Posts Tagged ‘Acts of Kindness’

I’ve heard it said that women quickly forget the pain of childbirth, it’s what allows them to have more children. They are able to focus only the joys of the baby being placed in their arms, each perfect tiny finger, each tiny toe, and the sweet curve of tiny little eye lashes. I’ve found that to be true, the time I spent waiting and the pain of the actual birthing process melted away, it is overwhelmed completely by the joy I felt of holding Michael in my arms for the first time, and even the joy I felt in seeing Beth and John meeting their son for the first time. The pain I was totally unprepared for, the pain that still sometimes aches, came almost two days later.

I woke up after my second night in the hospital alone and feeling achy and frankly, a little bit crabby. There was no Uncle Jerry, no parents, no well wishing friends or coworkers, just me and a nurse taking my temperature. (I cannot begin to express my confusion at the process of being woken up to have my vitals taken all night after a delivery, but I guess that’s why I am not a health care professional.) She had a few pills to administer, though no pain meds, not even a Tylenol, since this morning is the day that the attorney would arrive and I would relinquish my parental rights, forever.

I had waited for Micheal’s arrival with eagerness and excitement, I waited for the attorney with dread. My Mom got there that morning before the attorney and just as we waited together for Michael to arrive now we waited to legally give him away. It was horrible, we both watched the TV and tried not to talk about anything, waiting for the sword swinging over our head to drop.

The attorney arrived before lunch with a court reporter in tow, this was unexpected. I thought I would be signing paperwork, I didn’t realize that I was going to have to give my testimony. I can’t tell you how surreal the whole thing felt to be sitting there with my Mom next to my bed, while the court reporter set up her little type writer thing. (Just like the ones you see on tv!)

If you recall, I had chosen the attorney I worked with carefully and I must tell you that I felt like I picked well because even as the court reporter was setting up, the attorney came over the explain what was going to happen. She was a very small woman with dark hair and warm dark eyes, she projected confidence, competence, and compassion. In retrospect, she knew what was coming – I really didn’t.

Just like if I was in court, I was “sworn in” and I had to answer questions about my mental state, if I felt coerced in any way, and then we got down the nitty gritty. The attorney read the adoption papers out loud and I had to answer questions about if I understood or if I agreed. During this process, my Mom started to cry and with tears running down my face I gently asked her to leave. I can’t stand for anyone to cry by themselves, and I knew that if I started crying now I would never be able to stop.

With tears in my eyes, I help up well through the rest of the process until the attorney asked me if I understood that I was terminating all of my parental rights to Michael. (Of course she said it more professionally than that.) With tears streaming down my face I said I understood, and I did understand, but the wording seemed so wrong. I felt like I was on record as saying – I didn’t want him, and I hated that. I hated the way it sounded and the heartache it caused because the truth was so much more complicated.

The truth is that even though I always felt like my adoption plans were part of a bigger plan, it still hurt to hear those words out loud. The truth is that even though I always felt like Michael was meant to be Beth and John’s son, he would also always be a part of me, I liked to think that he was the best part of me and Rob. The truth is that I loved him so much I wanted him to have more than I could give him and that wretched legal paperwork could never convey that.

Shortly after the tears started flowing the i’s were dotted and the t’s were crossed, and the attorney and court reporter packed up to leave. When they opened the door to leave, I saw John and Beth in the hallway with two beautiful dark haired little girls that I realized must be the attorney’s daughters. Beth and I locked eyes for just a moment and her eyes filled with tears, I smiled the very best, although slightly shaky, smile I could muster at her before the door was closed between us.

I was on the verge of starting to cry in earnest, when the door opened again, and John came in. I confess, I liked John but I hadn’t really gotten as close to him as I had to Beth. She was who I emailed with all this time. Since we didn’t have that bond, I could tell that John felt a little awkward.

“Is there anything we can do for you,” he asked in a quiet voice.

I cannot tell you how touched I was by this small gesture. The paperwork was signed, Michael was theirs, but clearly to Beth and John I was more than just the vessel that carried their child – I was a person, a person they knew was in pain.

“Could you see if I could have my pain meds now?” I asked him, “I’m a little sore and I didn’t sleep very well last night.”

