My Gay Adoption Day 264 :: Match!
The call came on Friday morning.
Kevin immediately knew it was our adoption agency calling: the number was blocked when his cellphone rang. But we’ve been called before - for billing questions, for thoughts about this blog, and for a myriad of other reasons. And truly, once you sign the big checks and enter the waiting game, you teach yourself patience.
So when Friends in Adoption told us that we had a potential match with a birth mother, the emotions that flooded through us started with mute shock.
It’s awfully strange, really. In what seems a nanosecond, the following thoughts race through your mind:
1) Did they just say that? (They did.)
2) Shit. (Don’t.)
3) I wasn’t expecting this. (You did sign the forms, dufus.)
4) Am I ready for this? (You’d better be.)
5) Do I need to register at Babies’R’Us now? (Only if you want your child to have clothes or furniture.)
6) There’s got to be a hitch. (There is.)
7) Holy-crap-I’m-going-to-be-a-Dad. (Yay!)
Frankly, there’s no way anyone can prepare you for the rush of excitement resulting from the phrase, "You’ve been matched with a birth mother..." Nor the sudden feeling of dread that follows it when you hear the rest of the sentence: "... but don’t get too excited, there are complications."
In our case, the complications were fairly severe. We were informed that the birth mother had health issues, and that we needed to move quickly to a decision as to whether to accept the match, as she was days from giving birth. FIA told us that they’d send her medical record via email, and told us to take the weekend to consult with our pediatrician.
In fact, the health issues listed in the medical record were quite extraordinary, and they led us on quite an emotional journey for the next few days. I’m going to be deliberately obtuse - these are real people I’m discussing, and they have a right to their privacy. But even those parts of the medical record Kevin and I could read (and believe me, whoever writes these things must go through years of training to be able to reduce medical information to a form of language utterly indecipherable to all but their peers) gave us pause.