When I say I’m ready to adopt again, remind me of this day:
I woke up early this morning because there is one final document that must be filled out before our adoption of E can be finalized. Chance leaves for [Eastern European Country] on Saturday, and this paperwork must be filed before he leaves. This morning, I planned to sit at my computer without interruption, and complete the paperwork.
When I began reading the instructions on how to complete the form, I discovered that the preview for the document shows it as being SEVENTY-FOUR PAGES LONG.
Needless to say, I tried to hurry and open the actual document so I could get as much done as possible before my children blessed me with their sweet presence.
At that point I learned that in order to access this necessary form, you must have some top-secret identification number assigned to you by the National Visa Center.
I did not have such a number, of course.
In fact, without contacting them directly, I might not be assigned this number for at least ten more days.
So, I composed a few emails to try to gain access to this number. Wondering if I needed to speed up the process, I also tried calling the National Visa Center’s phone number.
Remarkably, it was busy. I didn’t know anyone in the world still lived without call-waiting (except for my parents). I especially cannot figure out why a government agency wouldn’t at least have a voicemail service!
So, my morning plans were spoiled.
I sent emails to a few more accounts that might be able to help, and I zipped one to our adoption agency as well.
Later, while I was entertaining the two littles during a session of Nasko’s trauma therapy (because the effects of the orphanage don’t stop when your paperwork is final, can I get an “AMEN”?), I received a phone call. It was our adoption worker. I began by apologizing that I wasn’t successful in filling out the paperwork this morning, but she interrupted me; she had more pressing information.
Our attorney in [EEC] had run into the social worker who was assigned E’s adoption case. This social worker had many complaints. She had been reading our monthly reports and seeing the pictures we sent of E, and she could not believe our negligence. Not one photo contained E wearing his back brace or his glasses that were sent home with us. She mentioned to our attorney that this fact would be brought up in court when Chance was there this weekend. She did not think we understood the harm we were causing E by not having him wear his adaptive equipment.
So, our adoption agency now believes it should be our mission to provide as much proof as possible demonstrating that the doctors we have met with have said that his glasses and brace are no longer necessary. (His eye sight was tested as being slightly far-sighted, but not enough for glasses and he does not actually have astigmatism. The back brace was said to not actually be doing anything, but surgery would be scheduled in the future because of his two hemi-vertebrae. Also, the brace was potentially causing his muscles to develop incorrectly.)
So, the rest of my morning was spent making phone calls to all the doctors we’ve been seeing.
If/when I ever say I’m ready to adopt again, please remind me of this day.
It is very scary to be told by a social worker that she is planning to present a case stating medical negligence for a child that we have been trying SO hard to treat and assist through a medical condition that is much more involved than anything with which he was diagnosed in his home country.
Join us in praying that all our paperwork is completed in time. Please pray for our family and our upcoming court date, as I know that all parties have E’s best interests in mind, but [EEC]’s medical care is around 50 years behind ours. Please pray that the documentation from our doctors is enough for the court to see how much we love E and how much of a priority his medical care has been in these three months he has been in our care. (Maybe I should show them the stack of medical bills we’ve been paying…) Pray for truth to be proclaimed, heard, and accepted within the walls of the courtroom in [EEC].
And when I say I’m ready to adopt again, remind me of this day. A day when I know we are providing the absolute best medical care to a child who has only survived this long because of the miraculous hand of God. Remind me of a three year old who signs “Thank you!” to us when we give him his daily life-sustaining medication.
Remind me of a little life changed and a physical body experiencing healing. Remind me of a wounded spirit being renewed and restored through Christ.
Remind me that it is all worth it.
When I say I’m ready to adopt again, remind me of this day.