a favorite adoption photo

3/22/2002 — the day we adopted Nate. Hands

Originally uploaded by Mom2One

You might think that I’d pick the photo of the first time that I held Energy Boy — and that is one of my favorite photos. Or you might think I’d pick a favorite first picture of EB and his dad together, and there is one that’s especially sweet to me. But when I thought about what adoption really means, this photo came to mind.

It’s such a simple photo — you can’t even really see EB. This is March 22, 2002, the day that we traveled to Ha Tinh, Vietnam to adopt him. It was a hot day, and we spent the entire day at the orphanage. In this photo, he’s sleeping on his stomach. Unposed, I have my hand on his back on the left side, and his caregiver has her hand on his back on the right side.

This photo speaks volumes to me. Two hands, one that had been caring for him for four months and was sadly saying good-bye. One that had loved him, held him, indeed, mothered him . . . and cried on the day that he left, but also told us through an interpreter that she was glad that he was going to a family . . . . for, what she didn’t say was that there would be more babies coming to care for.

The other hand, attached to a person who had been waiting to mother this child, whose heart was full but was also anxious about everything that mothering this child meant. A Caucasian hand entering into an Asian country, not fully knowing everything that meant at the time. A hand of a person who meant well, but had so very much to learn about adoptive mothering . . . . but who thankfully had her heart and mind opened by this little one underneath her hand.

Love . . . from one hand to another. Mothering . . . passing from one hand to another. Trust . . . from one hand to another.

Open hearts, open hands. Adoption through two loving hands.

the white noise of our lives

Adoption is a part of our lives, always. You really only have to look at our family to see that — Caucasian mom and dad, Asian son. Even with those physical differences, I’ve had people over the years ask me if we were going to tell Energy Boy if he was adopted. “Yes, of course,” I’d say. For even if he looked very much like us, it’s a fact of his life that isn’t something that’s shameful and that he deserves to know. It’s part of what makes him him.

It’s a part of our lives, but it doesn’t take center stage all the time, as I think is appropriate.

ALL ADOPTION, ALL THE TIME

would be wearing on any family, I would think. Let’s talk about adoption . . . again. Let’s draw about adoption . . . . again. Let’s go someplace and somehow link it to adoption . . . even if that’s a stretch.

See what I mean?

For our family, I think of it as white noise. It’s there, always in the background, but only coming to the foreground at certain times. Especially since I got my cancer diagnosis and have gone through various treatments and now am going through breast reconstruction surgery, cancer is what (unfortunately) becomes front and center again. Even though this is what we hope is towards the end of the cancer business in our house, cancer is going to be another white noise of our lives, because being someone with metastatic cancer . . . well, it’s something that will always have to be watched, at any rate.

I so want to be like “normal” families, if there is such a thing. I want to take EB to basketball or other sports practices. I don’t want to be too tired from treatments or recovering from surgeries to do things with him. I hate that he even knows what breast cancer is, that he knows the word chemotherapy, that he’s being put through Mom being out of commission yet again so I can feel normal.

People tell me that he’s resilient . . . and he is. People tell me that it will make him more compassionate . . . and it very well might. But it’s also making him grow up some before his time . . . and while I couldn’t have predicted this and never wanted this, this is what life has thrown at us.

You would think the white noise of adoption would be enough for one child.

give me the adoption parenting issues . . . .

because at least I know how to answer those, and the ones that don’t have answers for them — well, I know about those too. I know about letting my child feel his sadness and being a witness to his sadness and being here for him.

Bring me the controversy, bring me people from wherever, whenever, telling me I’m WRONG, that I can’t possibly be a good person for having adopted this child away from his birth family and birth home, no matter the circumstances.

Give me something I can hang onto, something I can latch onto, give me the Adopter, call me something derisive, call me whatever else; I don’t care.

I’m just tired of being The Sick Mom right now. I’m tired of my boy having The Sick Mom, of having been in bed for most of the past two weeks because just when it seemed that things might be turning the corner, I got massive infections at two drain sites (the third drain came out on its own), so that has meant at least another week of Mommy in bed.

Let me take a tough adoption question from my smart, smart boy, one that I can handle, instead of this from him this morning:

Mommy, why did you get cancer?

“I don’t know why I got cancer, Nate.”

For the love of God, I don’t know why I got cancer, but I did and it sucks and I hate that it affects my boy.

At least he got an invitation to the neighbor boy’s house so he didn’t have to see how much I bawled after that.

*tears*

my surgery and the beginning of recuperation

Well, the women I’ve talked to who have had breast reconstruction surgery after a mastectomy have all said that this surgery is hard (no matter which kind they’ve had, they’ve said that), but worth it in the end.

They’re right about the hard part, and I’m sure they’re right about the worth it part too. Of the surgeries that I’ve had in my life — impacted wisdom teeth removal, carpal tunnel surgery, gall bladder removal, and the modified radical mastectomy of my left breast — this has been by far the most painful I’ve had. It took three hours, and though there are two surgery sites — back and chest — the back has hurt much much worse than the front has. In fact, today is the first time that I don’t feel like someone fileted my back . . . and yes, that’s with the pain medication.

But I know the end results will be worth it. We’re not done yet, of course. There will be a second surgery in about eight weeks to try to match the right breast to the left, and possibly (probably, I think) a third surgery for a small implant in the left breast to further match the two breasts. Both of those surgeries will be much easier than what I’ve just been through . . . and I’m pretty good with pain tolerance!

I just keep thinking of The End Results, “The Finish Line,” as it were. These surgeries are no magic bullet, as a friend and I were discussing, to feeling “All Better,” but as a woman who’s felt self-conscious about wearing a prosthesis for a year, I know I’ll be glad to not have to wear it, to not worry about it being in place, etc. Physically, at least, I won’t have to worry about matching, about the prosthesis moving around, about feeling it all the time and thereby being reminded of my cancer history All. The. Time. (as if I need a reminder!).

I’m just glad the hard part is over, believe me. My only job right now is to rest and recover from this surgery . . . .

I’m home

The surgery went well, though dang it’s painful! I’m home now, armed with Percocet for the pain.