23rd February, 2016

I keep reading in the news what a dreadful year 2016 has been and how no-one can wait to see the back of it.  It is undeniable that a year which started with the death of Bowie and recently saw the elevation of Donald Trump is pretty dark and it’s not even over yet.  However, in this little corner of the world, 2016 has been pretty darned good.  I finally became a mum.  To be perfectly frank with you, the last 3 years have felt a lot worse to me on a personal level than 2016.  This was when we went to panel, found our matches, went to panel again and brought our children home.  

Panel.  I cannot describe how loaded that word is when you’re going through adoption.  These are the people who are going to decide your future.  Your happiness.  Your family.  In the ‘normal’ course of parenthood, there are only a couple of people involved.  This is quite different.  Not only have you had to share your deepest and darkest secrets including your medical and financial records with your social worker but now all of these people are going to see them too!  Excuse me while I have a mini mental breakdown…  They are all good and lovely people of course.  Their job is to ensure that our social worker has done his job and that we aren’t a couple of crazies slipping through the cracks.  

The rational thing is that we wouldn’t get this far unless the panel were going to say yes to us.  M should have picked up already if we were not to be trusted.  Regular readers of this blog will know that the 8 weeks spent waiting for panel were riddled with self doubt and an unshakeable belief that they would take one look at me and reject us out of hand – and breathe.  

The day of panel, we arrived at the agency feeling nervous (this is the average emotion felt by both of us; lovely husband’s calm balancing out inner turmoil).  Of course, our panel was delayed.  They had a long morning.  Doesn’t usually happen.  Of course it doesn’t.  This is just happening because it’s me.  Still, it afforded time for a bacon sandwich which can never be a bad thing.  M sat with us for a while.  He was feeling completely confident. ‘Smile’, M said.  They will love how much you smile.  To be fair, I know about 500 teenagers who would be confused by the thought of me smiling a lot. I was now being considerably outweighed by positive emotion.  My wealth of feeling was being  pegged back.  The door opened and M was called in.  Social workers always go in first to explain themselves.  Not that he needed to – M’s work was superb.  He had written a detailed and impressive document which accurately reflected us.  He wasn’t gone long and then the door opened again…

It is not an exaggeration to say that the introductions to members of the panel took longer than the questions they asked.  There were at least 15 people in the room.  Medical, psychological, legal, adopters, adoptees and administrators as far as the eye could see.  They were all very smiley and welcoming.  I wondered where the sting in the tail would come from.  Nowhere as it happened. I think we were asked about three questions.  They were reasonable, thoughtful and challenging.  Much of it centered around how we would separate our professional selves from parenting.  Something I will come back to a lot as I write I think.  It’s a really big question. We know a lot about children but it’s mostly from an intellectual point of view.  The reality of living with them 24/7 would be different.  I blabbered on.  Husband was concise. I smiled and smiled again and just to be sure, I smiled some more.  It was ten minutes.  Ten minutes. Actually probably a bit longer than the ‘normal’ route to parenting…

We sidled out of the room, making sure to smile again just to be safe.  Ten minutes later.  There it is again.  Ten minutes. We got panel approval.  M didn’t know what we were worried about. Ok, we had to wait for the recommendation to be ratified but really it was done.  We were on our way. Again. 

When Martin called me to tell me the date of panel a few weeks prior he said ‘so you two had better really enjoy your Christmas this year’.  Well, we did enjoy Christmas 2015 and we did our final couple of days sales shopping in Cardiff and staying in a nice hotel.  We even snuck off to Harrogate the week before panel to have one final, final stay in a nice hotel. It was all really lovely and everything you could possibly want – but I am so much more looking forward to spending that time with my own little family this year. Just writing that has brought tears to my eyes.  Even when the world looks really bleak, I have them to believe in. 

M

No, we had not become 00 agents.  Although we do have to be pretty secretive these days!  M is the redacted name of our social worker from Adoption Focus.  We met this lovely man in a corridor last October.  He immediately put us at our ease.  I cannot stress enough how important the relationship with your social worker has to be when you are going through all of this drama.  The trust between us had to be absolute.  We were about to reveal all of our deepest, darkest secrets to him.  The real stuff that forms you as a person. You really cannot give that to any old numpty.  Thankfully, M demonstrated nothing but compassion and care throughout his time with us.  

