Adopting part 1

This is one I've been meaning to write for ages. 

  Every family has its own story. Each adoption story is different. I've been reading a few adoption blogs recently, and some are helping me gain insight into my boys, and why they are.... they way they are. 

I'll have to begin by saying that I think our attitude is not quite the same as that of many adoptive parents. The fact that the kids are adopted isn't something we focus on. We are always aware of it obviously, but our older sons medical condition has always dominated our experience of him; and that is the 'lens' through which we tended to view him from the beginning. When our second son arrived we were focusing on having a 'normal' child. Once the ordeal of adopting was over the adoption bit sometimes seems incidental. Of course it's not. It's central to them, and vitally important.

  Where to start? I find I don't want to write about the infertility issues, the years of waiting, of hoping. The highs and lows, the exciting meeting with social workers, to discuss possible children the phone calls to say we'd not been chosen. The good and bad experiences with many social service departments.

  I'll start with a prayer, in January 2005. I was losing hope that we'd ever get a child. We'd even been linked in 2004 with a little boy and lost him due to changes in his family situation. We were worn out with it all after a couple of years of waiting. So in weary desperation I prayed that we'd hear about the right child within the next week....

About 3 days later we got a phone call from our social worker telling us about a tiny boy just over 15 months old. We'd seen him in 'Be My Parent' but not enquired about him, because we'd given up trying for young children, we wanted preschoolers but were beginning to resign ourselves to accepting older kids. But this boy was a little different. He had Cystic Fibrosis. I knew a little about this condition from my nursing experience, Himself knew barely anything. We were told his life expectancy could be 30 years or more, but nothing was certain. He looked gorgeous, and seemed otherwise ok with no other issues apart from slight developmental delays which everyone said were due to being born prem and having so much illness in his first year of life. We thought, we prayed and we said yes. We discovered that no other families were seeking to adopt him. So we went into this with a great deal  of hope.

  Fast forward. We didn't get to meet him until June. Sometimes the adoption system in this country breaks your heart. Meetings, paperwork, e-mails, more meetings,the matching panel,  approval. A little boy waiting for a Mum and Dad. A foster family caring for a sick and needy little boy on top of their own family and a selection of other foster kids.

  Then there he was, suddenly centre frame. Our Pup. The person it was all about. Our new and terrifying responsibility. No longer a child on paper but a real live person. He was 20 months old, just walking, he could say 'hello' and 'car'. He was full of smiles, happy to meet new people,  gorgeous and friendly. That should have set off some alarm bells, but everyone kept reassuring us that he was normal. Just an extrovert. Well that is true. He IS an extrovert...
   We took a week to get to know him in his foster home, spending as much time with him as we could, while staying in a cottage nearby. We met his birth mum. We took him out, we learned about his routines, his medication, his physiotherapy - oh and all the normal toddler stuff. Then we had to go home without him. Two days later his foster carers arrived with  a carful of toys clothes, highchair; and one tiny boy. Our son. Two days later they left us alone with him, our new son.

 Most  of those first few weeks is a blur. We were so tired, we didn't know him , he didn't know us. We had to get used to living together, he had to adjust to a household totally different to what he was used to. No other kids, no dogs, instead 2 cats. People spoke with a funny accent. There were dozens of new people to meet. It was supposed to be a precious time of learning about each other. It was exhausting for us. We had so much to learn about caring for a child with Cystic Fibrosis. Just adapting to having a toddler in the house was hard enough. His nappies - Himself says that after changing a CF nappy no nappy will ever hold fears for him again! Doctors appointments, physiotherapists, dietitians, more social workers. Meeting family. 
  It was hard but I don't think  that my memory underestimates the fun, the excitement of seeing him settle in, of watching him adapt to our household, and become part of our extended family. of seeing him learn and achieve new things, Some bits were - and still are - very tough. He doesn't do food, and getting him eating was a massive battle. He came to us subsisting mainly on milk.

  I cannot imagine life without him now, and am so thankful we have the privilege of caring for this very strong resilient little boy, who has been through so much more than most kids his age. Yes, he still has big issues, but I am always amazed that despite everything he manages to keep going and keep positive.

