You Can Say No, But...

When you go through the foster licensing process, there is a special form you have to fill in. It is just a long, long, long checklist of diagnoses and descriptions. You have to say yes or no to each on that list.  My husband and I have filled it in three separate times. 

It is a little like a game. We sit staring at one another as the social worker reads each item on the list. The game is trying to answer the same as your partner.  Not really, our rule is that if one says no, then the answer is no, but still. 

It isn't actually a game, but trying to be playful takes the ick off the process. It feels so wrong rejecting unknown kids based on the things that oughtn't define them. At the same time, it is an important step in the process. First, it compels careful consideration (Accidental alliteration! score!) by the prospective family. You have to talk about what you're willing and able to do. 

When we lived in a teeny apartment, a wheelchair was not an option, so we needed to say no. My husband and I have taken ASL classes and love the language, so we said yes to children who were deaf or hard of hearing. We had two aging dogs, so cruelty to animals was a no-go for us. ADHD and dyslexia are in the water we drink, so those were easy yeses for us, too. If you don't think you can do it, you should say no, because these kids coming from hard places need to be welcomed.

So, you do the icky list. It's rough, but get through it and take it seriously (while you're having fun) and say your no. It matters...until it doesn't.

Yep, that's the catch. Just like with biological kids, there is a lot out of our control with foster and adopted kids. Life happens. And people living in dinky apartments sometimes end up needing to use wheelchairs.

We made our list this time around, too. There are things we said no to that are now part of our lives. The difference is that we aren't talking about abstract experiences or diagnoses. They are our little girls and there is no backing out now--and we wouldn't dream of it.

Dogs! Mixed Blessings

We have had an adventurous week concerning our first dog, Bailey.  Last Wednesday morning she was acting meek and needy.  That escalated through the day so that by four in the afternoon she was frantically shaking and panting.  We called all the local vets.  Some were sick, some on vacation, some didn’t answer phones.  Then there were the frustrating ones.  One lady answering the vet’s line told me I needed to get my dog in to see a vet!  Why, thank you so very much for your helpful help, you helping helper.

The only place we could get her in was the animal emergency room in Reno, so we packed her up, grabbed our girl out of dance class and headed out.  That doc suggested a disc issue and gave us some anti-inflammatory meds.  That was a rough night, but we made it through.  By four the next afternoon, Bailey hadn’t gone to the bathroom at all in over 24 hours and was still very distressed and unable to walk.  I began my round of phone calls again.  This time I got an appointment for the following morning at a vet hospital in Reno.  I looked for a ride fruitlessly, so poor Brian had to call in sick to get us there. After midnight Bailey finally went potty for the first time in something like 33 hours and I didn’t care a hoot that it was on my bedroom floor.

Friday morning we learned that Bailey’s back was indeed a problem and she would need a $5000 surgery or be paralyzed and in pain.  OH, and they don’t take payments.  Wow.  We drove home in stunned silence, each of us left to our prayers and hopes.  At least this time we had muscle relaxers to ease her pain.

That evening Brian’s brother and sister-in-law offered to loan us the money and the surgery was planned for Saturday.  We had friends visiting at the time the arrangements were made, and one offered to take us to Reno, another offered to take my kids to the Christmas cookie making party that was planned.  Isn’t God grand? 

I have to say I struggled—struggle—with spending that type of money on a pet.  We worked all that time to get debt free, and we just dove right back into it.  And worse… we are in debt to the only member of my husband’s family who’ll still speak to me!  Oh, the wisdom…

Nevertheless, off we went Saturday morning to get Bailey fixed—well, not that kind of fixed.  Fixed on the flip side.  After a mind-blowingly frustrating game of phone tag (who ever wins at that game, anyway?), we got the hap- hap- happy news on Sunday afternoon that Bailey didn’t need surgery after all!  Praise Him!  The radiological test they administered revealed healing from disc trauma.  We had to wait to hear about one more test that might indicate cancer, and then we could bring her home Tuesday.  Cancer at this point seems unlikely and we conclude our little seven day drama.

In a couple of weeks we can get the staples removed and her hair should fill in soon enough.  Our Miss Bailey is healing nicely, but we have strict orders to keep her from walking around too much or using stairs.  Boy, is that easier said than done!  She is our jumper and she gets herself up and down from the couches and beds before we can stop her.  We have to carry her in and out for every bathroom break.  She seems to think the fuss is just plain silly.  I am eager to prevent further injury.

We have spent the days since her return keeping things as low-key as possible; we are shoving drugs down her throat and carrying her to bed and potty.  One afternoon after school, I was snuggling under a blanket on the couch with my oldest kid and both dogs while I read.  My son stood up to walk away and pulled his blanket with him.  To our great surprise, we both felt … sprinkled.  What?  The blanket was wet, and my son’s sudden movement had flung the offending liquid all over us.  What could that be?  He took a sniff and shrugged his shoulder.  I just stared.  What?!

He gathered up the blanket to take to the laundry room and tosses over his shoulder, “There is a puddle on the carpet there if you want to smell it.”  What?!  Sure enough, there is a dish-sized dark spot on the carpet under where both dogs languished sleepily.  Now, I didn’t fuss when my nearly paralyzed dog piddled on the carpet in the middle of the night after holding it for over a day, but that was never intended as some sort of invitation to a new world order!  My dogs are four and five years old, for goodness’ sakes.  I am done with doggy messes on my floor!

Brian hears me holler and comes out to see what the problem is.  I tell him we don’t know the culprit, but that we had a potty accident in the living room.  While he is out there, Brian realizes the time for our daughter’s dance is approaching so he calls her name.  My son misinterprets the events and calls out, “No, she didn’t do it!” Brian and I do the slow turn to look our smart young man in the eyes.  You sure about that, Son?  Silly boy!

Meanwhile, I am mopping up the carpet while my family members make jokes and meander.  The dogs have not budged.  I am telling you, there was just not enough guilt in that room!