2nd Home Visit Done
[The following is a rant of the Emergency Tamara System. It is only a rant. Should this have been an actual blog, you would have been told where to tune for more substantive and less self-absorbed information. This is only a rant. Bleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep.]My heart feels very heavy. I've returned to work after crying so much my head hurt. Everything about the home visit went well, except a couple of things that were very uncomfortable - and then when I busted out in tears and couldn't get myself under control and had to get up and go into the bathroom while I left Michael talking with the social worker.
I came home from work and the apartment looked as good as it was going to get for a place in transition with 2 biblioholics (book addicts) living in it. Michael had done a nice job finishing up the cleaning while I was at work this morning. I was glad I was not embarrassed.
12:30 on the dot, M. is at the door. She's nice - professional and friendly. She sits on the sofa and asks us about things in our paperwork she notices. She asks us about whether we were still seeing counselors. We had been to marriage counseling - M. asks why and I talked about the major transitions we'd gone through with each of us moving from different states and being newlyweds, and dealing with infertility issues. She asks me about my medication for depression, and if I still take it. Yes. I'm doing great. I'm not seeing a counselor, because the depression stems from the PCOS and marital stress over things I will just have to learn to put up with better, not things I can't deal with. She asks about the infertility, and how we've handled it. I suppress the urge to bust out with a sarcastic remark like, "Oh, it's been great. We held a party to celebrate." It's sucked. Of course it has. And no, I didn't handle it well. (I've yet to meet someone who has besides my husband who was completely unaffected by the news because he never pictured his life with children in the first place.) But I come up with a more sensitive and appropriate response.
She asks me about my mom's recent diagnosis with breast cancer, and how I've been handling that. Again, the sarcastic demon inside me wants to cock my head to the side, grin, and say, "Oh, just peachy. I was so thrilled to learn that not only had my gradmother had cancer and a mastectomy at the age of 71, my mother now had breast cancer at 57, and I was probably going to get it too. I am just so excited, and can hardly wait." But I am a good girl. I explain that she had finished radiation and was now on long-term care taking Tamoxifen and recovering as well as could be expected. I explain that I have had my first mamogram, and while that wasn't pleasant, that all was well with me in that department...for now.
She moves on to Michael. She asks him about his seeing a counselor. He says he still is. She asks what for. He responds as vaguely as humanly possible (which is how he would respond to anyone including me, not just her) with something like "Mainly about handling stress and anxiety." Umm hmm. She doesn't push very much, and then (I saw it coming like a freight train) she asks, "It says here that you've attempted suicide. Can you tell me about that?"
I feel my heart in my chest just pounding. I feel the heat rising from my toes up through my gut and into my neck. I feel the choking sensation like I'm being softly strangled, yet not truly suffocated. The whole conversation becomes surreal. The words M. speaks become muffled. I try to tune out. Michael answers, "Yes, May 2004...I think, yeah. Um, it was a reaction to stress...a stupid reaction and a mistake. But I was okay. I drove myself to the hospital and I was okay." He stopped suddenly with his answer. Michael does not offer details to anyone. That's just how he is. I've learned to keep asking questions until I either a) get the information I'm seeking, or b) irritate him so much that the conversation turns sour and one of us abandons the conversation altogether. Most things make Michael uncomfortable. It's something he's dealt with his entire life. Everything from trying new foods, meeting new people, kissing, sex, and mere conversation make him uneasy. I used to treat him with kid gloves, then I learned I was just playing into his helplessness routine and not helping him grow. So, I started to treat him just like I treat others. I figured he would either grow or die like any other living thing. He has not fared well with how I've changed as a result of being around his mopey attitude and how disappointed I've been with our lack of friends (the going out as well as the meeting new people thing - more discomfort) and social network.
I begin to think we've made a huge mistake. Thoughts come into my head like, "See. You should never have done this. Michael can't handle it, and you can't handle him. How in the world is someone who attempted suicide 2 months after he married you supposed to care for a child and survive to tell about it?" "We're never going to get approved. We've wasted our time. Michael's ultimate selfishness has killed your only chance of ever having children. We could never do private adoption because they'd never approve us as parents. How could he have done this to me?"