Pain

   Pup is in pain tonight. He does get stomach pains, and often we are at a loss to help. This is one of those times. It's been sore for a couple of days. I've done the abdominal massage, I've done the calpol. He's had some very strong laxatives to clear him out (with good effect yesterday!). We are just praying it's not a serious blockage. When he was four he had emergency surgery for a blockage that put his bowel into spasm and he got an intussuseption when the bowel telescopes in on itself. It is less likely to happen again now he's older, but he does have DIOS, a CF related digestive problem.

DIOS: Distal intestinal obstruction syndrome

  Often we struggle to know how bad his stomach pain is, and sometime whether it is genuine or not. He tends to complain of it more  when he is nervous (fair enough), but also when he has to do things he doesn't want to do - like eat. Food is NOT his thing. But tonight he does seem genuinely to be in severe pain, he calls it a 'spiky' pain and he hates it. We've sent him to bed with a hymnbook. Sounds silly? Singing always helps him feel better, it relaxes him and probably relaxes his stomach muscles too. I can hear 'Once in Royal David's city' coming from his room, with occasional bursts of some of the Jubilee songs he's learning in choir, or 'Easy Rider'. Or 'Heads shoulders knees and toes.' He enjoys a wide range of music. If he gets too sore he'll be down to tell us; but with luck he'll go off to sleep soon, that's the best thing for him!

Things were a lot happier this morning!

Her Madge

In our house Her Madge is the queen cat, She Who Ought To Be Obeyed. (In her opinion at least)

   But this is not about the most important cat in the world, it's about the real Queen, who has been doing the job for 60 years and for whom I have a great admiration. I'm not saying I have a great admiration for Royalty itself, I have very mixed feelings about that institution, but the woman who represents Royalty in this country; she is quite something. I will struggle to find something original to say about her; her dedication, tact, care and devotion to her job, even in her mid eighties her unflagging zeal and commitment. Yes she has got things wrong, but she has got so many things right, and she has such a clear understanding of her role.

  She is going to be a very hard act to follow.

 So we will be celebrating the Jubilee this weekend, because I believe that 'Our Liz' has given a great deal to this country and she deserves a round of applause. And I know it is not at all fashionable to say  but I do love my country, occasionally I'm even quite proud of it. More often I'm embarrassed by it - but of couse being biassed I still think we're best, despite the politicans, the football hooligans and the binge culture.

So just to make sure I offend the few people who I haven't already upset, here is a tongue in cheek view of the world from an English point of view, for the rest of you: 

A song of Patriotic Prejudice, by Flanders and Swann

Another stand down.

For the second week running we've had a phone call from the riding school, to say that Pup's session is cancelled, just as we are about to walk out the door.
I am not complaining about this. It is disappointing for Pup, BUT the Riding for the Disabled organisation is run by an incredibly dedicated bunch of volunteers. A lot of them are horse loving teenage girls. Last week was exam week for a lot of them. You can imagine their mums: " No you can't go riding today, You've got to revise!" This week is bank holiday and school half term - they can't be expected to devote their whole lives to RDA. It is doing such good things for Pup. We are so grateful for all of those volunteers.

Thank you RDA!!

Riding for the Disabled Association

A letter to my GP

Dear Doctor. 

We have run out of Pup's Movicol medication, please can we have some more? Yes I know that we only put in a prescription request two weeks ago, but I'm afraid someone set fire to the box. Here is the evidence.

No, fortunately that 'someone' panicked and shouted for help at that stage, and no other serious damage was done, although the house stinks of smoke. Daddy can move fast, and a couple of jugfuls of water put the fire out. Yes, 'someone' was playing with the ignition on the gas hob.

Yes, I know someone else tried to cut his thumb off the other day, and you may be becoming somewhat concerned about our parenting skills. SO I am going to revert to plan A: Keep and raise my kids in boxes until they reach at least 18, and feed them through a straw. The only change to the plan is that the boxes must now be made of non flammable materials. And they won't be allowed penknives until they are 32. And whatever Tigs says he won't be allowed a motorbike until he is at least 89.

  

Stress?

The game on the way to school this Thursday morning involved rescuing Jesus from Darth Vader who wanted to kill him. "and we can't have that because Jesus saves our lives doesn't he?" To achieve this they seemed to need to keep running races, leaping in and out of Octopods and had to try not to fall into molten lava - which was colder than liquid nitrogen. There was also a lot of waving of light sabers.

Confused? I am.

And other peoples kids just WALK to school. I'm tired.

We've had a difficult couple of days.

