Adoption - it ain't easy.

Yesterday was an 'information day' we attended to be steamrollered with the reality of stats, waiting times, and massive punches to the head about adoption.

There are 24,000 people in France who have a certificate saying they can adopt children. That's the same amount of children as there are in the entire world who are up for adoption.

There might be millions of children in poverty and in need of loving, caring parents, but they're not up for adoption unless a judge has ruled as such. Quite right too.

Once they're up for adoption, it's a mad scramble by hopeful parents and adoption agencies from loads of countries trying to get their feet in the door first. This leads to countries creating incredible demands for adoptive parents.

• Colombia put up ads, like Job ads, saying they need 15 parents. First come first served if you tick all the boxes. The rest of the applications get shredded. 
• Russia demand that you report back for the next 18 years of the child's life once you've adopted.
• In Bulgaria, you have to define on a 5 page questionnaire the child you're looking for. It's not about what you're like as parents-to-be. It's whether the child up for adoption fits exactly the child you want to look after. 
• Some African countries demand papers signed by priests.

As for adopting babies, we were told that it simply wasn't possible from abroad. You might be able to from Ethiopia, but you'd have to be under 35 years of age in four years time. The whole room of hopeful French parents sitting around me snorted.

You might be able to adopt a baby in France. The huge total 24 babies who were adopted last year did go to parents. But before you get too comfortable, we were reminded that most of the mothers were alcoholics or drug addicts. Drink while you're pregnant and your child can have serious development issues that only show up as they grow up. Age six you might discover they can never read or write. 

A 'celibate' (as they're called in French) next to me who was obviously hoping to adopt was told she'd have no luck in Africa. Most African countries demand five years of marriage at least. I tick that box. Shame then that I was only in the market for caucasian. The only time my neighbour could start scribbling in her book is if she would be comfortable adopting a handicapped child from China.

Some parents worked out a quicker way than working through the Hague Convention of certificates and regulations and went for 'individual adoption' where you run to a country outside of the convention, find an adoptable child, and get your signatures down on some papers fast. Russia fell under that category last year and subsequently found hundreds of its children adopted by French (the third biggest adopting country after Italy and the US). Those doors are closed now, apparently, and all eyes are on Vietnam.

Made me realise that people who say Adoption is a wonderful thing - giving a home to a child in need etc... - aren't quite right. There must be about 50 times the amount of parents than there are children. The only really selfless adoption, and where the parents deserve medals, are when a disabled child is adopted, or a child who's in his or her teens.

Made me realise too that you can't quite weigh up the alternatives of a newborn adopted child verses a newborn child from a surrogate because that's not realistic. The reality is a newborn child from surrogacy that costs you more than a college education in the US, versus a 6 year old from Africa or Asia that would join us in about five years time. Easy to see why surrogacy is now turning up in articles in OK! Magazine, in the Daily Mail, in daily conversations and on many peoples' bank balances.

Creatinine Chart

I think you should be able to click on this and make it bigger in another window.

Before I bore some of you senseless over internet discoveries regarding reproduction, let's remember what brought us here in the first place - Kidnification.

I just wanted to draw your perhaps wandering attention to the little slide in results that's happened recently. That slide has happened over the past 3 months, and it's still sliding. 150 points is where I need to be to be able to produce that vomit for that horrible doctor lady I met. 120 is where I started. You might say I'm feeling a little proud/hopeful/excited/impatient at the moment while I wait for another month to pass.

Seriously. Where do images like this come from?

Remember that Creatinine rises with a curvy line on a graph so that a slight rise when you're at 120 means a lot more than a rise (or fall) of 10 when you're up where I am.

Remember too that I was up at way over 300 when I presented myself to my GP in 2009 with a headache before my transplant.

Lastly, remember that kidney health doesn't just mean time-consuming things like kids, but also time saving for whosoever might be the generous Donor No.2.

Little Miss K is a lot like Heather here. Proud as Punch.

The pitfalls of surrogacy – Look before you jump

No-one else is writing about it, so I’m stepping up to the plate. Turns out that official advice on surrogacy is something that is a dangerous game. Defy anyone to mess with a money making business after all.

I’m not saying that I’m suddenly a nun. I just had my eyes opened to the realities of a fast growing demand on a deregulated market. Add to that the complexities of my dearest country, India, with massive poverty, a douse of corruption and a lot of discrimination and things get a little messy.

Look before you jump.

Children born to surrogates in India are paperless. They’re stateless. They have no citizenship. You have to apply for that citizenship, creating that child’s existence on a blank piece of paper. I suppose in a similar way to the process of creating that child’s existence in a petri dish that you did nine months earlier.

If the surrogate mother is married, you have to acquire permission to parent the child that was born to her and her husband, despite the fact that the child’s made from your genes. You acquire permission and then you apply for a passport. Thus rack up the months. 

If the surrogate mother is not married, you’re on to an easier ride. But don’t get too comfortable. Remember your context.

Money makes the world go around

Clinics in India are making a fair whack through this sudden infertility escape route. Of the $23,000 you pay for your child (or, as the Embassy told me “they quite often come in twins. I should warn you”), only $1000 goes to the mother. Do with that what you will.

