Do Not Open Until Christmas
avatar

Posted on November 23, 2011 by

Once again the holidays are upon us. It’s time to plan a trip to see my daughter’s birthparents. Yes, you read that correctly. Her birthparents.

My ex-husband and I chose to do what is called an open adoption. This is a domestic adoption in which the birthparents and the adoptive parents agree to enter into an adoption agreement. In other words, the birthmother makes the final selection rather than a social worker. The two sets of adults maintain as much or as little contact as the parties chose. Some birthmothers merely want photos and updates. Some birthmothers are fully integrated into their child’s new family. Many open adoptions fall somewhere in between.

My daughter’s adoption would probably be classified as very open. Not only do I send the birthparents photos and emails, but we talk on the phone. I’m friends with them on Facebook as well as Katie’s three brothers. (Yes, I call them her brothers because what other term could I possibly use?) Katie and I visit several times per year, and they come to my home as well. The two younger boys helped Katie navigate the sensory challenges in the Monterey Bay Aquarium. They’ve proudly introduced her to their friends.

I wasn’t sure how an open adoption would work with a four-year-old and a nine-year-old. But from the beginning, the boys seemed to understand and accept what was happening. It was the adults who struggled at first. I’m a strong advocate of open adoption but I’ll be the first to admit that it’s probably not for everyone. Yet the boys took everything in stride.

A few years ago, the youngest said, “Katie gets to call my mom her birthmother. What do I call you?”

I thought for a moment. “I don’t think there is a term. I guess we need to make one up.”

“I know,” he said. “You can be my backup mom.”

“Okay,” I said, fighting tears. “That works for me.”

I’m happy to be the primary parent to my daughter and the backup mom to the birthmother’s three other children. (Her oldest son is from her first marriage, and yes, we know him too.) In return, the birthparents serve as backup for my daughter. It might not make sense to you, but it works just fine for us.

Katie’s birthparents were two of the first people I told when I filed for divorce. I was dreading the conversation because I felt that I’d failed them. The birthmother said I was being ridiculous, and both were amazingly supportive during the rough times that followed. When their marriage ended, I returned the favor. Now our visits include boyfriends and girlfriends—a strange assortment of people who all love Katie, a strange assortment of people who I consider family.

That has been the biggest surprise of my adoption journey. Not only did I gain a long-awaited daughter, but I added several branches to my family tree. Those branches are filled with beautiful, quirky, brave, and authentic people who I’m proud to know and love. As we enter the often stress-filled holiday season, isn’t that what it’s all about?

Have a wonderful and relaxing Thanksgiving.

Until next time,
Cynthia Patton

Posted in Adoption, My Life | Tagged , , , , , | 4 Comments

The Best of Times … And the Worst
avatar

Posted on November 17, 2011 by

Puzzle HeartFrom the outset, my daughter was a gorgeous, easy baby. She gurgled contentedly in her bouncy seat and slept through the night at four weeks. I stared into her blue eyes and she was dazzling as the sun. My husband and I orbited her like a pair of pale moons.

Yet Katie wasn’t born under ordinary circumstances. Her birthmother had been in and out of jail due to a several-year-old minor drug conviction. I didn’t know the extent of her drug use, but I naively assumed it wasn’t much. I think it’s safe to say that any drug use is too much when you’re preparing to adopt.

Despite this, her birth was straightforward and uncomplicated. For a year we watched for signs of trouble I feared would come. But at every checkup Katie exceeded the developmental milestones. The doctor shrugged and said she’d flown under the radar. I took it as a sign. This was the child we were meant to have.

When Katie was 16 months old, she climbed into my lap with a book. As I read she babbled and trilled, but no matter how I encouraged her, she wouldn’t attempt a word. A knot lodged between my shoulder blades. It was hard to tell, but she seemed to understand everything I said and part of.me argued there was no reason for concern. Katie had sat, crawled, and walked on schedule. She would talk when she was ready.

Two months later, Katie’s pediatrician asked if Katie could identify five body parts, and I said she knew fourteen. “I mix them up—just to make sure.”

The doctor laughed and assured me everything was fine. But as the months progressed and words never came, I couldn’t shake the suspicion something was wrong.

——–

Katie was diagnosed with a speech delay at 26 months, then sensory processing disorder, then pervasive developmental delay—not otherwise specified (PDD-NOS). (This would later change to autism when I sought a second opinion.) My husband of twelve years, the troubled but charismatic man I considered my soul mate, moved out three weeks later. To say it was a rough time would be an understatement.

I longed to curl up in bed and hibernate, but I couldn’t. I had a child who needed me. I bottled up my tears and threw myself into Katie’s recovery, spending long nights reading books, websites, anything I could find.

About the time I filed for divorce, a few weeks after Katie’s third birthday, a friend asked how things were going. I said I was depressed, that when I looked into Katie’s eyes I saw an IQ boiling, just out of reach, and I wanted to smash something, anything, on her behalf. I couldn’t imagine facing each day trapped, the thoughts spilling over with nowhere to go. I was surprised to find myself in tears.

He nodded and I wished he could calm the emotional storm that threatened to capsize me. Just tell me, I wanted to say to him (or anyone who would listen). Just tell me what to do. I suspect that’s how most of us feel following an autism diagnosis. Please, someone, just give me the answers.

And the unfortunate truth: No one has them.

This is the reality of autism.

Until next time,
Cynthia Patton

Posted in Autism, My Life | Tagged , , , , , | 6 Comments

Aiming for the Sky
avatar

Posted on November 10, 2011 by

Swings at the FairWhen my daughter Katie was four and using two-word phrases, someone asked how I handled the shame. I stared at her, confused. I’ve never felt shame over Katie’s autism. Sorrow of course, but never shame. My mother says I’d feel different if I’d given birth rather than adopt, but I don’t think so. Most times I forget I’ve never been pregnant. I asked Mom if she felt shame that I couldn’t have children. “No,” she said. “That’s just fate.”