“Sure,” he said.

John stood there for a moment and I knew that he wanted to say something. He searched for the magic words to comfort and ease the pain. However, there were no words, and so he left.

A few moments later I heard him at the nurse’s station and I couldn’t help but chuckle. John was a mild mannered and very polite man, but I heard as he was adamant that someone get down to my room and get those pain pills administered STAT! Apparently one of the nurses had the bad graces to bring up that they were waiting on the attorney and though John was quiet he was firm, that someone needed to come down to my room immediately. I believe he stood at that nurse’s station until he watched her walk down the hall towards my room.

I cried myself to sleep after the medicine had been administered. From the moment I had decided to place my son for adoption I had known that moment was coming, but there is no amount of preparation that can make it hurt less to say good bye to someone that you love

In the first trimester of my pregnancy, the life inside you seems fragile and needs to be protected and the actual “birth” seems far away and TERRIFYING (well it did for me anyway). For the first trimester I had to avoid any reality shows that showed what happened in the delivery room – I was really scared, scared of the pain, scared of that big baby coming out of that tiny opening. Yes, the birthing bed seemed a horrifying place.

During the second trimester, as my bump grew I learned how to share my pregnancy. People asked questions, pregnancy was no longer something I could put on the back burner. Labor was still on the horizon but still far away and still a bit scary.

Near the end of my third trimester I went from “I’m scared of Labor” to “let’s get it done.” The closer we get to the end of this journey, the more uncomfortable I am. It’s harder and harder to get comfortable in bed, the baby doesn’t seem to have enough room in there and so he’s constantly moving and shifting trying to find a cozy spot. One night the baby was so restless, I didn’t think I would ever get to sleep and then Ben, my big snugly dog, put his head on my very pregnant belly and the most amazing thing happened – the baby settled down and went to sleep (so I did too shortly thereafter). Ben was definitely earning his keep!

A few days after my weekly check up I noticed that I had some sort of hives, everywhere. I was covered all over my body except for on my face and my palms! I even had them on the soles of my feet. In a panic I called the doctor’s office where I was diagnosed with PUPPS pregnancy rash. (PUPPS is a cute acronym for something that doesn’t feel very cute at all.) I was also told that I needed to avoid taking medication if at all possible.

The closest experience I’ve had to PUPPS outside of childhood illnesses are medication reactions, but even then you take meds and it’s over in a day or two. I went out and spent a small fortune on Oatmeal products to calm the itching, soaks, body wash, the whole nine yards. They all offered temporary relief but the itching always came back. I didn’t realize how much I relied on products like Benedryl for situations like this until that option was off the table.

Getting comfortable at night was hard before PUPPS, afterward it seemed almost impossible. I flopped and flipped and tried not to scratch all night long. I woke myself up rubbing my legs together like a cricket trying to stop the itching without actually scratching. It was awful, and then relief came from the most unlikely of places!

Beth had been nesting and reading all the appropriate books and so she and John put together and send me a package of goodies for my hospital stay. (Yes, there was a sweet card which caused me to cry – happy tears, just a little!) In that box she included Peppermint Foot Lotion. I laughed at the time, as I hadn’t really seen my feet in weeks, but I still put some on my feet almost immediately. (I love that peppermint smell!)

I was curled up on the sofa reading when I realized something – my feet weren’t itching. I slathered myself in the peppermint foot lotion and almost immediately two things happened. The first was that I started to feel like I had a chill, something about peppermint oil was apparently cooling. More importantly though, the itching seemed to go away!

The next day I sent Beth a jubilant email, thanking her so much and telling her about how her Peppermint Foot lotion was my miracle cure! I could almost hear her laughter when she emailed me back to tell me how happy she was to have given me some relief. I was covered almost head to toe in Peppermint Lotion and feeling better than I had since the emergence of those wretched PUPPS!

I felt so much better I forgot completely about them, until Tim came into my office and after a few minutes of chatting he asked -

“Do you smell peppermint?”

I laughed.