The first meeting in our house was to look at health and safety.  We thought our house was wonderfully safe.  We certainly felt good in it. M had what essentially amounted to a clipboard as he inspected our home.  It suddenly felt like I’d let my nemesis (the Ofsted Inspector) into our safe place.  He pointed out various trip hazards, the lack of guard on the cooker, some potentially suspicious plants in the garden and our treasure trove of alcohol which was inconveniently placed at toddler reach height! Crikey – it was a death trap!  We promised faithfully that we would change everything.  Standard me I said we would do it straightaway. Husband called for patience and restraint.  

When we got upstairs to the bedrooms, we indicated to M that we could probably comfortably take two. A significant increase on our original one.  That’s when he said it. “Or three”.  This was the first time he said it but it wasn’t the last.  This was a much repeated refrain over the next few weeks.  Every time we said two, M would say “Or three”.  Sometimes we felt that there was some over-arching plan for us that we hadn’t be briefed on.  Again with the secret agent thing.  Probably not, but it niggled at us…. And planted a seed in our very suggestible brains…well, my brain at least…

The next few visits concentrated our our beliefs and state of mind.  We were asked some really difficult questions.  The most difficult thing was thinking about distant memories and wondering whether that happened when we were children or teenagers or young adults. Oh no.  We were at that age.  When everything is hazy.  Why did this have to happen now?  Discussions up for grabs were about how our parents handled grief with us, our experiences at school, our belief in education, the importance of a tolerant society.  There were lots more on top of that.  The report that was compiled on us was pretty big.  It is a weird experience in and of itself to be reading about your life in black and white.  We are distinctly average..  Biographies will never be written about us.  Don’t get me wrong we contribute.  Being a teacher and social worker makes us strong socialists and members of the ‘society’ but it is comfortingly low key.  

I will give one anecdote about our report which we did change slightly.  You can see how politicians and others get misquoted in the press.  M wanted to know about our personalities.  In essence, I am worry personified and my husband is as laid back as you can get.  Please don’t read that as a pretty chill bloke.  It goes way deeper than that.  He is horizontal.  It means our relationship works. I bring the drama and he brings the reason.  M was looking for an example of when he gets stressed and how he deals with it.  We gave him the example of Gary Megson’s sacking from Sheffield Wednesday.  To me, this means absolutely nothing. Probably  less than that. To fervent Owls however… well I’d never seen him so animated.  Never heard that kind of language (not strictly true…).  When we later read it in the report, it sounded like he regularly flies off the handle at inane things. So not who he is – it also sounded a bit flippant.  As if he didnt care about big things.  Not M’s fault, of course, but it was comforting to realise we did have some control over the report.  There was also a very unflattering account of how I played my face in Pisa because it was hot (it was hot, even the Italians thought it unseasonably warm that year) and apparently I was quite derogatory about the Leaning Tower because ice-cream does not constitute an offer of food…. I think I was pretty forthcoming about my generous list of faults.  

Once all this was done, M had to go away and write something that would make us seem like reasonable people who could handle children. He clearly wrote 3 children at the top… The wait then for panel was full of doubting and worrying that they would clearly see that I was not good enough, that they would see through me, that I would be seen for who I am… My mind does not work in a sensible or fact-based style. IT is very frustrating but I am learning to live with it.  Bizarrely, it was a factor in our selection for these particular children. And so, on tenter hooks, we waited. 

PPA – 2

It has taken a really long time to get back to writing this. Real parenting has been getting in the way of my virtual catharsis.  I’ve been learning about the spread of disease in small communities.  It has been a very enlightening time. To be fair, not only have the children had to deal wth the return to school which brings some kind of bacterial fiesta but they’ve also had to contend with the bugs of Worcestershire.  Major learning outcomes have been:-

A. It’s not that bad when a small child exorcist pukes on you. It’s actually quite warm weirdly.

B Worcestershire Royal’s fold out chair beds are dreadful and will incur steep massage charges if you want to watch your son all night.  As a side note, it did convince me that Business Class can’t be worth it if all you have is a fold out chair.  