Tigs behaviour at his new gym session on Tuesday was NOT quite what I hoped. On the other hand is it reasonable to expect a hyperactive and very agile 5 year old to queue nicely for his turn on each activity when there is a whole gym full of fascinating equipment to try out?

Well he DIDN'T. He climbed on the asymmetric bars, played with the mats, did forward rolls, wriggled, giggled, and distracted every other child in the place. If I heard his name shouted once to get off   stop that   sit nicely... I heard it a hundred times. But it was good natured this time. I just hope it stays that way if he can't settle down. The good bit is that he loved it, despite the queueing, and he wants to keep going. I think he may be quite good if he has the self discipline to learn and if he can get over being one of the very few boys in the group. It is also a long day for the boys, we go straight from school and don't get home until 5.30. Also Pup has to sit and wait with me, and it isn't much fun for him.  However we have discovered a nearby play area that we might explore once Tigs gets settled in. I am finding it quite tiring getting used to all the activities the boys do now. We will have to be very disicplined about how many we allow.

 Yesterday was not our best day.

Pup was in pieces first thing because he'd broken one of Tigs 'Camberwick Green' figures given to him by his foster carers.  Mop up tears (bilateral , both boys devastated.) Get them to school.

Later  I brought Mum home for a few hours; always hard work. She is very unsteady on her feet and getting her into the house is challenging these days and quite scary. She is also getting very institutionalised. Example: she wouldn't make a decision about what time she wanted to go home, although I gave her several options and tried to make it clear that I didn't mind. In the end we chose that we pick the boys up from school in the car and drive her straight home from there, rather than her staying any later. It was a good thing we did. She was exhausted, too tired to interact with the boys at all. So we dropped her  in her room and headed home.

It was at just after 5 that Pup came running downstairs screaming. To my horror I realised that he had blood streaming from his hand. He'd cut his thumb with a penknife that Himself had rather foolishly given him the other day (don't blame him,  he is already beating himself up about it!) It seemed to be a deep long cut in need of professional attention.  Himself was due home at 5.30, so we mopped up, bandaged up and waited. Himself was 15 minutes late, and not too pleased to be greeted at the door by a stressed wife who insisted he come in and take over while she took Pup to Minor Injuries clinic. We then realised that Tigs was howling in distress because he thought that Pup was going to be staying in hospital again.

We got it sorted. Pup and I had to wait an hour and a half to be seen, but the clinic is a reasonably pleasant place as hospitals go, with toys and books, and another child in his year at school was there too, which helped to distract him (and her!) from the wait. He had his finger steristripped up (no stitches, thankfully!), and we got home  just before Tigs went to bed, so he could see for himself that Pup was NOT staying in the hospital. Himself had kept him happy and distracted while we were away, thankfully.

Pup was shattered. I'm just glad that day is over.

 

Spoiling for a fight.

That was Tigs today.

In fact that is Tigs most days. He pushes us until we crack and he gets the satisfaction of making us cross. And today was one of his days for pushing HARD.

 

"Tigs leave that knife alone!" *knife waved near cat's head*

"Tigs, that's your brothers' toy and he doesn't want you to have it"  *runs off with toy*

"Tigs, don't jump in that puddle, you're not in wellies!"  *splash!*

I did crack. I had warned him that jumping in puddles in school shoes would mean cold wet feet in school. So after the fifth time (we'd just got home) I picked him up, took off his shoes and socks and stood him in a puddle to demonstrate what cold wet feet feel like. He nearly levitated out of it, screaming. (it was quite a warm day despite the rain, and to those who think this is child abuse, I then stood him in clean warm water!)

Tomorrow if he jumps in puddles I will just warn him once and let him get on with it. He may decide that a day at school in wet shoes is not worth it. He may find another way to wind up mummy.

He is clever.  He delights in drawing on his bedroom walls, furniture and toys, because it isn't allowed. He has learned not to do this anywhere else in the house, but will persist in doing it in his bedroom. So all pens pencils etc were banned from his room. The other day he sneaked into his brother's room and helped himself to an assortment of pens and did a massive scribble on his cupboard, (I wouldn't mind so much if he drew something meaningful!) The bit that really impressed me was that he then carefully returned the pens to the drawer in Pup's bedroom.

I don't have the patience of a saint, in fact some days I don't even have the patience of your average sinner, and he is wearing me out!!!