I have a friend that I don’t talk about very often because we have the oddest relationship ever, I call him Uncle Jerry because he is 20 years older than me and on some level I know that if we weren’t “family” our relationship probably wouldn’t make much sense. Jerry tends bar at the sports bar that I have frequented off and on, since I was old enough to drink – it’s a hole in the wall, but they have pool tables and dart boards and it’s not a “meet market.” I like him because he is a practitioner of, what I call, the Southern Art of Story Telling. You can take Jerry down the road so he can pick up a newspaper and when you get back he tells this epic story that makes it sound like a quest worthy of a fairy tale. Our relationship is strange, but he’s family, well kinda.

I had told Uncle Jerry about my pregnancy fairly early on. He knew that Rob and I had broken up and knew I had moved down the street, but since I didn’t plan on spending any time at the bar over the course of my pregnancy I thought I would let him know why. He never liked Rob and was quick to offer me his love and support, another reason why I consider him family I suppose.

Of course to that point his love and support extended to infrequent phone calls to see how I was doing but other than that I didn’t see very much of him, so I was surprised when he called me on Mother’s Day Sunday to ask for a favor. (My parents were in New York City, they go for two weeks every May and we celebrate Mother’s Day when they get back.)

“I forgot my lunch, could you go grab me a sandwich before the bar opens?” He said.

“Sure, from where?”

We sorted out the arrangements and I confess, despite him offering me free lunch from my favorite sandwich shop, I wasn’t jazzed to go to the bar, even if it wasn’t open. (I’m not very big on the lingering smell of cigarette smoke.) Oh, the things we do for love.

A moment after I arrived in the bar, I was again reminded why I considered Jerry to be family. On one of the side tables there was a beautiful little flower arrangement and something that resembled strawberry shortcake. (Jerry later told me he bought and ripped up an angel food cake and then topped it with strawberries and whipped cream himself.)

“Happy Mother’s Day,” he said as he extended his arms wide to give me a hug and I promptly burst into tears.

Jerry patted my back clumsily while telling me how happy he was to celebrate my “first Mother’s Day” with me, and it’s funny that despite the pregnant belly, and the knowledge I was carrying a bouncing baby boy I just didn’t really see that “Mother’s Day” applied to me. I guess that seems odd, but I didn’t really think Motherhood happened (or more accurately was acknowledged by other people) until the baby was in your arms.

He told me stories all through our little Mother’s Day luncheon, mostly stories about regulars I knew but hadn’t seen in a while, but he sprinkled in some of my favorites for good measure. I laughed so hard that at one point I was holding my sides.

“You aren’t going into labor, are you?” he asked with genuine alarm.

“No,”I assured him, wiping away tears of laughter.

I left just as the bar opened and the first few patrons made their way in.

The next day, when I went to work, I had an emailing wishing me Happy Mother’s Day from Beth (and John too, she assured me!) and she asked if I had a nice Mother’s Day and I smiled, thinking of a dark bar and an old bachelor’s strawberry shortcake when I replied to her by saying “I really did!”

The man who bought me my hot chocolate, his name was Russ and he is a flight student in the Navy. I know this now because I saw him in Circle K, and I smiled and said hello and thanked him for his generous gift. We talked for a few minutes and then we both had to head off to our perspective jobs. Russ makes me feel conflicted. He is handsome and generous, someone that in another time and a place I would love to go on a date with and I would be hopeful that a relationship would form, but can you date while you’re pregnant? I’m not sure, but as he hasn’t asked me out yet, I suppose that’s putting the cart before the horse.

With Rob back in town, Mary and I setup a phone call between us and Beth and John. I wanted to do it while he was still out of town, but he surprised me and said that he would like to be there. In an effort to show that I was willing to be accommodating I drove out to his house on the day of the call and they called us there.

It was a strange feeling, that feeling that this house that had been OUR house, was not mine anymore. It seemed a little surreal to be there as a visitor, but I was excited to talk to Beth and John so when the phone rang on schedule at 6:00 I could hardly keep myself from answering the phone like a breathless teenager.

“Hello?” I said, and for a split second I was filled with terror, what if this was Emily?

“Hello, is this Joy?” a woman’s voice said from the other end.

“Yes, yes it is!” I said excitedly.

“This is Beth,” the voice said.

“And John,” a male voice chimed in.

