"The" Call

            Our answers about Prae came back and Tyler and I both had a good feeling about her. Nothing really gave us clarity and we still have lots of unknowns about her. We said we’d send the answers off to our ABA therapist and then get back to them with an answer. Unfortunately our therapist was on vacation in Denver so we spent almost two weeks missing each other’s phone calls. We just wanted to be responsible and make sure that we did all the research possible to make an educated decision. I have to admit, I think I wanted to postpone saying ‘yes’ just a little longer.

            Three days ago we came out of a store and I had a missed phone call from the home study agency on my cell phone. That was weird. We weren’t really due for any phone calls. I listen to the message which is very broken and hard to hear. “This is Isabelle….a local baby boy….you interested?” What? I call them right back, thankful they are still open. Isabel gets on the phone.

           

“Yes, there’s a local boy here who was born prematurely. His mom signed over the rights at birth and he needs a family. He’s in the NICU and needs to be held.”

           

I’m in shock. We aren’t on the domestic track. I’ve never spoken to this Isabel in my life. How did she even get my info?

           

She continues, “I know you were doing international but your case worker referred you to us as a potential family.”

           

Why? Is all I can think. Then I think of Wyatt. “How premature was he?”

           

“28 weeks.”

Thank God Tyler is driving the car because I keel over my knees and start to cry. Then I think about how far out of the city we are and that surely we’re too far to go to a NICU everyday and hold him. So I ask where he is.

“He was born at Centennial Hills Hospital.”

Oh convenient. The one that’s two blocks away, where nobody in this city lives except for us. I can’t even say that I’m happy at this point. It’s more like shock and surprise and awe. Even after the phone call ends I’m not sure what happened. I tell Tyler and his face tells me he feels the same way. What in the world is going on? The whole thing is too precise, too close to home. Our home study wasn’t even complete. We agree to at least go talk to the NICU staff and see him. We are too in shock to be elated or to feel like we just got the ‘call’. A call like that should never have happened and yet it did.

The following day a kind friend agreed to watch the kiddos for us while we went to the hospital. It was very intimidating. We sat at a conference table with two social workers and nurse practitioner in charge of the baby’s care. She goes over all of the possible complications of premature babies- things that are eerily familiar. Tyler later relates how it was difficult to hear her describe how he was intubated. Ventilators. Surfactant. Tyler watched it all with Wyatt and it’s where it all went horribly wrong. Amazingly, even though this baby was born at the same gestational age as Wyatt, he was twice the size. He hadn’t had any major complications. He was off the ventilator and on regular room oxygen. His feedings were increasing. He had a grade one brain bleed at birth, but I soon learned this is normal and what the doctors considered to be ‘fine’. It was definitely better than the other levels that could happen. In the conference room I don’t now how to feel. We had spent so many weeks researching abuse, trauma, pediatric traumatic brain injury, and adoption of older children. This was all brand new. I feel like I didn’t have enough time to get used to it and let it sink in. After the talking was done we scrubbed in and went into the NICU to visit him. The nurses were giddy to see us. “Are you here for baby Melvin? We named him Melvin because we couldn’t just call him baby. Actually the day shift named him Tyler and the nightshift named him Melvin.” They all gushed at what a good baby he was and how they all loved him. We approached his incubator and they cheered, “Mom and dad are here!”. I think this should have made us feel good but we were still in shock. I just kept thinking, we are on the international plan. Our home study isn’t done. I haven’t even signed a paper.

