DeniseK: My story, due on the 11th (mc's, a tiny graphic and beyond long)

Finally my story, sorry so long, I honestly tried to condense it and believe it or not, it is somewhat condensed and you aren't hearing everything. Please get through it if you can, if not skim it, I totally understand. I was a few days late.

It was the fall of 2000, I was crammed in the bathroom of an airplane 30,000 feet above New York City, the walls closing in on me. Suspending myself above the toilet, thinking, this is it, this is how it’s going to end. The pressure was building in my bladder. I could not ease the pain, for nothing would come out. What is wrong with me? Will I make it home or will I be carried off this airplane? What will the headlines say, “Woman expires in airplane bathroom--did she go too far to have a baby?” Earlier I was lying in the seat (thank God the flight was not full) writhing in pain. I hadn’t been able to go since way earlier that morning around 1 a.m. That is when the trouble started and it now felt like I was going to burst. We were in the hotel room and I had just had my first IVF retrieval the night before. I went to the bathroom and started to go, and then suddenly it just stopped midstream. I was puzzled, but groggy, so I went back to bed. Not feeling all too comfortable I woke up to make my flight. Went to the bathroom again, and nothing, but I had to go!!! I pushed some, and I saw what I thought was a clot of blood, and then some relief, only to stop again!!! I was seeing blood on the tissue and I thought to myself, this is not good. So I called my RE and woke her, she was very groggy. Thinking I was overreacting to the slight bleeding you have after retrieval, and in denial that anything could have gone wrong, I proceeded to get ready for my flight. But something she had said kept haunting me, “your ovaries were back behind and hard to get to.” I thought of the release form we had signed and the words kept materializing in my mind, “perforated bladder could be a risk.” I wasn’t sure where the blood was even coming from. So I went ahead to make my flight—very stupid! Hunched over in pain, I sit at the airport waiting to board, why oh why I didn’t just cancel my plans to fly home is beyond me. I guess when you aren’t feeling well all you can think of is home, I need to get home. Dh stayed on in NY for business meetings. I told him I would be fine. I was not fine! I did not know what was wrong with me, but was soon figuring out it was my bladder. How did I get this far?

Dh and I met in college in 1988 in the Business Marketing Club. He was interested in me; I was interested in someone else. Dh was pretty persistent, and we soon became good friends, sitting together at marketing meetings. Our club friends started to talk, and this was not a small college. One night he called me and mentioned he might see me out at a local hangout, (uhhh that would be bar). Indifferently, I said, “yeah I might see you there.” Dh showed up and eventually asked if I wanted to dance. So we were dancing and I mentioned that there were rumors going around about us in our marketing club. He replied, “You know, I’m really sorry that they are gossiping about us, but I’m even more sorry it’s not true.” And I was hooked.

He graduated that spring of 1989, and our relationship became one of a little distance. He was an hour away. I graduated a year and a half later and moved, but we were still an hour away. Finally after four years of commuting, his job moved him to my city. Our relationship continued on until his job was moving him out of state. I moved with him that April of 1997 and that December we were engaged. So it was 9 ½ years of dating or something like that.

We were married in the summer of 1998 and we both wanted children right away. I mean it wasn’t like we needed to get to know each other…LOL. So a couple of months of trying, that’s it, just trying, and I was getting worried. You see I’ve wanted children for so long, and I always had this sinking feeling it would not be easy. So I started charting, and bam we were pregnant by Sept. We were elated, I was unexplainably nervous. At 8 weeks I saw spotting. I called the OB’s office and the nurse was not concerned. I wanted in, and right away. She actually asked if I was worried about it, well, of course, or I wouldn’t have been calling. I go in for the ultrasound and my heart sinks. Baby has stopped growing at 5 weeks. There is no heartbeat, there is nothing. I am devastated. I page dh. In the nurses’ office, I calmly break the news to him (inside I was screaming hysterically) He is so devastated. I have to go back out in the waiting room for a while, and there’s pregnant couple across from me is laughing and making plans for their baby. They have their camera; she is planning the baby’s scrapbook. I hear the conversation and want to scream. I want to shove my fingers in my ears and yell lalalala so as not to hear. I am trying to stay composed. They ask me to take their picture; I’m thinking I’m going to possibly scream. My eyes well up, but I manage to click the camera. I now hate the sight of pregnant women, and will for a very long time.

I have my first D&C. I go home and I cry and I cry and I cry. No one even knew we were pregnant. I am numb with grief. I asked the doctor is there was any testing we could do and he said no, not the first time. That answer gripped my heart in fear, implying that there could possibly be a next time????? Yes, and sadly, there would be many.

Still having this feeling of impending doom in the area of pregnancy, I start to research. Something I do very well. I found Inciid. It was a lifesaver. I would not have gotten as far as I did if it were not for the boards there, so many supportive friends with so many wise words. Armed with tons of information, we keep trying.

We wait 3 months and try again, we are pg, and we lose the baby at 6 weeks, no heartbeat, stopped growing at 5 weeks.

Unfortunately we get pg again right away, I switch OB’s, and he tries to help. We lose the baby at 4 weeks. I ask for a referral to an RE.

We actually go to a Maternal/Fetal Medicine specialist. He looks like Martin Short. He runs chromosome tests, APA panels, thyroid, and glucose. All results are fine. We get pg; he puts us on 25 mg progesterone suppositories once a day. We lose the baby at 4 weeks.

We get pg again; we lose the baby at 6 weeks. Doctor was out of town, nurses did not even remind me (as I was beside myself) to come in and have my shot of Rhogam (I am rh negative) I am annoyed that no one wanted to check on me or anything, so I call really ticked off. Doctor gets us in right away and agrees with us that we weren’t handled properly while he was away. He refers us onto a highly recognized team of reproductive endocrinologists; they are supposed to be the best.

The office and staff was impressive. Everything was impressive except for the answers—we didn’t get any. We did APA panels again, blood work for hormone levels, and we did our first endometrial biopsy. That was a treat. It came back inconclusive, so we did another one. Fun again and it came back fine. We went and bought this really expensive ovulation kit so that they could look at my follicles at a certain point in my cycles and then again after my egg was released. We did a hysteroscopy. Lying on the bed, starting to go under, I heard the nurse get excited. She was yelling something about blood on the floor. My IV had been faulty and disconnected. My blood was spilling all over the floor; I could barely keep my eyes open. Red screamed up at me from the white tile floor. I was hoping I would wake up. They got it under control. Again everything came back to normal. I just wanted to scream, “THIS IS NOT NORMAL!” We got pg again, miscarried at 6 weeks. “Try again,” the doctor urges, “just keep trying.” She wouldn’t even give me progesterone. We took a small break then, and I surfed Inciid for more information. Armed with questions like Lieden Factor V and immune disorders we visited her again. She took offense to my questions and she did not even know half the things I was inquiring about.

I remember a conversation I had with a doctor (RE) on Inciid chat at the ASRM conference. The doctor seemed aggressive. I really liked her. I contacted an Ihost member to see if they could pull up the old chat transcripts where she posted her name and number. I got the information and felt like finally there was a light at the end of the tunnel of nightmare doctors. I called her, first doctor I’ve ever been able to speak directly on the phone to. She remembered me. Her office was located in NY; we lived in TX. She was very personable, very aggressive, extremely knowledgeable and just what we needed! We went to meet her and ran some more tests. My eggs were young (that’s nice) dh’s sperm was “super sperm” with truly no decline in 48 hours! (Obviously, huh?) I tested positive for ureaplasma. DH and I took doxicyclene for 10 days. We were going to try to use fertility drugs to form the “best” environment and see if that worked. I am in a whole new world now, getting a greater appreciation and understanding for those going through IVF and infertility. Injections you say??? Whoa!

The meds arrived by mail in a FEDEX box. Our RE miraculously got our insurance to cover them. I put them by the back door to take w/ me to work, the entire box. Next day was trash day and the box was gone. Dh had trashed it (not on purpose) I freaked! Imagine what my RE’s office thought when I called them. Thank God our insurance had a lost prescriptions plan. We took Lupron, Pergonal w/ profasi to trigger, and then progesterone suppositories 100 mg a day, and yes, timed intercourse (now that was exciting) I had no reactions to the meds, except that my ovaries were huge and I could feel them, I could barely walk towards the end before the trigger. The ultrasounds were more than uncomfortable. We got a local RE (new guy) to work with her (no small task) He did the blood work and ultrasounds. This was very stressful as his lab was slow and we were working with a one-hour time difference. Both doctors were irritated and taking it out on me because of having to work w/ each other--stress was at a maximum. I just wanted to cry. Didn’t anyone understand how totally stressful this already was? At times I felt like I was meeting myself at the door. I had 9 follicles release eggs, I was thinking, are we going to have to buy a bus if this works? Positive pg test, then a miscarriage at 4 weeks. I am spiraling ever downwards.

RE says, first lets run some more test, so we did another endometrial biopsy and I sent it off to a special lab for testing to see if I was missing a protein (can’t remember what that was now) that can cause m/c if it is not present, nope I’m fine. Then I get 4 vials of blood taken, have to go to a blood lab because local RE doesn’t have the right tubes. Lab argues w/ me about doing it, but finally they relent. I run around getting it ready to overnight ship to Chicago (it has to be there in x amount of hours or it goes bad) To make a long story short, FEDEX never took the package and it expired, so back to the lab again. Finally this time it was screw telling anyone what I’m shipping, since it’s causing so many problems, I packed it up very well and sent it off. Call from NY RE on machine says, it looks like we may have something here--high NK cells. Dh and I are smiling and hugging, so glad to find something, anything, we celebrate!

She says let’s do IVIg—ah I think, answer to our prayers. But it is up to me to find someone, no small task. Made at least 50 phone calls, much stress. Finally, I look up IV therapy in-home administering in the yellow pages, call a place that does it, they refer me to another place. Talk to the lady there and tell her my dilemma, can’t find anyone that will administer it. She tells me the pharmacy that supplies the drug to them. I call the pharmacy and ask the doctor’s name that prescribes it, then call that doctor. Totally back door my way to finding someone. I would not give up. Called and pleaded to speak to the doctor (common here for them not to let you), explained my situation, he was an immunologist. He was very open to the idea; he would do anything to help me out. God bless him. Had my RE in NY call him and they discussed how to proceed.

Then RE said now let’s go ahead and try IVF, that way we can see what your embryos look like. Okay, we’re game. This has to work, right? Remember the airplane above NY???? So Lupron again and headaches that would knock me to the floor, my face looks like hell from breaking out. Pergonal, profasi, and this time progesterone in oil. Good part is, I’m getting around just fine, and my ovaries aren’t bothering me at all, hmmmmm. We fly to NY. It’s two days before retrieval, and I am just lying around. My head is killing me; I am throwing up from the meds. Dh goes in to give semen, actually asks the nurse how long it will take (LOL!). Smirking, she says, “Well, that depends on you, sir.” He is bright red. So we retrieve, I go under. We have 12 eggs. We head back to the hotel.

Which puts me now on the airplane at the beginning of the story…how did I get this far? I was suspended in air pushing and pushing, thinking to myself, if anyone wants in here, they’ll just have to wait!!! Finally blood and urine come gushing out, clots everywhere…and I’m thinking I’m going to bleed to death or die of some bacteria that had entered my blood stream or my bladder. I had no idea how bad this really was. Finally it stops and I wash up and try to compose myself. I am hurting so bad and shaking, scared and extremely pale. I collapse on my three seats again. It is the longest flight of my entire life (it was only 4 hours). Finally, I arrive and immediately exit for the bathroom in the terminal. I sit there for some time, too sick to move. Slowly I finally get up and make my way to the baggage claim and then to my car. I drive home, in immense pain, crying and shaking, still freaking out. Arriving home, I call the RE. She is very concerned and somewhat ticked that I went ahead and flew home, I’m too sick to care. She contacts my RE here and I go in. He’s talking about possibly putting me in the hospital w/ a balloon. I’m all for whatever it takes. On my way there, I call dh and he is extremely freaked out, he is leaving his meetings and flying out early. I go to the RE’s office, go to the bathroom, no blood. Can you believe it? Don’t I look like a total nut case? He checks me out and all is well. The bladder was perforated but had healed itself. I was very lucky; he seemed very concerned w/ all that had happened. I go home and sleep. The phone jars me awake, it’s the Re’s office. Bad news—possibly—of the 12 eggs retrieved, 2 were too immature, 10 fertilized. Of the 10, 4 arrested and stopped, 2 just disintegrated and 4 remained. This happened almost immediately, so they said the chances were not real good that any would be left for transfer. Four days later, we still have 4, with three at blast. Thank you God!

We fly back. We go to the pharmacy to pick up some things and the lady at the register congratulates me on my pg. Must have been pretty puffy (LOL), but we take it as a good sign. I tell her not yet, but possibly real soon. She said, “God Bless, he will provide.” Okay, now it just has to work, right? We transfer 3. Go to the hotel for 48 hours of bed rest. I love Valium and shrimp cocktail. We fly home.