The rest of the money is swallowed by the clinic.  These clinics are businesses, and they have ways of squeezing more profits. It does seem a coincidence that many of the blogs out there hear of the children being born at 7.5 months, instead of 9. An earlier birth makes for a faster recycle of the mother, and a higher pay per month for that woman than if they waited the full term. A more vulnerable pre-term baby needing medical attention can put pressure on a faster turn around of papers in Embassies too.

Are the clinics telling the truth when they say the mother’s not married? One Immigration officer noticed that the name of a surrogate mother on the exit visa of one happy couple with their new child was the same name as had been on an exit visa used just 5 weeks earlier. If you’re not sure, and the Embassy’s not sure, your waiting time just increased a few more months again.

Back to healthy basics

Lastly, remember your values and live by them, despite whatever yearnings you may have. We’re all humans. These women are taking a health risk for your sake and because, no doubt, they need the money.

Where do the surrogate mothers live? What are the conditions like? If six appear to be living at the same address, it’s likely they’re not being housed anywhere as the clinic says and are probably just sloping home, possibly to a slum.  If the moral argument’s not doing it for you here, think of the future health prospects of your newborn. It can get murky.

FACT: 30% of the papers that are put into the British Embassy in Delhi for citizenship of surrogate children are fraudulent. 

BUT Surrogacy can be a smooth process if you've done the right research  

Follow your nouse. 

• Ask questions. Visit the clinic. 
• Ask to meet the mother. 
• Ask to see where she lives. 
• Ask about the conditions. 
• Ask if you can get proof of marital status. 
• Ask fellow clients how smooth the process was. If it took them 12-14 weeks and not 1000 questions, likely the clinic they went through is known by the Embassy and the papers they produce are legal.  If it took much longer, think again. 
• Ask how many children the mother has had. Surrogacy’s been a phenomenon there for 2-3 years, and women can only have 5 children by surrogacy by law in India in their lifetime. Think of how many births they’ve been through, what it’s done to their body and if there are any implications there for the medical supervision your clinic is offering them
• Read this page of guidance from the British Embassy in India

And then, then, you decide whether to take the plunge or not. 

To reproduce, or take another's produce. That is my current question

Looks like living in France might be spicing things up, legally speaking. I’ve mentioned that this country has particularly strict views on the issue of surrogacy.  Should have figured, what with the Mary figures brightening up churches in every arrondissement around. Not that inclined to go into it too much on this forum.

Thinking about it anyways, it's not as though Mary went down the traditional route anyway! What has she got to say about the matter!? Ruddy hyprocrits. (please don't spam me).

The US passport my husband so conveniently holds also doesn’t turn out to be all that exciting either unless we also had proof that we’d lived in the US for the past five years.  So we are left with 3-6 months wait in India for a UK passport for a kid post birth. I've actually used my 'contacts' and am now in email conversation with someone at the Consulate in Delhi. Remarkable how odd connections can come in handy when you least expect it.

Hmm. Why can't I just build a womb out of some whale blubber and chewing gum and grow a baby in my spare bedroom. I could feed it peanuts and apple juice.

Back to choices of clinics and stomachs, though, Delhi seems to have higher success rates than Mumbai at 75% chance of pregnancy the first time around, 97% the second. (I need that poker lady's advice again...). Indeed, in Delhi, you can spend a smidgeon more and have eggs put in two surrogates at the same time – a sort of explosion of our Genetic DNA out for the picking. It’s highly likely we’d get ‘Twiblings’ - a sort of Tweedleme and Tweedleyou - but I guess that might not be a bad thing. At least we wouldn’t have to go through this all again. Chapter of bizarre online searching over for once and for all. Issue of infertility shelved forever. Back to being Traditional Nuclear Family, normal but for our dark secret etc...

Putting all my energies into this does two things. Firstly I get carried away and think I could move heaven and earth. I could easily convince myself I had Jesus tendencies. What the service provides is, after all, a Mary like conception. But secondly, it does scare me when I step back and realise that this the online world i've suddenly become a global expert is also something that I have a choice about. Oh yeah. Forgot about that.

With a clinic lined up, a Consul General considering the legal loopholes for me and a few Indian ladies answering my every email 10 minutes after I send them, it’s decision time. To take the plunge or not to take the plunge. To reproduce, or to take another's produce.

Ca c’est la Uber question.

Onwards and Upwards

Thank you for those who took the step of writing to me. Sorry to my husband who's querying my use of the word 'squidgy'

As promised, I bring you an entire posting on adoption and surrogacy. Get ready for a five minute lesson on why not to worry about your own fertility if you are, and on the weird and wonderful world we live in.

ADOPTION.

Photo to sum it up on the right

(being realistic about the age of the child in this case...): 

Welcome to the wonderful world of the Hague Convention. Before this was brought in, adopting from the US was a cinch. The Millibands did so for their two sons in 2007.
Now you have to apply for a homestudy in the country where you live. The 'Agrement pour Adoption' in my local language. We took a deep breath and have sent off the first of what I expect will be a barrage of documentation. Surprisingly, the French on the phone I've come across so far have been remarkably nice. This is rare, but perhaps they're carefully selected from amongst maternal nice people.

