Originally published 3-18-2013
We signed on with a new adoption agency today. With that transition came a “medical check list”. This is the list where we mark what special needs we would be able to consider accepting, which ones are maybes, and which needs are, well, just a flat out no.
Agony.
The conditions are listed:
Cleft lip AND palate (May be unilateral or bilateral, first to third degree) Facial malformation (Including hemifacial microsomia) Uh… yeah, I think that’s something we could deal with here in China…
Thalassemia? What the HECK is that? WebMD search… Uh, requires blood transfusions? Um, that is a BIG OL no for where we live…
Ok, lets keep going, Matt and Hallie…
Missing/malformed fingers/toes…. Albinism AND low vision… Yes, that’s ok…
And on, and on, and on. A whole page of conditions. A whole bunch of googling to figure out what these conditions even ARE.
And more agony.
I mean, if this child were just born to us, we would take whatever, right? Our hearts might shudder, and fear might fill us. We might think we were going to break, but we wouldn’t. No, we’d deal with it, and life would be ok.
So we check the box that says a missing limb is ok. And we check, and we uncheck other boxes.
How are we supposed to decide these things, but on our knees?
Later, I am scooting home from Zumba, and I see a man with white, white skin.
Could that be my son? If he didn’t make it into my arms, I mean.
And this afternoon, there is a guy sweeping the streets, and he is hobbling along on a club foot. And uses a cane.
Could he be my son?
Suddenly, I see my JZ in all the people around me with a visible “problems”. With a missing this, or that.
I want to cry all the time.
I read blogs, of other people who are adopting from China.
How can I not become bitter, unless I stay on my knees?
Humility before my Creator, and total dependence.
I live every day in the reality of a society that just doesn’t have a lot of option for people with needs that are different from the average Joe.
And I hate what I see.
I hate it.
I hate it.
So Matt and I fill out the form, and we send it in. Somewhere out there, our son (sons) are waiting for us to bring them home. We’ll rise to the challenges as they come. We’ll probably cry some more. We’ll probably feel helpless sometimes. Certainly, there will be questions to answer, and people to educate, especially living where we do.
This is just one of the first steps of many…
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