Louisiana writes about the time when she first got her second adopted child, who was not expected to live to see her first birthday. Doctors weren't very optimistic about the child's outcome.
I don't think I will ever forget the doctor's harsh words as he handed my newly adopted infant girl to me:
"Just take her home and learn to love her. She will probably never survive; and it is only the right thing to do." Such cold, unfeeling, unforgiving words, especially from a respected man in the medical field I had entrusted my child's care to when she became sick with yet another respiratory crisis.
But that was exactly what he said to me, and I was stunned by his lack of good judgement. I looked at the little bundle of joy, now wrapped in a thick, pink blanket, in my arms, and tears stung my eyes. The little infant I held in my arms was NOT the infant I had imagined, and while I KNEW that she was suffering from serious health problems even before we got her, I still was not prepared to handle a baby who had serious breathing problems, and I was NOT prepared for all the challenges that her precarious medical condition warrented. She needed help with her breathing, and she was so sick; yet, doctors weren't willing to help her or to ease her discomfort.
Ronee' had come to our household from Louisiana, a scared, sickly multiracial infant who was subjected to serious and frightening respiratory crises that caused her to gasp for her breath, and her little body to violently turn blue as she struggled to get in air to her lungs. She was on supplimental oxygen, and she was a very fussy, unhappy baby. She had been born several months premature, and she weighed in at only a slight one pound and three ounces; and doctors hadn't been very optimistic about her outcome. Yet she survived the first trying months while in the hospital, and she was a lot stronger than what people first predicted; yet, they weren't very optimistic about her chances of ever having a normal life. She would probably always have breathing difficulties, doctors told me again and again after I first got her, and I had better get used to handling a child with serious medical problems. They didn't think that she would live to her first birthday. She had been mine for only a very short time, yet she had already been rushed to the hospital three different times, gasping and struggling to breathe, and I was at my wits' end with this child.
If that wasn't already bad enough, I already had another child, a little boy, at home, who was about the same age as Ronee'; yet HE proved to be a daunting challenge as well. Like his sister, little Johnny had been born several months premature, and he weighed in at a skimpy two pounds; yet he seemed to be faring better than his sister, and the demands of two small children were starting to weigh heavily upon my mind and my body. I was beyond tired, and the demands of two small infants who had come to our home by way of adoption was something that I was having a hard time trying to deal with. They woke up at all hours of the day and night, and they cried often; and when they cried, they demanded my or my husband's immediate attention.
We were both young, struggling parents trying to provide a loving atmosphere to two children whom several months ago we didn't even know existed; we were both struggling with the unexpected loss of our third child, and we were both at an emotional low. We had three beautiful children, yet fate played its hand, and our three children, whom we expected to grow and flourish with our love and guidance, all died, and we were left without any children to love. The feel of death still hung in the air like an ugly plague, and both Bill and I were struggling with depression; and now death threatened yet another child we had taken under our wing, and we were having a very difficult time.
We had turned to adoption after the death of our third (and last) biological child, and now we had two new little ones to raise as our own; but raising both Johnny and Ronee' was proving to be more difficult than what was expected, and both Bill and myself were at our wits' end.
A beautiful write, though sadness drips from your
pen to present a deeply moving struggle that many
parents go through, and we know little of it were it
not for those like you whom God inspires to tell us about it!
Thanks Karen!
Rovella is a beautiful woman with a cold heart whom blames herself for an unfortunate old family secret that is literally ruining her life. This secret impedes a gorgeous woman from having happiness in her childhood, and throughout her life. Dark sec
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I don't think I will ever forget the doctor's harsh words as he handed my newly adopted infant girl to me:
