Part 6/8: We Become a Forever Family
We awoke on Monday with the jitters. This was the day we'd been anticipating for more than two years. Rod's old tongue problems were acting up, and I had the stereotypical stomach butterflies. Playing with Nuthamon (I was still unable to think of her as "Meg") had been exciting and gratifying, but now it was time for irrevocable measures.
During our first adoption I'd been desperate to be a parent, and the pleadings of my heart drowned out any doubts. This time, I was less desperate -- and better informed. I knew more about a host of possible problems, from attachment disorder to learning disabilities to serious, undiagnosed medical conditions. I found it possible simultaneously envision a radiant Nuthamon walking down the aisle on her wedding day and an angry, confused Nuthamon sneaking out our back door, never to be seen again.
As with any child, there was simply no predicting the future. Praying seemed like the most fitting thing to do, so that's what we did. Then we gathered up our gifts and took a cab to the orphanage for our meeting with Dr. Saree.
First, we were allowed to retrieve Meg from the toddler room. She was in a jolly mood and came to us without tears. We were escorted to an air-conditioned meeting room, and Dr. Saree soon appeared: a vigorous senior citizen with a great command of English, a professional attitude, and a fine sense of humor. We liked her immediately.
As Meg played with toys on my lap, the doctor went over written medical records and some oral history. We were given family names and a surprisingly large amount of background, much of it sad and some of it rather upsetting. I wished we'd received a more complete story with our referral, though we heard nothing that would have changed our minds. Despite my nervousness, I remained utterly convinced that this was the child we were destined to love.
Dr. Saree commented that the orphanage staff had been surprised to see Meg "adopt" us with so little protest. Apparently our girl had a history of retreating when volunteers from Chulalongkorn Univ. came to play with the children. "She knows who her mama is," Dr. Saree told me kindly. She begged us to keep in touch and continue to send photos.
Khun Voraporn and Khun Amarah, the chief social workers, arrived. We handed our bag of gifts -- department-store cosmetics, nice costume jewelry, and sweet treats -- to Khun Voraporn, asking her to distribute them appropriately. We also made a financial contribution. In return, Khun Vo gave us the gifts we had sent to Meg during our wait for travel. She also produced a thick stack of photos, taken by the staff since Meg came to the orphanage a few days after her birth. Not for the first time, I balanced my delight for Meg with my sorrow for Alice, who had no such records.
Khun Vo explained that Khun Amarah would be our facilitator, since Khun Vo would be tied up handling legal issues in the case of the family with the Thai-Burmese twins. Khun Amarah then gave us recommendations for doctors to do the visa exam and studios to take the required photos. She handed us Meg's birth certificate -- an impressive-looking document on oversized, cream-colored paper -- and told us we'd need to get an official translation. By now it was lunchtime, and she suggested we take Meg to the toddler room, visit the Embassy and translation service, and come back after nap time. For the last time, we returned our child, who by now must have been thoroughly confused, to her kindly Thai caregivers.
A short cab ride took us to the Embassy, where we made a date for a Friday morning visa appointment. The woman behind the counter asked us to bring back our documents Thursday afternoon, once we'd finished the DPW meeting. This "preprocessing" would facilitate the Friday session, she said.
We walked half a block north on Wireless Road to the US Immigration office in Dietheim Towers, which was in the throes of a relocation. We asked the official to check our file, and showed her the papers we'd brought with us, including the I-864 and supporting documentation. We were reasonably sure our file was fine, since we'd verified this by phone with them before leaving Chicago. (Due to the quirks of Illinois law, residents do not receive the "advance cable" packet that's routine for those in most other states -- so phone verification was necessary.) The official came back shortly to tell us that all was in order and remind us of the papers we'd need when we returned on Thursday to file the I-600 and I-864.
Next we stopped at a translation service in the same building and gave them Nuthamon's birth certificate. They assured us a certified translation would be ready the next day. Glad that things seemed to be going smoothly, we ate sandwiches in the lobby caf? before returning to the orphanage by cab. Again Nuthamon greeted us without crying, and the caregivers dressed her in the outfit we'd been asked to bring along. After many farewell photos, we returned to the office to sign our names in a large, old-fashioned ledger -- apparently signifying that we'd "taken delivery" of our daughter.
Back at the hotel, we had a quiet play time. Meg did not cry but began to withdraw in the late afternoon. We'd noticed her congested cough before, and now she was running a low-grade fever. I managed to get some Tylenol into her and she went to sleep in my arms, waking on her own around 6:30. Wanting to keep things low-key, we ate at the hotel's Chinese restaurant, feeding her noodles and bits of lemon chicken off chopsticks. The sticky rice and mango we offered for dessert were greedily consumed. Back in the room, we gave her a quick sponge bath and bottle, and she easily dropped off to sleep. Her night was a bit fitful but not extreme -- giving us no hint of the weeks of sleep problems ahead of us.
Meg enjoyed breakfast at the buffet and we set out by cab to Bumrungrad Hospital, recommended by previous Thai adopters. This spotless institution is staffed by friendly, uniformed professionals. After a fairly long wait -- during which we met another WACAP family, adopting a cute 5-year-old girl from the Rangsit home -- Meg was given a cursory examination. We ran into the couple, whom I'll call Lynn and Tom, again in the billing area. Tom had already scoped out some photo studios he claimed were within walking distance, so after paying our bill -- about $20 -- we all trooped out behind him.
The "short walk" stretched on for blocks, as Lynn jokingly accused Tom of his apparently habitual practice of minimizing distances. I hadn't brought our backpack carrier and was schlepping Meg, who weighed about 22 pounds, in my arms. Between her crankiness and the incendiary heat, it was not a pleasant jaunt. Finally we reached the studio, in a cluster of immigration-oriented businesses at the intersection of Wireless and Ploenchit roads. Alas, it took many attempts to get a shot of Meg, who by now was wailing. We finally resorted to having me hold her on my lap with a white shirt over my face and torso. Lynn and Tom's daughter, fortunately, was much more cooperative.
Another hike south on Th Wireless took us back to Dietheim Tower. We picked up the translated birth certificate and ate lunch in the lobby caf? with Lynn, Tom, and their daughter. Our family opted for Western food, but they adventurously tried the Thai special -- which their Thai daughter ate gingerly, murmuring "phet, phet." They laughed when I told them that she was saying the food was too spicy/hot.
After comparing our photos with the photocopied instructions, I began to wonder if the image would pass muster. Sure enough, Rod took a quick trip to the Embassy next door which confirmed my suspicions; we'd need another set. Just one more unplanned bit of bureaucracy.
With Meg tired, hot, and stressed out, we headed back to the hotel. She cried if I tried to put her down and wanted nothing to do with Rod, except for a few playful moments. She refused to take a real nap, though she rested a bit in my arms. Finally at suppertime we sent e-mails home from the hotel business center, then headed out into Siam Square, ending up at an A&W for root beer and chicken strips. We attracted many stares from the locals -- two pooped farangs and a cranky, obviously Thai toddler.
After dinner, and several attempts to get Meg to sleep in her crib, she ended up our bed -- a luxurious king size. No one got much sleep, as the new reality of being together started to sink in.