"The Adopted Son Who Almost Wasn't" Excerpt Chapter 2, "Indignity"

"The Adopted Son Who Almost Wasn't" Excerpt Chapter 2, "Indignity"
Monday, December 9, 2024 by Christine

Finally, John waves me over. They’re ready to see us in one of the offices in the back of the building. Relief surges through me. It’s tough to see all these babies while having a body that just refuses to conceive. I don’t want to imagine that any of them are unwanted, resented or not provided for properly.

Children’s wailing echoes in the hallways as I follow John. Expressionless women avoid eye contact as they hurriedly pass us by. Though their faces give no clue as to why they are here, nobody seems particularly happy to be where they are. Except for my husband and me. We’re really quite heartened and eager to have yet one more step of the adoption journey about to be completed.

After our blood is drawn, we’re ushered into an office to wait in chairs facing a desk that takes up about half the miniscule room. On the wall behind the desk there are at least a dozen children’s drawings. Many of the pictures are made out to a “Bob” who we have yet to meet.

Around ten minutes later he greets us in his office and tells us the HIV test is accompanied by both a sexual questionnaire and counseling. I can’t quite believe what I am hearing.

I can feel myself flush with annoyance when Bob asks, “How many sexual partners have you had, and do you currently have?” Ridiculously he next asks us, “How many times have you had unprotected sex?”

Bob treats us like we’re some kind of promiscuous swingers instead of a married, committed Christian couple trying to adopt a baby. I can’t understand why this line of questioning is necessary for adoption. Either Bob didn’t get the memo or it’s because the Department of Health is government run with inane bureaucratic protocols.

Nobody, but nobody has to complete a lengthy sexual questionnaire in order to conceive a child! This is a tad more than violating. But I’m fearful too. Should I protest to any of these requirements, someone may be able to squash our adoption plans. Worse than all of this invasiveness however, is what Bob does after the “counseling” on safe sex practices. He stands up and grabs something from his desk drawer.

“Our parting gift,” he says, and hands me…a condom.

Gift? I’m too stunned to say anything. As he hands me the square, plastic package, I don’t know whether to laugh or fling it back at old Bob in disgust at the utter insensitivity and irony of being handed a contraceptive device. I’m already feeling emotionally battered and bruised from all that has gotten me here in the first place. There was last year’s failed fertility intervention. Then, there was the foster care option that I hoped would produce a baby that turned into pressure to take on a near grown teen. And now, we’re still in the thick of adoption requirements. I have felt longing, envy, sadness, impatience and self-condemnation for being childless in the first place. Both John and I have been subjected to endless interrogation and introspection. Now, to top it all off, I get to go home with a free condom—yippee!

As John and I walk out into the near empty parking lot, we see only one other car, parked several yards away from ours. It’s a beat up, early model, dingy, white-colored Chevy Impala with its windows wide open. It’s unusual these days to see a car with its windows rolled down. But then I notice something moving inside. Actually, it’s not a something, but a someone—two someones!

Inside the battered old car on the front, passenger seat is a boy of about two years old. Behind him, strapped into a car seat is an infant. The little boy watches us. I can’t quite believe what I’m seeing. There isn’t an adult in sight. My initial, gut reaction is one of concern for these two babies left alone in a parked car. But I’m also angry, feeling subjected to two offending situations within the space of a minutes. After all we are going through, it just burns me up to know that people are so irresponsible as to leave babies alone in a car.

Frozen, I can do nothing for a few seconds, but stare intently at these children, wondering what God would have me to do. I begin griping to John about the obviously horrible parents these kids have, ending my monologue with, “And people like us can’t have babies, honestly!” But I don’t squeal on the parent or parents. Two women head for the car. The children become animated with familiarity.

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