“It’s the same with Katie,” I said. “This is the hand she was dealt, and we need to help her make the best of it.”

Mom shook her head. “Don’t you ever get angry?”

Of course. Everyone does, including those of us with autistic children. But unlike my mother or some of my friends, I don’t direct my anger over Katie’s diagnosis at the birthmother or my ex-husband or anyone in particular. I’m not angry so much as frustrated. I wish I could shelter my daughter from a world that mistakes silence for stupidity. I wish I could make her comfortable in her own skin. I wish I could make it easier for her to learn, to fit in, to make friends. But to do so would make Katie someone other than Katie, the child I wouldn’t change for all the certainty in the world.

So I accept my daughter exactly the way she is. I’ve learned a lot about acceptance over the past five years.

 ——–

I’m a forty-something single mom of a special needs child. It doesn’t bother me to say it anymore. My ex-husband opted not to adopt Katie, and while his decision made me question everything I thought I knew, I’ve accepted it, maybe even come to see the wisdom of his choice. (Not just for him, but for all three of us, impossible as that may sound.) My family hasn’t always dealt well with Katie’s diagnosis, but I’ve more or less accepted that too. I have friends who have stepped in to pick up the slack.

Perpetually short of money and time, I’m frustrated that I can’t do more in a day, can’t solve Katie’s challenges. Often I find the person I most need to forgive is me.

I suspect many find my life chaotic or even frightening, but I’m rather fond of my current state. It’s not the life I planned or expected, but I enjoy my adopted, autistic child, my rowdy dog and even rowdier cat, my strange extended family, and my reconfigured career. The new life may be messy, but it fits better than the old life ever did.

 ——–

Katie learned to swing last year. One afternoon at the park I asked if she wanted a push, and she said an emphatic no. I wasn’t sure what made her prouder: answering the question or mastering the movement. We both laughed as she swung higher and higher, aiming for the sky. Her caramel curls bounced against an arc of blue and I realized I no longer dreamed of saving the world for humankind. My job was to save it for one little girl.

Until next time,
Cynthia Patton

Posted in Adoption, Autism, My Life | Tagged , , , , , , | 2 Comments

The Birth of an Unplanned Life
avatar

Posted on November 2, 2011 by
My daughter on the day she was born.

My daughter on the day she was born.

Back in high school I’d curl up and read John Muir. I wanted to be like him, but with better food and a tent. I wanted to tramp in the wilderness and call it a job. I wanted to speak for things that couldn’t talk. I’d stare out the window at fragile clouds, filled with dreams of saving the world.

I had other dreams—or perhaps not so much dreams as expectations. I expected to marry a man who was tall, dark, and handy. I expected to have one dog, two cats, and three children. I expected to live a predictable middle-class life.

I’m not sure when those dreams and expectations began to unravel. Was it when I married my tall, handy, but gray-haired husband? When I decided to stop practicing law six years after graduation? The moment I realized I would never get pregnant? Or the day I met my daughter’s birthparents?

Katie was born at 1 a.m. in a torrential downpour. In a haze of fear, excitement, and sleep-deprivation, Michael and I stood in the hospital and studied her tiny, clenched fists. The rain washed away everything that might have been, leaving only her. We called the adoption agency and said yes. I was two months shy of my 40th birthday, and once again I was filled with dreams.

Those dreams were short-lived. Katie was diagnosed with autism spectrum disorder at 32 months. Michael was away on business, and when he returned, we had a single conversation. Three weeks later he was gone. “This isn’t what I signed up for,” he said as he threw shoes into a cardboard box.

For months I considered his apartment a temporary arrangement. How could he walk out on a marriage and a child? The roof leaked, I lost my job, the sewer line ruptured. The dog developed bone cancer; the cat’s kidneys failed. In a year my well-ordered life imploded.

When it became clear Michael wouldn’t (or couldn’t) return, I filed for divorce and began the process of dividing our former life. I lost my bedroom furniture, the kitchen table, and half my pots and pans. I lost a sofa, two cars, and most of the camping gear. The more I lost, the freer I became.

I hired a life coach to help me prioritize tasks. My to-do list ran twelve pages long. For the first time I stopped wondering what other people thought and asked what I wanted. I began treating time as a precious resource.

I gave clothes and baby gear to charity, sold items on e-bay. As I cleared away years of possessions, my new life took shape. When the dog died, I adopted another. Later I rescued a cat. I bought new furniture, made new friends. One of them started an adaptive horseback riding program. Ten minutes into her initial lesson Katie said her first word: go. As in, go horse, go. Barbara grinned and said, “I think it’s going to be fine,” and for the first time in a long time, I thought she might be right.

Five years later, I know she was. Welcome to my unexpected, unconventional, and totally unplanned life.

Until next time,
Cynthia Patton

Posted in Adoption, Autism, My Life | Tagged , , , , , | 1 Comment

New Workshop: Introduction to Special Needs Advocacy
avatar

Posted on October 15, 2011 by

Are you having trouble working through school district bureaucracy to secure the services your special child needs? Do you know a family who is?

To help parents of children with autism and other special needs, I’ve created The Autism A to Z Workshop Series. The first workshop in the series is called Introduction to Special Needs Advocacy: Empower Yourself, Empower Your Child. Workshops are already scheduled for November and December 2011.

I hope you or someone you know can benefit from this opportunity. Please post the flyer or pass it on to your network:

Posted in News, Workshops | Tagged , , | 1 Comment