on daddy's chest.  Emptiness in his eyes.  Or is it fear?  Fear.  I'm so fearful.  Can I do this?  This isn't what we signed up for, God.  We'll be back, son.  We'll be back.

 Scared, numb, and unsure we loaded into the van with me in the front and daddy in the back.  While we were separated, I know that our thoughts were the same.

We were deposited at the guesthouse for lunch with absolutely no appetite.  We tried to make small talk.  We tried to think positively.  He's going to be fine.  We just need to get him home.  We've spent very little time with him to jump to conclusions.  God won't give us anything that we can't handle with Him beside us.

Time to go back for the farewell ceremony.  Something I've been looking forward to for 15 months.  There will be cake, singing, a celebration.  We were hopeful.  We were excited.  We were anxious.

We ascended the same staircase and walked into the same room.  The furniture had been rearranged for the ceremony.  Little plastic tables and chairs were set up for the children who weren't going home today.  A coffee ceremony was waiting for us.  Incense was burning.  The cakes were ready to be cut.  We took more pictures.  We wrung our hands.  We sweat through our shirts.  We avoided eye contact.

A very interesting table decoration.

The children were ushered in one by one in the traditional outfits that they would leave the care center in.  One of the most beautiful things I saw during these trips.  They were beaming with pride.  They, too, had been waiting for this day for so long.  For months the older children had watched their roommates celebrate during the farewell ceremony and then watched them leave with their parents.  It was finally their turn.

Our hearts skipped a beat when Misgana came in.  He looked so handsome.  So perfect.  He was hot in his layers of clothing, which only added to the sweat factor for all of us. 

I was given a large cup of mango and avocado puree to pour into his mouth.  He drank every drop.  Easily.  I don't think he swallowed once.  He didn't reach for the cup.  He didn't come up for a breath.  He just laid back on my arm, mouth open, and received.

An exuberant social worker was in the room, celebrating with the families he met when they were there for court.  He was amazing with the kids.  He held them, engaged them, kissed them, fawned over them.  He came to Misgana and tried to do the same.  Held his hand, stroked his face with his pointer finger, made noises familiar to babies.  "What's wrong with him?" he said in his limited English.  We don't know.

We met with the pediatrician responsible for Misgana's care while at this care center.  He was young and professional.  He seemed a bit apprehensive as he informed us of Misgana's lack of muscle development and strength - his delay with motor skills.  Why are we just now hearing about this???  He also talked to us, as if we already knew, about Misgana being hospitalized in the previous month for pneumonia, treated with IV antibiotics.  What?  No, we didn't know.  Would have been nice to know.  Definitely would have been nice to know.  I can't wait to get out of here.


We asked Sister Yodit about the pneumonia.  She said that it was not in fact pneumonia, but was rather acute febrile disease, meaning he had a high fever for a few days and was treated with IV antibiotics.


The farewell ceremony was not what I hoped it would be.  We were too distracted by what was going on with our son and the information we had received.  We felt a bit deceived, I guess you could say.  We went through the motions of cutting cake, drinking coffee, taking pictures, etc.

Our AMAZING travel group (minus one family), Sister Yodit, and Dr. Fikru (Director of Holt Int'l in Ethiopia).

"I just want to get him home.  I want to leave NOW.  We need to get him to a doctor NOW.  Not here.  There.  Home.  We can't wait.  We need to go NOW."

In that moment, when I finally let the tears fall and said what we were both thinking, God showed up.  Daddy remembered that there was a woman in our travel group, staying at the guest house with us, that was a pediatric physical therapist for years and years and years.  She wasn't an adoptive parent.  She was an adoptive grandma and was on the trip because the adoptive daddy couldn't leave work on such short notice.  While she was an AMAZING woman and helped her daughter immensely on this trip, she was their second choice.  It SHOULD have been the daddy that traveled.  While she was their second choice, I'm sure she was God's first choice, because He knew how much WE needed her.  I'm sure of it.  Thank you, God.

