Children of Dreams, An Adoption Memoir (20 page)

Joy’s wails revealed only a few lower teeth. She appeared more like a one year old or maybe fourteen months. I asked the translator to ask Luu her baby’s age. At first she said two and a half, but she changed it to two when questioned again. It was obvious she didn’t know exactly. In her village they most likely didn’t keep written records of births.

After several minutes, as Joy continued crying, it became uncomfortable in the hotel lobby. Hotel guests were checking in and out and it seemed like this should be a more private affair. We decided to go up to my hotel room and give Joy and her birthmother a little more time.

It was previously arranged that Luu would leave Joy with me that night but she didn’t realize that. She thought she would have her until the ceremony. The date for the Giving and Receiving wasn’t set, but it was certain to be more than a week away. We needed more time to discuss things and upstairs we could relax and not feel pressured to make a quick transfer.

Joy continued to be fretful as Luu made several attempts to breast feed her. With the two men translating back and forth between the three languages, we tried to come to a consensus. It didn’t look like I would get Joy that night, but I wasn’t willing to wait until the ceremony. After much discussion, Luu agreed to let me have Joy the next day in a quick exchange. She would simply hand Joy to me and leave. We felt like Luu’s presence and hold on her was making it harder for everybody.

I had yet to hold her, but I could tell her skin was in poor condition. It was apparent she needed some ointment for open sores on her arms that she kept picking at. The first thing I wanted to do was take her to the doctor, have her dewormed, and get some ointment and Band-Aids to cover the wounds.

I was ready to be her new mother, longing to make her life better. Now if I could just wipe away those tears and make her “joyful,” but to use an old cliché, that would be easier said than done.

Chapter Twenty-Six

…my cup overflows

Psalm 23:5

The next morning I got up early to pray. I had no way of knowing if Luu would change her mind or if she would bring Joy to the hotel. I pulled out my Bible and turned to several passages from Psalms. I ended with rereading Proverbs 13:12, “Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but when dreams come true at last, there is life and joy.”

The room was quiet as I closed my eyes and contemplated the events over the past few days. I wanted the floodgates of Heaven to burst forth with angelic praise, vanquishing the evil one and casting him into the shadows from whence he came. Doesn’t God promise He will overcome evil with good? In spite of corruption, greed, and deceit, because God is all-powerful and just, I prayed my heart would be filled with joy just as I longed to hold Joy. My prayers and philosophical musings were interrupted by the phone ringing.

“Your baby is here,” the hotel receptionist reported.

When I went downstairs to receive my new daughter, Joy’s birthmother had already left. Luu’s tears of sorrow would bring me tears of happiness as Joy and I would begin our lifelong journey together as mother and daughter.

I thought of the parable of Matthew 13:45; a merchant had gone in search of fine pearls and when he found one of great value, he went and sold everything he had and bought it. The story seemed so fitting for Joy. Pearls are produced from the suffering of the mollusk as a means of survival to protect them from parasites or intruders. Joy was “my pearl of great price.”

One of the translators from the night before handed Joy to me. After three long years, my arms were full with the second of my “Children of Dreams.” I carried Joy up to my room as her wails reverberated off the walls. I knew from experience the first day would be the hardest.

When was the last time I put a diaper on a baby, I wondered? I thought about my brother’s messy diapers over thirty years ago. I had not bargained for the diaper routine on my way to Vietnam and Manisha was past that stage when I adopted her. This was something I couldn’t have imagined in my wildest dreams when I left Gainesville—a baby. I would worry later about how I would homeschool Manisha with such a little one. This day I would celebrate my new daughter’s arrival. I picked out a pretty pink dress that I had bought the previous day. The difference in her appearance was stunning with clean clothes and a quick bath.

The next thing on my to-do list was to visit the doctor and have those nasty sores on her arms and legs checked out. Much like an ant bite that has become inflamed, her little fingers wouldn’t leave them alone as she scratched at them relentlessly.