But we move on. M. asks us about changing a child's name. She says that our teacher told her that we were particularly vocal in class about changing a child's name (Fantasy, Precious, and Heaven, and Prince were some examples she gave of children she's placed in foster care recently). I turn to Michael to answer that question since he is the one who had so many problems with that section of the class. His answer is curt (in my opinion), but then again, my perception is probably way off base at this point. I attempt to answer that we feel a child has a right to have a name that will not negatively impact his/her chances of success in life. "Precious" is not likely to hold political office, be a professor or Dean, or be seriously considered for college admissions - all because of her name. It will be assumed she comes from an uneducated family, and perhaps that she is a racial minority. I hope I answered correctly. M. asks if we would refuse a child on the basis of their name being odd. We try to say "no", while remaining honest that we would change the name after adoption and try to keep as much of their original name as possible. The discussion seemed very uncomfortable.
M. asks about religion, and that she read in our paperwork that we had written it would be hard to care for a child of a different religion. She reminds us that after adoption that would be our right to teach our child any religion we wanted. We remain steadfast in our position that any child in foster care would go to church with us. She says that she has never has a birth parent say a child could not attend religions services, but that it is always a possibility. We say that if that were a problem, we could attend separate services at church and pass the child off between the two of us so the child did not have to attend services. Honestly, I do not know how long I could tolerate that. I'm shaken. I'm thinking "Strike 3".
About finished with the questions, something wells up within me. I ask if I can clarify something about Michael's suicide attempt. She says "sure" and Michael looks at me like he's scared out of his wits (which is pretty common). I want to assure her he's okay. I start to speak, but the tears just start to stream down my face - hot tears that feel much hotter than your body temperature, and they sting my eyes. I can feel my chest is red hot. I'm shaking. Michael tries to put his arm around me to comfort me, but in that moment I hate him and don't want him to touch me (but I wasn't going to say that in front of the nice social worker). M. says its okay, that she knows it's hard and that it happened so recently. I hear "recently" and I think to myself "that's it, we're screwed". I almost say this: "You know M., I appreciate your time, but it's clear that we are not emotionally stable enough as a couple to parent any child. Thank you for your time. I'm sorry you had to come out here to learn this. I don't think being foster parents is right for us." But I didn't. I couldn't speak. I had to get up and go into the bathroom. I was so embarrassed, and I'm sure Michael was as well.
I got myself together and apologized to M. I felt it was over at that point. There goes your one chance to have a family, you stupid psycho. I explained to M. that what I really wanted to say was that I didn't want her to think that Michael was going to kill himself at any moment. I assured her that he sees a counselor, and that he has been to a psychiatrist, and they agree that he is okay and doesn't need medication (okay - that part wasn't entirely true. The psychiatrist prescribed him Wellbutrin, which he refused to take after coming home and telling me he didn't think he needed it. I guess now he's a psychiatrist, too.) In his defense, he did not think the psychiatrist was very professional, and that she asked him no less than 5 times in the 50 minute introductory meeting if he drank. He said he kept thinking, "I just told you 5 minutes ago that I don't drink - why are you asking me again?" So, I allowed Michael to decide on his own that he did not need medication for depression/anxiety. He tries to handle things on his own, and for the most part I try to give him his space. Regrettably, 15 months later, I still have nightmare about once a month about coming home and finding him dead. When he works late at night and doesn't come to bed, I often wake up to find he's still not in bed at 1 am - and I get up to see if he's still alive. In fits of anger, he's taken off to "go for a drive". Each time, I was convinced he would not come back alive, yet I went to sleep. I remember one of the most hurtful things he said to me when I confronted him about how selfish suicide was - I had told him he would have left me with nothing - the life insurance would not pay anything for suicide. I'd have had nothing - and I'd already quit my job in GA and had no job in KY where I was supposed to move to in a month. He looked right at me, and angrily retorted that I'd have gotten his retirement account money. Again, in that moment, I hated him.
