Sunday, September 15, 2013

With all the talk about the article about "rehoming" kids, my ire is up enough that I even feel compelled to get off of my lazy ass and post here.

XOJane who is an adoptee so I can see where her feelings would be big when finding out about this called anyone disrupting the "Scum of the Earth".

Here's my response to her:

As a parent who came very close to disrupting our son's adoption, I think the Reuter's article shined a light that needed to be shined but was very one-sided. I agree that there needs to be some kind of oversight. As prospective adoptive parents we went through local, state and federal background checks. We had extensive homestudies done by a social worker. We had to have medical releases done that showed we had no diseases of mind or body and anyone who accepts a child into their home should have the same.

I know women who have had to make the devastating decision (they and their husbands, their partners, or by themselves if single-parenting) because they could not keep their other children (adopted and/or bio) children safe from the child perpetrating on them what had been done to him/her in their bio home/former foster home/orphanage. They LOVE their child but if they do not make other arrangements such as psychiatric hospitalization, residential treatment or finding another family that does not have other children, they will be charged by child protection with a crime and risk all of their children removed.
If you have not been kicked in the face/choked by a seatbelt while your husband was driving 70 mph on the highway/punched in the face until you had to have xrays of your cheek bones and eye socket you cannot begin to imagine how desperate a family can become. My husband and I adopted our son from an orphanage in Ukraine (we also had two bio daughters, one in Heaven since 90 at age 13 and one at the time was 23) and one daughter at home who came to us through an open, domestic adoption with ongoing contact.

We did do due diligence. I am a teacher who loves to research and when we were getting ready to make one of the biggest decisions of our lives, I researched up the wazoo. Here's the problem: This child was walked into the room and even though my researcher's brain had said: "ten to eighteen months old so he's old enough that the it would be evident that he was neurologically okay (particularly trying to avoid adopting a child with FAS for the sake of our daughter, our oldest daughter had been born with Spina Bifida and her special needs really, really impacted our second daughter. Amber was a blessing and a privilege, don't get me wrong. We would learn much later how much guilt Heather had about being "normal" and the anger she had that I had to be gone so often to the hospital with Amber, even though they were as close as you can get)  and not so old that he would have a great amount of damage from being in an orphanage.) Well, in Ukraine, you don't know who you're going to adopt until you flip through books and go and meet a child. This 3 years, 10 months old boy walked through that door and his soul just flew into mine. When you are confronted with a child that needs a family (this happens in foster care here too, all too often) where the facts are twisted, the child's health is lied about, your head goes out of the window.

We tried working with two psychologists, three psychiatrists, I quit teaching for five years to give him the mama time he had not had, borrowed against our home to travel out of state for treatment, tried Oprah, Dr.Phil and even Ellen Degeneres for help with no response, contacted my local representatives, senators, governor, the president (Bush and Obama), their wives. Took him for holding therapy (I was always in with him, it was not rebirthing or anything like that), play therapy, sand tray therapy, one on one with a psychologist, family therapy with a psychologist. Tried to find hippotherapy (horse therapy) but none available.

Our son abused and even killed animals, set multiple fires, tried to sexually abuse his older sister. We had alarms on his door and windows. He was stealthily fast and amazingly could wreak havoc within seconds.  All the while he was tried on homepathic remedies, changed diet, and finally, psychotropic meds. He assaulted teachers, parents at his school, was arrested at eleven for assaulting his teachers, spent three stints in the state psychiatric hospital for children where he was exposed to even more trauma. He was only eleven. We'd been working with therapists since he was four.

Finally, at twelve, we knew he needed respite care. Again, we borrowed against our home and flew him up to a women who'd been recommended to us for temporary care to give our family a break. What pushed us over the edge? Our daughter. Our son was what I call and excuse the words, a shit flicker. If you told him to be in his room and not come out...he would put his finger right up to the edge of the threshold of his door just to make his point. When our sweet, loving daughter known in the family as Happy Hugger II (Amber was Happy Hugger I) came flying out of the door with a broom over her head and our son was laughing maniacally, we became afraid that she would get in trouble with the law. That's why we made the heartwrenching decision that we could no longer do this alone and needed a break. This lady was single (no partner for our son to try to triangulate), no children for him to perp on, no animals for him to abuse. They spoke on the phone and online for weeks to begin to build a relationship with and he was excited to go. She and I had spoken at length about doing what was best for him and for our family. If he was happier there with her it would have destroyed me but my husband and I would allow her to adopt him. She lasted thirty hours.  My son and I ended up in Albany Medical Center ER when he assaulted me and tried to assault the police where he stated he would kill himself. The next day under the haze of Haldol (him, not me, I wish) we flew home devastated because we had already visited with Child Protective Services and knew what came next. Because our insurance would only cover five days psychiatric hospitalization and of course, our deductible meant that really they'd pay nothing. Because we did not have $450 to $500 per DAY for paying residential treatment, we had no choice but to turn to the state. He went into care on 9-2-09.

This precious, hurting boy was no longer under our protection. We visited him and he would punch me (he explained that there were two reasons for that: I reminded him of one of the "care" givers at the orphanage who had particularly abused him and he was afraid of my love, he kept trying to see when it would end.)  He destroyed a great deal of property at the psych facility, assaulted many of the female staff, made a false sexual abuse outcry against another boy, (he would do that at every facility he was at). He was transferred after his thirteenth birthday to the facility for "Manifestly Dangerous" teens in March of 2010.

This has been too long but I need for you to see the depth of trauma that some children can visit on their families as payback for those who abused them.

Where is he now? In prison? Dead? Those were our fears.

No, he's downstairs sleeping in his room. It took three years, four facilities, many court appearances, risking my livelihood if they had charged us with RAPR (Refusing to Accept Parental Responsibilities) which would be child abandonment which would have meant I could not teach but the D.A. said it was obvious that we had not done that, we'd run out of resources.

It took him deciding that we were not the people who threw him into doors and walls, that molested him and that beat him all from two to three years of age. It took him deciding he wanted to be a part of his family. Many of the children who go from their adoptive family to another (I'm sorry, rehoming is for pets and even that I don't like) have made no connection at all, they can't because the people they trusted before are the very ones who abandoned them and hurt them and they push, push, push so that if they are abandoned again, they were in control of making it happen.

Please do not paint all families who struggle with the same brush.

Bitch, please think before you type.  (That is for here, not on her page. My mother did at least try to raise a lady.)

Or a cursor that should go with a delete button.