It’s been two years.  Two years of phone calls and paperwork and blog posts.  Two years of blood and tears.  Two years of watching other people’s children arrive and grow and wondering where my child is.  Two years of hopes and dreams and despair.  Two years of seeking one thing and ultimately failing to find it.  

I’m proactive.  I’m not one of those people who sits around waiting for life to happen to her.  (I recently had a quiz rate me as “masculine” for that personality trait.  I think that says more about stereotypical femininity in our culture than anything, but I digress.)  I do things.  I make things happen.  I find the problem and attack it.  It’s hard-wired into me, just as much as my eye color or shoe size.  

This period of my life has tested that trait at every turn, simultaneously strengthening it and making me realize how futile it is when it comes to the really important things in life.  And for a proactive, near-OCD control freak like myself, not being able to make things happen the way that I believe they “should” ranks near the top of my list of supreme frustrations.  I’m learning to live with it, but it is, and will probably always be, a struggle.    

I never planned to end up here.  Adoption was always the “sure thing” backup, even in my TTC days.  I just “knew” that it would work out.  Obviously I was mistaken.  This failure hurts as much as or more than all of my TTC failures together.  I’m likening it to having a miscarriage after being pregnant for a year.  Whether that analogy holds up, I don’t know.  

I know that some of you, particularly those with my agency, are wondering to yourselves at the sound of all this.  I don’t “know” anything beyond what my intuition is telling me.  And I certainly wouldn’t counsel you based on my intuition alone.  All I can say is that this process, with this agency, feels like running a code on a patient that’s been in asystole for 45 minutes.  Sure, you can keep doing compressions, and pushing meds, and feel like you’re “doing” something or making some progress, but really it’s an exercise in futility.  You’re not getting him back.  And given all the variables in country, along with their unwillingness for “grey” behavior, this agency isn’t going to be getting a “real” program going.  (By which I mean a program that regularly places significant numbers of babies.)  It’s not going to happen.      

As I’m sure you’ve picked up if you read here at all, I’m a serious planner.  I plan, and plan, and make sub-plans and overarching meta-plans and have contingencies for everything.  I never had a contingency beyond “adopt.”  I just assumed it was a slam dunk.   And now I need a new plan, and here I am.  

This month of not choosing a plan, of not even making a plan, has been extraordinarily challenging.  I’ve spent quite a bit of time flitting from one plan to another, trying them on for size.  I’ve managed to avoid mental commitment to any one plan, but it’s taken a huge amount of effort, and goes counter to everything in my personality.  

Everything I’ve done since early college has been carefully orchestrated for the arrival of a child.  And now, after these years, that child is just as far away as ever.  I’ve spent almost ten years arranging my life for this, and, at this point, scrapping the whole process is a real possibility.  And if I go that direction, I have no plan.  None.  I mean, obviously, I continue to work and pay the bills and live my life – but as far as long-term, non-financial goals?  No idea.  It’s simultaneously freeing and terrifying.  

The other potential plans are somewhat easier to conceptualize, but I’m not sure they’re any easier in the long run.  One course is to stay with the sinking ship and hope that it doesn’t, in fact, sink.  Another is to grab my dossier and switch to a different agency.  And then, of course, there’s TTC, which has its own share of bugaboos.  Four options, and, as of today, I’m not committing to any of them.

So what do I know now that I didn’t two years ago?  

-That nothing is a sure thing.  Anything and everything can fail.  We can mitigate the risk (buy a Honda rather than a Yugo) but the risk of failure is always there.

-That constant optimism often disappoints, but constant pessimism will wear you down.

-That a good support system is worth its weight in gold.  I thank my IVP buddies and my VN adoption buddies for helping to keep me (mostly) sane.

-That Piper was one of the best decisions I’ve made in years.  I brought her home the same day as my first insem.  And right now she’d really like me to come sit with her in the recliner, so I’ll oblige.    

Explore posts in the same categories: Adoption, Baby, TTC

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