I go in for my first IVIg. Their infusion room is under construction so I am in a room by myself. I was watching videos and lying in the chair, the IV dripping. My arm started to burn, then felt cold, was I imagining this? Then I started shaking uncontrollably, my teeth were chattering and they would not stop. Something was definitely wrong, I hollered for a nurse. She comes running in, and then another, I am having a reaction. They slow the IV way down, put in saline, and pump me up w/ benadryl. I am out of it for a few hours, then finally I come back around, we start things back up again. I am okay.

Off to the perinatologist (which I also had to find due to the high risk status of this pregnancy) U/S shows the two sacs, fetal poles! Dh is thrilled, for he is a twin!

I’m 7 weeks a long, and on to my next IVIg infusion. It’s Halloween and the TV is playing Mummy 2 when I walk into the infusion room. There is a five-year-old boy sitting there hooked up with four IV’s. He smiles at me, I smile back. He comes over to offer me Halloween candy. What a doll. We are there together. It was his first time. Then the room begins to get crowded, and most of these people knew each other. They did this weekly, some more, just to live. I was thanking God for my health. Little boy starts to scream, he is having a reaction, massive headache, my heart goes out to him, and everyone in the room is upset. Finally, my infusion is complete. I get up to go get the IV taken out and am standing by the room waiting as someone is in it. Then things started to spin-blackness is imminent. I grab the wall and start to slide to the floor. The nurses quickly help me back to a table to lie down. My blood pressure is extremely low. There are nurses all around me, they try to start a saline drip but my IV has clogged. They need to stick me again with a new line. After calling in four different nurses, blowing veins and sticking tendons, I say enough (I’m not an easy stick). They take my blood pressure again, all was fine and we left. It’s just another 4,000-dollar day.

Next day we go to the perinatologist. Nurse says, “Daddy you can sit here to watch”. We do not feel comfortable with that comment. With good reason-there is no heartbeat. The babies were only at 5 weeks growth. We are beyond consoling. I decide to wait, for a miracle, I’m not sure. Still carrying at 9 weeks another u/s showed more disintegration. We schedule a D&C. I demand testing. The tests came back fine and one was a little girl. I am tired, I am weeping, I do not understand. We take a break.

Yet again another pg a couple of months later, I wait it out. I do not doctor at all. RE in NY calls me to wish me a Merry Christmas and to see how I was doing. I told her I was pg and I was not doctoring. She said she understood. We carried to 6 weeks and lost the baby. Following this there will be 2 more m/c’s over the course of the next year, all ending between 4-6 weeks.

After the twin loss, we started seriously discussing adoption (we mentioned it a few times here and there but we never took action). It wasn’t that we had reservations about it, we just hadn’t been ready to pursue it, and I knew I could not handle doctoring and adoption at the same time.

Six months later a friend of mine sees a post on the internet about twins being available for adoption through a facilitator. Just the push I needed, I started working on our profile (dear birth parent letter) and sent it off to the facilitator even though we did not have a home study. I didn’t care. After playing around with 5 profiles, we started to buckle down and actually start the home study process. The profile was done, so we contacted a social worker and she came out in Sept to do our home study. She was wonderful. We were nervous but excited.

Exactly one month later, all our paperwork was complete (fingerprints, child abuse registry checks, references, home study). We then went out of state for a meeting with an agency. We had been accepted into their program. We were up front with them that we were also working with a facilitator. I had this feeling we would match quickly.

I sent off 5 more profiles to the facilitator, this time, actually able to proceed if we were picked because our home study was complete. Christmas is coming soon. Christmas came and went, we were both a little down, but hey it had only been two months, what were we expecting…miracles???

Miracles do happen. Less than three months after our paper work was complete, it was my first day back at work for the New Year (our office closes between Christmas and New Years) the phone rings. I’m swamped, and the facilitator is on the line. I swear I’m not breathing when I pick up the phone. “We have a couple of situations in your area,” she says. I’m listening and my heart is pounding so hard I can’t hear, my knuckles are white from gripping the phone. She tells me about the first situation, I am very interested. She doesn’t even go on to the second because she said it wasn’t as qualified. “Have your husband call,” she says. “He must give his approval too.” I remember that day…it was like a whirlwind. I cannot work; all I can think of is OMG, OMG, and OMG is this it???? Could it really be????? And then there is this nagging doubt, don’t get your hopes up; the fall could be really bad--all too familiar. She is due April 15th, and the birth father is supportive. She has placed once before and she is not a teenager, all good signs. Dh calls and lets them know YES, WE ARE INTERESTED! They wanted us to speak with the bparents on a conference call that night. I’m thinking, okay it will 7:30 before I get home, we won’t even have time to look over all their information that they are going to fax, we have no idea what we are going to say to these people, what do we do. I ask to postpone it to the next night in order to collect my thoughts and half hazardly prepare. She agrees.