In June, Joy had been brought in for a medical checkup which showed she was anemic. Luu was given medicine to treat it, but on a return appointment in October, not only did she still have the anemia, but she had also developed scabies. Anne doubted that Luu had given Joy the medicine at all and suggested I have her rechecked.

I carried Joy down to the lobby in my arms and asked the desk attendant to call a taxi for us. After the previous night’s difficulty with the transfer from the birthmother, the
young lady was glad to see us together. We took the taxi to the OSCAT/AEA International Clinic in Hanoi, just a few blocks from the Lillie Hotel.

The clinic had performed Joy’s previous examinations and provided her medical information to me in one big packet. Blood work confirmed the anemia had not gone away, and the nurse handed me iron to give her. The clinic also prescribed medicine for her skin lesions. I bought some Band Aids to cover the infected sores, but Joy protested loudly when she couldn’t “mess” with them anymore. I cringed every time she dug her fingernails into the open wounds. It was a battle to keep replacing the Band-Aids she pulled off with new ones long enough for the sores to heal.

“Can you write me a prescription for worms” I asked the doctor. I knew the doctors in the States wouldn’t give it to me and after what I went through with Manisha, I was determined to deworm her.

The doctor surprisingly agreed. “Yes, I think that’s a great idea. Everybody should deworm themselves at least every six months.”

I laughed to myself. I wondered what the doctors in America would say to that. Since we were already out, we explored the area for a restaurant to get some lunch. We found one on Hue Street, close enough to the hotel we would later walk to it. I asked for a seat toward the back where I could see an American television program broadcasting in English. Several tables had leather benches that Joy could climb around on and not have to be confined to a high chair.

My new daughter’s favorite thing to do was eat. She would consume the crackers and play with the utensils while we waited, and surprisingly, she was willing to try just about everything I put in front of her. Rice, however, remained her favorite food. To give me a break so I could enjoy eating, the host or hostess would often offer to hold her. The restaurant workers were always warm and friendly to the adoptive mothers. I ran into several other adoptive mothers while in Hanoi and they all told me the same thing: The restaurants would take care of their baby while they ate.

After enjoying our first meal together, I took Joy shopping for shoes and a stroller. I realized early on that nineteen pounds was too heavy to carry for long periods, and a child of fourteen months was too young to walk everywhere.

By chance, I met someone who told me about a store that sold strollers. We eventually found our way there at a leisurely pace, as I carried Joy part of the time, and I let her little legs walk as best they could some of the way. I tried to explain to the Vietnamese man, who did not speak English, exactly what it was I wanted. A few minutes later, he walked out excitedly holding what he thought I wanted. Well, not exactly. It was a baby stroller for a doll.

“No, not for my baby to push a baby in, for me to push her in,” I told him.

“Okay. I see,” he said in broken English. “I be back.” A few minutes later he returned with the real thing. I was relieved to have something to put her in as my arms were giving out on me.

For the first five days, the only time Joy wasn’t crying was when she was eating or when we were shopping, but even that wasn’t stress-free. Every time a Vietnamese woman would lean down to talk to Joy, she would turn away and scream. She didn’t like people looking at her. The poor Vietnamese women would look at me apologetically. I eventually told curious onlookers, “Please don’t look at my daughter.”

“Where is your baby’s cap?” The Vietnamese mothers would stop and ask me on the street.

“I don’t have one for her.” What was the deal with the cap, I thought? It wasn’t cold.

“Your baby need a cap over her head to keep her from catching cold,” I was told.

After several admonishments by well-meaning, but overly-concerned Vietnamese women, I thought I better buy one if for no other reason than to honor their custom. I didn’t want to be accused of child abuse. I found a shop where I bought her a pretty pink and white knit cap as well as a pair of shoes since she didn’t have any.

