{March 18, 2011}
We had heard you could make an appointment to speak with the orphanage doctor about your baby – they would give you a more full healthy history than what might be in the scant information you had already been given. We want to know everything, so we inquired. Sure, they said. Friday morning! They never would commit to a specific time, so we showed up at 9 AM (visitation was to be from 10 AM-Noon) just to see what we could see. They weren’t ready for us. So we absorbed more of the surroundings and took more pictures, this time outside the barbed wire perimeters (barbed wire adorns most gates to houses and restaurants in Addis, so that’s not unusual at all).
They surprised us and brought Kate out at 9:30! We would get an extra ½ hour with our girl! Awesome. We didn’t dare waste a moment; this was our last time to see her until … we don’t know when.
It was clear she had just been bathed as her hair was wet and in the signature pony tails they had done her hair up in each time we had visited this week. Very cute. Her nose was a little runny, eyes were watery, crust was on her cheeks. She sneezed. Kate had a cold. I immediately got out our Costco baby wipes and began to clean her up. Eric was sure to point out that she had better get used to this because mommy does this all the time. Constantly preening and fixing and straightening and wiping with all of our kids. It’s what moms do! Kate was definitely fussy this morning. She didn’t feel good and she was tired. We did confirm that our morning visits were during her naptime. Despite her cold, we played and cooed and got her to giggle, acting like paparazzi with the camera constantly in her face. I so wish I could show you pictures – she’s amazingly beautiful!
I have been very curious about her hair. What does it look like when not tied up on the ponytails? Is it soft? Curly? I gingerly unwrapped one of her ponytail holders. A pink one at the nape of her neck. I put the band around my wrist so it wouldn’t get lost and played with her hair. Soft. Strange. Felt like cotton batting. I have lots to learn about her hair.
The rest of the group from our agency arrived. Familiar faces felt good. Since the morning after our arrival we have felt a step behind and very much disconnected from “the plan.” The majority of families from our agency were all staying together at a hotel which coordinates very closely with the orphanage for appointments and transportation. They also arranged tours for the group and social activities. We were at a different hotel and very much on our own. Also, several of the families live in Oregon where our agency is based. They had already met prior to coming to Ethiopia and had established friendships already. We were on the outskirts of appointments, information, camaraderie, everything. This was not intentional at all, but just a fact of logistics and lack of leadership by the agency’s in-country representatives, which we never did meet or speak with. But that’s another story. The families were very kind to include us wherever they could, especially with information about appointment times, court dates, etc. It was nice to see they had arrived!
Half of the group joined us in our room and the other half were siphoned off to the room where we were on the first day. Babies were swiftly delivered and each family focused on their little one(s). It was the last visit for all of us. There was nervous energy and sadness in the air. Cameras were constantly rolling.
Someone was brave enough to take their baby just outside the room for photos. The watching nannies didn’t object. Relieved for a change of scene, we all followed. This outside thing felt nice. We were constantly under watch while with our babies, which stands to reason. Everyone was careful to observe “the rules” but no one was quite sure what the rules were. We just didn’t want to overstep our bounds or offend and get us all kicked out or something. I had found that we usually “got” to do something because we would just be bold enough to ask.
I asked if he could take Kate over to the garden area over there. The nanny hesitated. Uh oh. Too big of a request. We blew it. Then she walked ahead and motioned for us to follow her. We did. She spoke to the gardener who was stooped over using a palm branch as a rake to clean up around the bushes and flowers. He looked up, nodded, and went back to work. She nodded her head and swayed her arm for us to enter the garden area. YES! Perfect. Thank you! Amaset-genalo (this is “thank you” in Amharic…not spelled correctly, but phonetically). I followed with the camera as Eric gingerly introduced Kate to various flowers and leaves. He is such a kind and gentle daddy. I wondered if Kate had ever been in this garden before. Had she touched the bark of a palm tree before? Felt the softness of a flower petal? She liked it. The camera rolled.