I race home after work, not recalling much of the drive. I walk in and we pour over the faxed information dh received. It looked pretty good. I open up a reference book on what to say or what to ask, what not to do. Crash course. The phone rings, it is the facilitator asking for Alan, there is no Alan that lives here, wrong number. She hangs up. I look at dh and say, “OMG, they are calling other parents. We must call back and push to talk to them tonight.” We must. I just kept thinking if they like a couple before they talk to us, they might not proceed with the rest of their options. We call back and ask if we can reschedule to that night. Facilitator says she will call and let us know.

It is 9 p.m., the phone rings, it’s the facilitator and SHE HAS THE BPARENTS ON THE OTHER LINE, and I swear we are almost hyperventilating. We glance across the room at each other and exchange a look worth a million words; we both pick up the phone. We begin to talk and talk and talk and listen and listen more. Three hours later we near the end of the call, and they say the sweetest words that we’ll ever hear, “we really like you guys and want to move forward.” Dh and I are on top of the world!!!!!!! Now in for the biggest roller coaster ride of a lifetime.

Our hearts are now pregnant. It is a week before the paper work is completed and we get the contact information of the birth parents. We contact our attorney; he warns us it is risky. My gut says, “go for it”. There are living expenses involved (which are unrecoverable if it fails). My gut still says “go for it”. The week we weren’t in contact with them the birth mom ends up in hospital with a kidney infection. We don’t find out after she has already been released. She says baby is fine and we are having a boy!! The date was wrong; it’s now March 23rd! We are more pregnant that we first thought. We meet them for lunch and then for dinner. We want to get to know them. They need us, and we so desperately need them.

Then a small kink; it was two weeks after we first met them; all of sudden bm is getting on a bus and leaving for Florida. Her reasons are sketchy and keep changing. We are freaking out. Some money has changed hands, but more importantly our hearts are exposed. We are thinking of bailing. I am driving in rush hour and I pray to God, please give me some sign as to what we are to do here, because God we cannot handle another loss. A car with a Florida tag cuts me off. No road rage here, only relief. I took it to mean, go forward. Glad I didn’t look in my rear view mirror. We moved forward.

More dinners, lots of phone calls, almost daily, sometimes more. My cell phone was glued to my hand. People at work had to think I was doing drug deals or something. No one knew we were adopting. Our first u/s, my heart is stopped in anticipation, I see our boy. I see a heartbeat, finally. I spent a lot of time in the adoption waiting room, posting my anxieties. Thank you to all the wonderful ladies there, I kept my sanity.

Then birth grandmother is having second thoughts and wants to meet us. We feel so nervous. The birth family is asking our caseworker about signing and legal rights; lots of questions popping up. I am getting physically sick. Dh and are driving to meet them, both of us terrified of this meeting, we arrive and believe it; the restaurant we picked was closed for remodeling. We were already 20 minutes late due to traffic; we were devastated thinking we may have missed them. What will they think now? There is no way to contact them. Ahhh but they were running late too. Dh and I are nauseous. Bgrandmother gets out of the car. We spend dinner together; she leaves the table with her arm hooked in mine. She was at peace with their decision. We were on top of the world. This is definitely a roller coaster.

BM and I take a child birthing class together. Sounds like fun??? No, this was one of those radical natural childbirth classes. Now I’m all for natural childbirth, but we found out BM had to have a C-section (third pg, third c-section) and they were trying to talk her out of it. They were trying to tell her to have a home birth (which never would have worked with our adoption). I finally pulled them aside and told them not to get involved. They needed to target someone else to save because they did not want to tread here. I didn’t need this added stress. Instructor starts telling me I should doctor again. They actually were of course, not wanting her to place the child. My fangs were showing, and I had enough. I can’t believe we actually made it through those classes.

BM is scheduled for a c-section, two weeks earlier than her due date, March 11th. We are progressing fast. Dh and are excited, but so on edge. We were so fortunate to have two loving birth parents. They truly love their child and wanted a good home for him. They knew they could not provide for him but that did not mean that they didn’t wish that they could. It’s the 11th, I’m not sure we slept at all the night before.