Tonight though, I have re-discovered the Bombay Sapphire.  It was an effort.  In my old life, my Bombay Sapphire used to smile warmly at me from the shelf when I came home from school (I am a teacher, not a delinquent).  Now, it hides in a deep, dark corner in the upper recesses of nowhere.   I can’t remember when I last poured a soothing drop.  Not that there’s a drop in there tonight.  There is criminal excess of alcohol  in my seemingly harmless glass with the cute little strawberries on.

I digress, the gin courses through my aching limbs…

So…. off we went to three days of intensive preparation for adoption.  For intensive read harrowing, life-changing, life-affirming, emotionally draining crash course on children who wait.  My husband was pretty prepared for what was going to happen. None of the information was new to him but he now had to come at this from the point of view of a parent.  This was actually quite tricky for him as there was the obvious temptation to be teacher’s pet.  There was a smug sense of pride when he did get things right though… As a professional myself in the care of children, I was unprepared for how little I really knew about child development.  It was difficult to realise that I was suddenly on the back foot.  All that pedagogical knowledge wasn’t relevant for this massive task.  I had to admit that I really didn’t know what I was doing.  So far, so like every other first time mother I’ve ever met.  

We found ourselves in a room with only six other people.  This was both comforting and terrifying.  Lovely that we would be in such an intimate group but also we were going to be so obvious to the trainers – and they were watching.  Our responses throughout the training were, of course, being watched.  They needed to know what we were not going to say something shockingly inapparopriate like – you know, I probably shouldn’t say anything shockingly inappropriate in print!  Those of you who know me well wil appreciate that this was all terrifying.  People I didn’t know. A building I’d never been in.  Expected to talk out loud about my thoughts and feelings at length – and no alcohol! It’s a testament to the trainers and the atmosphere at Adoption Focus that I actually did fully participate.  It helped that there were people in the room that truly understood what we had been through over the past few years.  Two of those people we are still in touch with and are sharing our adoption journey with over a year later.  

I cannot possibly share everything that happened during those three days.  Some of the things that were discussed and thought about were intensely personal revelations or incredibly painful.  We learned unpalatable truths about where these children were coming from and attempted some understanding and empathy (yes, empathy) with the parents.  The most important elements for me were:-

1. Understanding the importance of memory.  One of the activities we had to do was to write down a memory which was ours alone. Something special.  This was then given to someone else in the group.  I cannot describe the feeling of knowing that a stranger was holding my memory.  This was mine.  How dare he be holding it in his hand like it s a shopping list!  Doesn’t he understand how much love and loss is wrapped up in that sentence?! But, of course, that’s the point.  WHen you become the guardian for your little one’s past, then that is a special honour.  You owe it your protection and your care for ever.  That’s an unparalleled responsibility because they might forget .  They need you to guard it and bring it back to them when they are ready. 

2. The parents are victims too.  Whilst there are some very bad people out there, not all of them are parents whose children are going up for adoption.  They are frequently victims of the system themselves.  They are ill.  They are helpless. They do love their children but they don’t know how to do it.   They haven’t set out to harm their children.  I know this first hand but that’s for another post. 

3. The children won’t see this as a fairy tale.  These are children who are grieving.  Whatever they have come from, they have still lost their parents; people whom they love deeply.  They won’t see coming to your home as being rescued.  Don’t expect gratitude.  This was a hard one to accept.  Going back to my original romantic notions, you think that once you show them their fantastic new room, clothes, toys or whatever, they’re going to be in love with you. Well, they wont.  You’re just one more stop along the way.  You have to work hard to prove to them that you’re different, that they can trust you and that you’re not going anywhere.  

It was an intense time. We were emotionally exhausted by the end. They have to be honest with you.  You have to know what it will be like.  At the end though, we were completely committed. More than before. We knew it was right.  WE knew we could do this.  Truth be told, we could not wait.