As I squatted down and put them on her feet, Joy squirmed out of the stroller to see if she liked them. The sound of poink-poink-poink as she walked was amusing, and as I would discover later, everybody knew when she was coming. She had the distinction of being the only one in the hotel with poinky shoes.

Over the next five days we shopped and ate lots of rice. We spent quality time at the Hoan Kiem Lake since it was a pleasant place with its many park benches, and as we relaxed under the cascading, graceful willow trees, I tried to take pictures of Joy not crying.

Each afternoon following our shopping, the Vietnamese kids would greet us with their pictures, books, and postcards on their way home from school to practice their English. They would dote on Joy and hold her while they tried to get me to buy something. A twelve-year-boy took a special liking to Jenni and hung around with us for the better part of a week. One afternoon I treated him to a meal in one of the more upscale restaurants to thank him for translating on several occasions.

After purchasing clothes, bibs, Sippy cups, diapers, hats, Christmas gifts, toys, or whatever struck my fancy for the day, we would grab a bite to eat. Rice was usually on the menu, topped off with ice cream as dessert. We would arrive back at our hotel room for a nap in the early afternoon.

Joy would always cry for Va, her grandmother, before falling to sleep. I hated the crying episodes and wished she would embrace my love. Particularly distressing to me was her refusal to make eye contact with adults. She would look away in a mournful, depressing stare. After a couple of days, I lamented, “God, what can I do when she refuses to even acknowledge my presence?”

My new daughter was not ready to embrace her new reality. The pain of separation from her past, as lacking as it was, seemed better. It reminded me of the Israelites in the wilderness following their dramatic escape from Egypt, who longed for leeks and onions when God wanted to give them so much more (Numbers 11:5).

I knew Joy was sad, but I wondered if there was anything medically that might be contributing. I continued to question her age. Jill from the adoption agency faxed a list of abilities that were expected of a two year old, but Joy couldn’t do any of them. By the fifth day of non stop crying, I was frustrated and an emotional wreck due to a lack of sleep. I took her back to the OSCAT/AEA clinic and asked them what they thought.

“Could she be autistic?” I wondered.

The doctor performed a few basic tests and although she was developmentally behind, everything seemed to be there for her to eventually catch up. One perceptive, compassionate nurse grabbed my hand reassuringly and said, “I think Joy will be completely fine. Give her some time. She is just one depressed little girl.”

I went back to the motel encouraged but still feeling discouraged. I could use a lot of words to describe Joy, but joy wasn’t one of them. She was the most joyless person I had ever met. How could I get her to accept me? How could I get her over “the hump”?

We also discovered she was very adept at temper tantrums. One afternoon shortly after receiving her from her birthmother, she was distressed in the hotel lobby. After much cajoling, I realized there wasn’t a lot I could do to make her feel better about me or life. She would have to decide she didn’t want to be so miserable. As we stood in the lobby, she yelled louder and louder to draw attention to herself. When no one took notice she stomped her feet. It was funny to see this little girl so full of anger stomping her poinky feet in defiance of the world. A couple of the people in the lobby started laughing. Joy did not like that. She stomped her feet harder as if to say, “How dare you laugh at me.”

I reflected on how we are all born with a sinful nature. My new daughter was a sinner in need of a mother’s love and God’s salvation. I would need God’s wisdom to bring such a strong-willed child into submission and obedience unto the Lord.

After several nights of not sleeping, though, I was tired, depressed, and wanted God to do something to make things better. Something had to change. I called Jenni on the phone a couple of floors below and asked if she could come to my room to pray for God to confirm I was doing the right thing. I wanted Him to take away her pain. Joy was so miserable that I couldn’t bear it any longer.

We sat on the edge of the bed and prayed for the Heavenly Father to reveal His will. Later in the morning when Joy woke up, I immediately sensed a change in her spirit. She seemed “different.” We got dressed and walked downstairs to the lobby. No longer crying, she stood quietly beside me in the lobby while I tended to some business.