A Journey of Faith, Part One

In honor of National Adoption month in November, I thought I would share my adoption story…

When I first started blogging, I wanted to share recipes and homemaking ideas, but I soon felt compelled to share my story as well. I wrote this essay a few years ago, soon after my first adoption was finalized. It was even published in the book “From the Heart,” a charitable publication from Write for Charity.

 

The dream of ever becoming pregnant came to a screeching end with these words: “You have Premature Ovarian Failure” (aka early menopause).”The only way you will have a chance to become pregnant is with donor eggs.” They hit me like a mack truck. Seriously? I was 24 years old! So I cried, I prayed, and I scoured the internet, bought a book, and was determined that I would get pregnant. I chose a fertility specialist, knowing that the younger I was, the better my chances of conceiving, no matter the method. Donor embryo was the only option at this point. There was a myriad of tests, procedures, and home therapies, some painful, both physically and emotionally.

After six months, I was told that I would have about a 24% chance of actually achieving pregnancy through implantation, and the odds that it would be a successful pregnancy were not great, but that the choice to attempt to conceive was mine. I decided to go for it – after all, it may be my only chance. A few weeks later, feeling very unsure of myself and my decisions up to that point, I was walking with a friend and crying and praying out loud, begging God to please hit me with the answer – WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO??? The next day, my body made the decision for me. I spoke to a nurse and told her what had happened. Her response? “Well, that’s not good. We’ll have to postpone the procedure for another month.” My response? “No, I’m done.” I had asked God for an answer, and I got one. Pregnancy was not for me. Childbirth, looking into my own eyes, seeing my smile reflected on my child’s face; these things, these simple, wonderful, beautiful things, were not for me. I was devastated and heartbroken, and yet knew there was a plan. I felt it, and through my tears, I thanked God, for helping me to close that door, and to open another. I began looking into adoption.

Many adoptive parents have a saying – “Adoption is not for sissies.” Never has a more perfect and true statement been uttered. I chose to go through County Social Services in their “Concurrent Planning” program (fostering to adopt). When you decide to adopt, your life is examined, your choices and lifestyle put under a magnifying glass. There were statements to write, extensive forms and questionnaires to fill out, physicals to take, and classes – lots of classes – to sit through. It took about nine months from the time I sat in the first class to the moment I was certified and considered “in matching,” or waiting for a placement. It was September of 2006.

I finally received a call in March of 2007. There was a baby boy, just two months old, waiting for a family. I had the presentation, said yes, and then waited. There was some indecision on the part of the current foster family, and on the day I was supposed to receive this little boy, the dreaded call came that the family had decided to adopt him. Devastation again. So I packed up the baby clothes and crib bedding, and sat to wait again.

The next call came in June. A little boy, 15 months old. I wavered, not sure if it was right, but said yes. Carlos was with me for three amazing months. He was a very strong and sweet little boy, but because of a mistake made on the part of the investigating worker, he was returned to his grandparents on September 17. More devastation; I spent two days in tears and was ready to give up. Once again, baby items were packed away.

A third phone call came in November of 2007. There was again a presentation, a photo for me to take, a choice to make. I said yes again. This time there were issues with another family member, and I sat on pins and needles for two weeks, not telling many people about this child; the child who I would eventually call “Cooper,” who would be my son.

Cooper was born on September 18, 2007; one day after Carlos left my home. One day after. That’s God’s perfect timing. There was a plan in all of this, that started when I was 16 and came to fruition at 30 years of age. I look back now, and realize how I have been blessed; by the children I cannot give birth to, by the one I never met, and by the one I rocked to sleep for three months. But the most gracious blessing of all, is the one I call my son, who I love fiercely, and marvel at every new discovery; who challenges me every day. My road to motherhood was paved with brokenness, but I am so grateful for the journey.

 

 

Many of you know this isn’t where our story ended. I’ll share the rest later this week.

I try to speak as openly as possible about my adoption experiences, without sharing too much of my children’s stories. If you have any questions, please feel free to comment or contact me by email.