 I walk over and see this tiny baby laying among blankets, covered in cords. He is a beautiful tan, with long silky black hair. Even with my surprise at his tiny size I quietly tell myself that he is double the size that Wyatt was. We talk casually to the nurses about certain premie issues and his medical progress. By all respects he has every chance of being healthier than Prae ever would be and yet I’m terrified. For so long we had been planning on older kids. We just sold our crib three weeks ago. All of our baby stuff is gone. I had mourned never having another baby and we gradually comforted ourselves with the fact that, well, babies are kind of a pain anyway. The whole experience was so overwhelming I couldn’t put words to my feelings. Our last NICU tour was a week before we lost Wyatt. I wasn’t in the mental mindset for a baby. Still in shock. I asked to hold him and the nurses were excited. I discovered very quickly what a kangaroo hold was when they closed the curtains and lifted up my shirt! Then this little baby got tucked between my skin and the cotton fabric and it was nice. I have to say, I’ve read tons of adoption stories and many of them seem to be love at first sight. I start beating myself up when I don’t feel this right away with Melvin. The thought briefly runs through my head that this is not my baby. But in all reality he isn’t. He smells beautiful but I’m not used to it, although I’m sure I could be. His features don’t resemble us, and I haven’t felt him move for 9 months in my womb. So it is new and I try to cut myself some slack. Twelve hours earlier we were adopting a 6-year old Thai girl. This was instant newborn. I’m still adjusting to this. I think about all the stories that involved people who did not feel love at first sight, even with their biological children. I hadn’t experience it but I had read about people having the feeling of, “where did you come from?” And that’s how I feel now.

On my chest his breathing gets much less labored. Nurses visit us frequently and say things like, “He’s got mom’s eyes”. Really? God is written all over this, I just don’t know in what way. One of the social workers from the adoption agency stays with us. She talks gently.

            “If you guys decide that you want him we can sign the papers as soon as next week. All the money is due at that time.”

We already know that’s a stretch. With international adoption all the money is due in chunks and we’d been paying as we went. We also planned a large fundraising campaign that we were going to start after we had been matched with a child. There wasn’t time for any of that with Melvin. We asked how much.

“The agency fee is $15,500, the matching fee is $2,000, and the birth mother fees are $1,640”.

Oh is that all? I bet my jaw dropped, I don’t think I could have hidden that. I didn’t say it but I wondered why in the world we need to pay a birth mother who literally gave birth and walked away. What are we paying her for? And I’m reminded that this is one reason we shied away from domestic adoption. Besides the fact that we wanted to rescue a child from poverty, the prices were outrageous. I look down at his sweet face again and think, “I can’t afford you”. Why would this happen? The social worker leaves and Tyler asks me just that. Why are we here? Why would this happen? We don’t have that money? We live paycheck to paycheck and yet God called us to adopt. We knew it would be a challenge, but this? This is impossible. Literally.

On the drive home we try to talk out all of our emotions. Somehow I realize that I don’t feel heroic adopting a local baby, which may mean part of our international adoption was for my benefit. It should not be. An orphan is an orphan no matter where they are. That baby is just as parentless. We feel like we should be jumping at Melvin but we are still transitioning our minds from older, international child. And with the money issue…why would this happen? Was it random chance? Luckily it was Friday and we had the weekend.

On Saturday we felt like we needed clarity. We called our former pastor who got on the phone with his wife. They listened to our journey and our predicament. It was an encouraging phone call. They pointed out for us what our prayer has been this whole time. For His will to be done. For our child to be shown to us. For our child to come home, which I posted only a blog ago. We had continually asked God to be obvious, that I was pretty thick-headed so it would need to be clear. And then we get this phone call which by all means we never should have gotten? “Put the word out there. Let God do His work. God loves to show off,” they advised. So I sat down and wrote a quick letter. I posted it on facebook and sent out it out to the email addresses that I had. I asked for donations in our name to the adoption agency and that we had three days to get a little over $19 thousand dollars. It seems impossible, but wouldn’t this be just like God? The response has been great so far, in responses from friends who are praying and willing to help. We have no idea what the amount donated will be. It might be $500 when it’s all said and done. I’m trying to tell myself that I’m willing to accept whatever His will is. This is too complicated for me to navigate so I’ll blindly follow. Fully trusting God has never been more applicable or more difficult than it is at this very moment.