It was a tearful goodbye when we left the care center.  Sister Yodit cried.  We cried.  The other nannies cried.  But the children...they didn't cry.  They were so full of joy and anticipation and excitement.  What a ride back to the guest house!  There were no car seats, no booster seats.  I strapped Misgana into the Ergo as tight as I could and supported his head as it wobbled and shook as we drove over the rough roads.

The hardest of all to say goodbye to - Sister Yodit.  We only spent a few moments with her, but her love for these children was more than obvious.  She was truly going to miss them yet at the same time she was rejoicing for them.

The guesthouse made us a beautiful cake and hung a "congratulations" banner.  What a beautiful, thoughtful surprise.  We gathered in the lobby, cut the cake, and ate the cake as quickly as we could so that we could retreat to our rooms for some one-on-one time with our children.

We laid Misgana on the bed and slowly removed his traditional outfit.  We laid on the bed with him and used all of our parenting knowledge to assess and self-diagnose our son.  We put him on his tummy, we put him on his back, we tried to get him to sit up, we tried to get him to stand, we moved toys in front of him to see if he would track them with his eyes, we made noise on his left, we made noise on his right, we encouraged him to roll over, we encouraged him to smile, laugh, respond.

Hope!  So much hope!

What would come to be known as "fierce face."

This long sleeve onesie is what he came "home" in under his traditional outfit.  It was white with pink stripes and a pink bunny on front.  It was obviously worn and tattered and literally hung on him.  We will keep it forever.

While there were DEFINITELY some concerns about his cognitive awareness, his neck strength, and his unwillingness to put ANY weight on his legs at eight months old, we were more hopeful than we were while at the care center.  He seemed a little more aware, not quite as overwhelmed, and he showed some signs normalcy for a baby his age.

We went down to the dining room for dinner and were presented with our first chance to speak with the grandma...the physical therapist.  Her initial response, "He's definitely got some work to do, but I think he's going to be okay.  When you're ready, I'll do a more thorough exam and can give you a better idea of what to expect and some exercises that you can do right away."

Hope.

During the next few days we spent every waking moment bonding with our son.  He was beautiful and amazing and without a doubt OUR son.  We spent some time with the physical therapist and she gave us some exercises to start with to help him support his head without "stacking" it on his neck.  We talked to him, spent hours of face-to-face time with him, held him, sang to him, engaged him, etc.  All the while, we did "therapy" with him, always encouraging him to use his muscles and fight.  Fight.  Fight.  Fight.

We also learned during those first few days that Misgana was lactose intolerant.  How did we learn this, you ask?  Mother's intuition is all I can come up with.  Well, that, and God whispering in our ear.  He had diarrhea every time he ate.  It could very well have been due to an intestinal parasite, but for some reason we knew that wasn't it.  We were desperate to get our hands on some soy formula, but there was none to be found until God intervened once again.  While talking with another travel group in the lounge area, someone overheard that we were looking for some soy formula.  Another adoptive momma overheard and said that she thought they had a can in their bag of donations.  Did we want it?  HECK YES WE WANTED IT!!  The diarrhea stopped immediately upon starting the soy formula and rice cereal without powdered milk in it (Ethiopian brand).  It was at this point that we realized Misgana had not urinated since we took custody.  How has this baby survived?  He has been using this formula since he was three weeks old and rice cereal with powdered milk for months.  He's been incredibly dehydrated.  For how long?  How much longer could he have gone on like this?  It doesn't  matter.  it's over.  we're only going up from here.

We took custody of Misgana on Monday, May 30th and by Friday, June 3rd, the day we left for home, he could lie on his back, grasp my fingers, and hold his head up as I pulled him up to a seated position.  Progress.  HUGE progress. 

God is going to see us through this.  Satan, back off.  There is no place for you in this child's life.  In the name of Jesus Christ...BACK OFF!

Phew.  That was rougher than I thought it was going to be.  What an emotional rollercoaster.  While one of the main reasons I write this blog and share the intimate details of our adoption experience is so that we can remember, it is also to show how amazing our God is and how He provides everything we need when we need it.  Without Him, none of this would have been possible. Stay tuned to see how much progress we've made!!