At this point, it’s almost like walking in a dream. We head to the hospital. Birth father and his mother are there. BM is in the room. We chat. Our caseworker arrives. Birth father and birth grandmother go to the room to be with the BM, dh and I sit in the waiting room. Birth grandfather arrived, we had not met, but I knew it was him. We introduced ourselves and started talking to him. Then the three of us went back to the room too. We all took tons of pictures. Back out to the lobby. C-Section is behind schedule due to doctor, we decide to go out for lunch and go w/ the BF, BGM, BGF, and now the birth aunt (who we just met). We share lunch and pictures and stories. We go back for more waiting and they run up to us and said she was already wheeled into surgery. We all go running to the closer waiting room. And we wait and wait and wait. BF is in with her. We are peering through the little glass window in the door, waiting…and then BF wheels out our son. His eyes are wide open and he is looking at us through the warming bed glass. He is beautiful. We ride up the elevator with the nurse, birth father and our new little bundle. To the nursery we go to watch through the glass as they weigh him and bathe him. The birth father is with him. The birth grandparents and birth aunt soon join us. We are all just staring at him. He has so many people that love him. The birth father leaves the hospital. After an hour he comes back, collapses in my arms crying, asking us to please take care of him, please take care his son. Aching with sadness for him, I try to console him. It is bittersweet. They leave us alone for a while. We stand there for hours with our faces and hands pressed against the glass, staring at our son, nothing can tear us away. The birth aunt brings us a baby gift. We are getting hugs from the birth family. We are so happy and yet so scared. Finally, hours later, the birth mom is wheeled to her room. We go to see her. We hang out with her and birth father in the room. Their friends start to come. We are meeting tons of people. We give her a huge beautiful bouquet of flowers. Soon our son is brought in, shortly after, the room clears. We are together, the five of us that night. We don’t leave until the security guy kicks us out.

Next day we get a phone call from birth mother asking me to bring her some things, she tells me DS was circumcised and she is breast-feeding. Fear grips our hearts. I have mixed emotions about this, I’m elated for my son, scared to death for us, and I admire her. We drive in silence; I am no longer as calm as I was the first day. We bring her a rest and relaxation basket full of bath and body items and candles. She deserves it. We hang out in the room, the five of us, then the birth grandparents arrive. More pictures, tons of pictures. Finally she sends our son back to the nursery. I find bgrandma outside the room crying, I ask her to walk with me. We talk for a couple of hours. Meanwhile dh steals off to the bonding room and is sitting there rocking DS, I glimpse him going in and with the biggest grin he looks at me and holds up DS in the window--so proud, so happy. I am talking but my heart is melting. We stay again all day until we are kicked out.

Day 3--this is the day, the day where we get off the roller coaster. The day we are supposed to take our DS home. On a scale of 1-10, 10 being the highest emotion, we are 15! Hospital social worker comes and asks us to leave the room. Birth parents are upset because they did not want us to leave. I assured them it was fine. Finally our caseworker comes and goes in the room with them, we sit outside and wait, our hearts are pounding in our throats, I am sure we are barely breathing. I feel like someone is sitting on my chest, the clock ticks, a baby is crying in the nursery. Our son is in the room with them. My phone rings, it’s my sister, “Well, she says, “we can’t stand it anymore, what’s going on?” I replied hastily, “We don’t know anything, they are in the room with the papers right now, we’ll call you back.” I hung up.

The social worker comes out and the papers are signed. WE ARE THREE! We go to the room to give the birth parents various gifts that we had bought for them. Things we knew they would like, things to remember us by, things to represent our time together. We gave the bmom a diamond heart and wrote on a piece of scrolled paper, always in our thoughts, but forever in our hearts. She put it on.

She was getting ready to check out, I was holding DS. The birth father came to wheel her out of the room. The wheel chair turned toward me, and with tears in my eyes I mouthed the words, “thank you so much.” She smiled, her eyes welling. The nurse takes DS and walks him outside with us. Dh pulls up the car and we buckle him in. He hands me a note written on the back of a hospital comment card, it was a letter from the bfather; we kept if folded until we got home. Our DS cried the entire way home. I made calls from the cell phone.

We pulled in the drive and we unloaded. It seemed surreal. The next-door neighbor was backing out her van, and she immediately stopped and leaned out her window and mouthed, “Is that a baby?” and I nodded. She asked, “Is that your baby?” and I most certainly nodded. She shoved it in park and ran over. She could not believe it. She was so happy for us. That night her and her husband brought over a stuffed horse and 18 dozen red roses. And that was the beginning of “our family”. We went inside, our empty house was now as full as our hearts.

A friend once posted on the adoption bulletin board:

“There are many ways to join a family. You can be born into a family, you can marry into a family, or you can be adopted into a family. It doesn’t matter how you get there, you are still family.”

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