The doctor was ready to meet with us. Excellent. We were ushered in, passed some closed doors. There were many closed doors here we could never peer behind. The doctor was a strikingly beautiful woman; she wore a white lab coat. She looked nice, and clean. She smiled broadly when she saw Kate who was fussy in that moment. She reached for her and offered comforting, playful Amharic words to her patient. Kate definitely knew her and was very happy to be held by a familiar friend. While she bounced Kate on her knee, she opened up her file. Two assistants were also in the room, observing. The doctor confirmed that Kate is healthy, has had all her vaccinations, tested negative 3 separate times for HIV, etc. We knew all of this from her file. Then she went on to offer new information. She was surprised we didn’t already know about this. Interesting. Clinical pneumonia? She had received some kind of antibiotic for it. Okay, this was months ago. I can live with that. Then, something about “hyperactive” and “disorder.” The doctor was using clinical terms and speaking in broken English so it was hard to catch every word – and I wanted to catch every word. I darted a glance at Eric. He was smiling and nodding, accommodating, clearly not understanding. She was rushing and I got the impression that she was ready for the appointment to be over. I stopped her. Wait. Can you repeat that? Hyperactive Airway Disorder. That doesn’t sound good. What is that? We never did get satisfactory answers, but all I could gather is that the doctor wasn’t concerned and it seems to be some kind of allergy that she will outgrow. It’s not a problem with her organs or airway passage formations or anything. We’ll be sure to google that at our first opportunity. We offered our profound thanks to the doctor for caring for our baby so well. She accepted our honor and handed Kate back to us, honoring us with a group photo.
We were ushered out past the same closed doors. One had a Mickey Mouse painted on it; we walked over and introduced Kate to his happy image. Eric quipped, wondering if they had a license for the image – a Minnie Mouse image was painted on the outside of another building elsewhere on the compound. I had a flash of her first trip to Disneyland knowing she will likely have many visits there in her lifetime. The juxtaposition of The Happiest Place on Earth and this place was too much for me to bear. I forced myself to revert to the moment.
During our slow walk back to the visiting room, Kate conked out in Eric’s arms. We could feel the clock ticking but didn’t want to wake her and spent time sharing with the other families knowing this was probably the last time we would see them, too.
A nanny arrived at the doorway. We all naturally stood up as if in defense. It was noon. She took a baby. The couple with now empty arms held each other with their heads hung low as she quietly slipped out of the door with their baby. Kate squirmed uncomfortably in my arms. I was squeezing her tightly. Two more nannies arrived. They were there for the twins. Our new friends, Sam and Christina began to sob and clutch their boy and girl. Tears streamed down my faced as I watched. I pulled Kate even closer to me, crying over the top of her head. Eric and I turned, huddling close. We whispered prayers of comfort and health over our girl. Then it was our turn. She was handed over to her nanny who was very gentle in that moment, understanding. We gifted her with an ultra soft Pink Giraffe and a toddler-esque photo book with pictures of Mommy, Daddy, Keira, Carter and Connor meticulously labeled with “Sister” or “Brother” and our names. I reached again for one last kiss and an “I love you. We’ll see you soon. Good-bye, sweet girl.”
She left.
I buried my head into Eric’s chest with my arms tight around his neck and released all the emotion I had. My body shook; I audibly wept. Eric just held on. Something had been torn from me. I felt ripped. But I knew I would be back; there was ultimate peace and comfort for me. I mostly sobbed for the distraught birth mother who had left this precious one on a dirt road, at 3 days old. Left her to be found. To have a chance. To give her life. This desperate mother gave her precious daughter a life. She is forever ripped and will never have peace and comfort. This mother knows nothing of her baby’s whereabouts, if she was found, if she is well. She knows nothing about us. Nothing about Disneyland or Costco or the fairytale life we lead. She will never know and will always wonder. I wept for her.
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