One of the recurring themes I've noticed in the comments I've gotten on the blog is that people appreciate me being real about the challenges we're facing with Luke.
Let me be brutally honest. Luke isn't the problem. He's perfectly happy most of the time, sitting around, rocking and drooling. The problem is me.
The song above is one of two songs I had on my iPad with me in China. It's a pretty accurate description of where I'm at.
I've been praying, "God, please change Luke." Yesterday, for the first time, I was able to pray, "God, if you're not going to change Luke, please change me."
Our family is participating in a university study on adoption. There's one survey you take before you travel, one you take shortly after coming home, and one you take later down the road a bit. I recently took the second survey and received a concerned follow up email stating that my responses fell within the parameters for depression. They sent me "resources." Resources is a fancy word for 3 mental health websites.
Honestly? While the idea of sitting on a therapist's couch, without any children needing anything from me for a 50 minute hour does have some appeal for me (where not only would me finishing a sentence without interruption be permitted, it would actually be encouraged!), there is no way that I can 1) fit another thing into the schedule, or 2) come up with childcare for a weekly appointment. So that's out.
I keep hoping that getting some answers will help. But we haven't really gotten any. I know, I know, we've been home less than 2 months. Be patient. Yeah. I'm working on it. It's just frustrating to have the wheels of the Special Needs Help Machine grind so very slowly. Everyone agrees that there's a problem, but no one is giving us any solutions. We get test results. We are supposed to be getting reports. But we have yet to receive any diagnosis, any therapy or any actual suggestions for what to be doing to help Luke progress.
It's frustrating to have Katie actively undergoing treatment for her needs, and still be shuffling around from office to office with no one doctor/therapist/department/entity "owning" or coordinating Luke's care. That's one of the downfalls of adopting two at once. I do okay not comparing Katie and Luke developmentally most of the time (there's just no comparison, apples and oranges), but in respect to progress in treatment, it's hard not to compare. When we brought home Hannah, the timeline for care simply was what it was, there was no one to compare her treatment to, if that makes any sense.
Part of me feels like I shouldn't post this; I should wait until after today's assessment and post about that instead. Or that maybe we'll get some answers today, and I'll feel like if I had just "held in there" a little bit longer, I could have posted something happy. But this is where I'm at.
I'm tired, I'm worn
My heart is heavy...
Full lyrics here.
Please don't be concerned. I'm okay, really. I'm just struggling, and admitting that it's hard is easier than trying to pretend that everything is "unicorns pooping rainbows." (That's a loosely translated Paul-ism.)
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