“This is Rob, the birthfather, I’m here too.” Rob said from the phone in the bedroom.

It is very hard for me to explain the connection that I felt to Beth and John from that very first phone call, but I felt an immediate connection. I felt a current of excitement between the three of us immediately. Beth and John started to ask questions about how I was feeling, what my likes and dislikes were now that I was pregnant. I told them about my recent cravings for Crab Rangoon, how during the really ferocious bouts of “morning” sickness my coworkers were bringing me french fries since they seemed to stay down better. I got a sense that Beth and John were happy that I had people in my corner. I told them about feeling the baby, and I could tell they were as excited as I was! I asked about what they do for a living, what preparations they had made, and without me asking they told me about the journey that brought them to adoption.

Rob stayed quiet during the first excited exchanges and then he cleared his throat and said “I have some questions I would like to ask.”

Hmmm, this was news to me.

“What religion are you people?” Rob said.

“We’re Catholic,” John said.

“I guess that’s okay, I wouldn’t want to give my baby to a Satanist or anything” He said.

Nervous laughter erupted from me, and I could tell it sounded off, but frankly, this was as unexpected to me as it probably was to Beth and John.

“I’m Mormon, so Religion is very important to me.” Rob announced.

In truth, Rob was raised Seventh Day Adventist and in college became LDS when he met his wife, well now ex-wife. He was a non-practicing LDS, early on in our relationship I had helped him burn his garments and other things that he was not allowed to wear because of his current Church status. I was a Christian Mutt, raised Episcopal, went to a Catholic School, and attending a Methodist Church – never during the course of our relationship was religion ever an issue – I was shocked to hear it was an issue today.

Rob asked more questions about their educational backgrounds, their relationship, and their family medical history. At this point the Rob was asking questions and John was answering them and I felt like a tub of cold water had been thrown on me. I knew about their education backgrounds and their relationship, all of the questions that Rob asked were in their profile. I also though asking about their medical histories was kind of funny because that was really something we brought to the table more than the adoptive parents.

Finally, Rob seemed out of questions and there was a pause.

“Would you like to exchange email addresses?” Beth asked softly.

“No thanks, have a good evening,” Rob said and hung up.

“I would!” I said at the same time, and then repeated it after Rob hung up, “I would really like that Beth.”

So we exchanged email addresses and said our good-byes. I hung up the phone feeling happy and hopeful.

I left Rob’s house that night a few minutes later. I had nothing to say about his interrogation, because I tried to remind myself that what we needed to feel confident in our decision was different and as long as he felt comfortable and at ease with our decision, it should ultimately make the whole process easier on all parties involved and who was I to say what should be important to him in this process?

I’m somewhat of a creature of habit, so almost every morning I stop at Circle K and grab something to drink in place of my occasional coffee.  Usually I grab fruit juice or bottled water but with Christmas a few days away I decided to treat myself to a nice hot chocolate. I was standing there in line, waiting for my turn at the register,  enjoying the smell of hot chocolate and when I stepped up to pay, Ms Casey smiled at me.

“The man in line before you, he paid for your hot chocolate.” she told me.

“What?” I asked, completely confused.

“He told me to wish you a Merry Christmas,” she said smiling sweetly.

There was no one in line behind me for me to “pay forward” this nice gesture too, so I tried to get out of the door in time to thank the mystery man. I saw him from behind his steering wheel, he was obviously in the Navy – he was wearing a flight suit and his brown hair was cropped into a short military hair cut. He smiled when he saw me, and returning his smile I waved and mouthed “thank you.”

I was shocked that a handsome man had just smiled at me, I was pregnant. Bring pregnant was already becoming such a part of how I thought about myself that it wasn’t until I was pulling into the office that I realized that though I saw myself as pregnant, to the untrained eye I didn’t look pregnant. I hadn’t gained much weight yet, what with all the throwing up, and the small bump that was there was easily hidden under the bulk of winter clothes.

I walked into the office ready to tie up any loose holiday ends. Ken was standing there talking to the receptionist and he looked at me and smiled brightly.

“Today, you’re glowing, ” he said.

I blushed, and made my way to my office, but I thought that today was the first day I was hopeful that there might be more to my life than just being pregnant.