After we finished the questions from M., I took her on a "tour" of our apartment. I made note that we had locked boxes for our medication, first aid kits, and child safety kits to install on the cabinets. I showed her the room that is becoming the nursery, and she seemed glad that we had already acquired things like a stroller and car seat. I even opened the closet and showed her some of the cute clothes I had bought. She seemed pleased with the room for the baby. We told her that a crib and mattress is being delivered tomorrow (yes - more good news - we found someone local who was selling a set and we decided to go ahead and buy one - for $150, not bad I figured).
She told us that once she writes up our report, which may take her a week or so (I was impressed that she said she can get it written up so quickly) - we could have our first placement in.....are you ready?? TWO to FOUR WEEKS. Gulp. Um, okay. Great. I wanted to ask: Does that mean the whole suicide and medication and crying thing won't be the coup de grace for us? She said we still might need to get letters from counselors we've seen stating that we are emotionally healthy enough to parent a child. (You know, they should require that before everyone is allowed to have a biological child). It feels unfair. I feel invaded, naked, and small.
It's 1:45 when she leaves. Michael wants to hug me. I back away, and tell him I can't do that right now. I sit on the bed, and cry. I want to crawl into bed and sleep the rest of the night. I want to play helpless and defeated. I want to feel sorry for myself. I want to yell at Michael. I want him to hurt like I do because of what he did to me 15 months ago. I want to stop being reminded about it, and never speak of it again. He sits on the bed next to me. I get up and tell him that he has screwed up my life in so many ways. I tell him that I'm tired of all these things that he has done coming back to haunt me and remind me of how selfish he has been (like the friend who wants to come over and see wedding pictures - and i keep putting her off because we didn't have a photographer because Michael didn't want one, and I couldn't afford to get one myself). I feel like I'm reminded daily of how insensitive he is, how he only thinks about himself, and how he acts like a child despite the fact that he's 34, has had a PhD for 3 years now, and is a professor at a major research institution.
I run our of the bedroom, our the door, and down the stairs into my car. I drive to work, and am unable to think. My head hurts. My toes hurt. My colleagues call me for a 3:00 meeting. I had sat at my desk too long and forgotten about it. I went, and people looked at me knowingly, but were kind enough not to ask what was wrong. Several knew that I has just had the second home visit and were probably expecting me to return to work as thrilled as I had left work at noon. I'm glad they didn't ask.
I'm glad it's over. I'm glad M. was nice and seemed to be understanding. I hope if we are approved that she will remain our permanent worker for good. I don't want to go through this again with someone else. I hope she does not think we are both psycho. I really wanted a family - and I saw that flash before my eyes and crash down around me. I lean toward the dramatic, so I need to monitor myself - but it really did feel like a wreck today.
God, please give M. an understanding heart as she writes our report. Help her see us as we are, and what we can be. And please help those last 2 friends who have not returned our references/recommendation paperwork return it! Thank-you God for not letting Michael die 15 months ago. Help me to forgive him, for I feel like I have not done that yet. God, please be with the birth families of the children that we will be caring for and keep them safe. Help us prepare in the weeks ahead to meet them face-to-face in those initial case planning meetings. Help us be vessels of you. Allow us to minister to them. And God, please be with the children who are about to come into our lives. Keep them safe, and lead those who need us into our home. Father, we are so imperfect and so flawed. Yet, we are trying Father. We know we were so rigid that you had to break us in order to re-mold us into what you wanted us to be. Blessed be your name! We "consider it pure joy when [we] face trials of many kinds" because we know that you are developing the perseverance we will need in order to walk the path you have laid out before us. Thank you, God. Amen.
[This has been a rant of the Emergency Tamara System. We now return you to your normal blogging program.]
Afterward to Baby MIA - I want you so much. I will do whatever it takes to make sure you have a great life.
posted by No Longer In Crisis @ 8/19/2005 06:00:00 PM
<< Home