9 months later, apparently, after criminal record tests, medical certificates, photos, psychological tests and interviews with social services types (11 hours of interviews in total, apparently), you get your receipt. That lasts 5 years and for one child. With it, you can apply to adopt a child in any country within the Hague Convention. Most end up adopting from Africa/Asia because there's less of a time lag. We'd be going Caucasian and hopefully a baby. "I'm writing because we are interested in adopting a Caucasian newborn" go these remarkably surreal emails I've started sending to find an 'outgoing' adoption agency in the US.

Guess that if you didn't get the dream choice, as you couldn't bear the wait, the process would look a bit like this (right): 

The oddest part of this whole thing is coming across, on practically every adoption site, these dreadful photo listings of children who are up for adoption. I pick one, at random, to show you. It's dreadful to see them all lining up like that. For the older ones who are more adept on computers than me, it must be harrowing to see yourself up there for ages and no-one clicking 'interested'. Soul destroying no doubt. It is no surprise that the vast majority are disturbed and 'difficult' children. The 'ads' make devastating reading.
This is not a light and cheerful pass-time.

SURROGACY.

Delighted to say that I think I've made some good discoveries. The fear of surrogacy is that you part with 4 years salary and then the surrogate mother doesn't get pregnant/miscarries and you're left really sad and also really broke.

• Los Angeles (due to US medical fees) is simple but crushingly expensive at around 100-150K$ (depending on whether you need an egg donor too)
• Ukraine is about 20K$, but there are loads of reports of fake pregnancies or trafficking babies to pass off as genetic ones, and people running off with your cash, so I think I'd also opt for 5-10K$ with a legal firm who manage all the transactions and check your surrogate mother isn't a Nigerian with a fat cigar.
• UK we'd need to find a surrogate mother who liked the look of us. We'd have to move back too. There are no fees that swop hands between you and the mother. This is altuism at its best.
• India again is interesting as, while only costing around 25k$, it did have the downside of having to wait 3 months in India post birth to get UK citizenship for your child. My clever husband was born in the US, though, so we could apply for US citizenship which only takes 3-4 weeks, return home to France and apply for UK citizenship from here. As a Brit, you need to add on 5K for a 'parental order' so that you become the mother. This is tedious, but probably necessary.

Of all this lot, I think this agency is taking my interest the most, and answering my emails quickly and efficiently. According to one of the million online blogs/websites I've read on this all, that's something not to be disregarded. This is about efficiency and professionalism after all. It's a 'process'. They have a UK branch, they find you another surrogate if your 'chosen one' isn't able to get pregnant for no further fees and they have legal advisers for the genetic DNA checks and visa applications. Hell, they even send a chauffeur to pick you up from the airport. I've got about 20 email addresses of other 'intended parents' who've gone home with their tiny packages too. Next step blanket emailing 'Hello, I'm looking to etc....'. Again, very very surreal.


That's all. I hope this is more positive than the last update. Onwards and upwards as I said. Who knows, I might end up with triplets.


[If this was useful, you might find a more recent post about a meeting with a surrogacy agency I had interesting too, and - 'pitfalls of surrogacy. Look before you jump']

No Kid Kate

I got the final no-go day before yesterday. I am officially forbidden from having children.

An incredibly unsympathetic, horrible woman ran me through statistics as though she were reading the sports results. 28% chance of pre-eclampsia, 1/3 chance of miscarriage, 8% chance of losing up to 10% of your kidney function = chance of losing the whole kidney. My last biopsy showed a fairly beaten up kidney. If there's a problem, there's a 'technical removal of the child'. All these stats are because my 'creatinine' (ie. kidney function measurement) is at 170 or thereabouts. It needs to be below 150 to call the idea safe, apparently.

A mini part of me feels that it has come down to 170 from 200 over the last month and might, therefore, possibly drop again slowly if we all pretend that we're not paying attention and look in the other direction. I'd love to see that horrible lady next year with a creatinine of 130 and ask her burp my baby, or wipe its bum. Perhaps I should just vomit on her. That should do it.

The vast majority of me (99.9%) knows that the game is over.

This is sad. I am officially, most definitely sad about this. This is a rough punch to add to the beating. I'm bruised. I feel terribly terribly sad for my heroic supportive husband. I wonder what his life would have been like with another woman who could have his children and take on his incredible brains, charisma and squidgy loveliness.

Facebook is rough at times like these. Photos of others moving on to the next phase are tough viewing. Walking down the street can occasionally be a bit of a battle too if you're in mummy-ville. Pharmacies have baby rows, supermarkets have prams in every aisle. One couple I met a fortnight ago who got married a year ago and were expecting their second asked if my husband and I had just got engaged. Having been married five years already, it was obvious their assumption was due to us not yet having kids. Even looking at my belly in the bath and realising it wont ever be pregnant as every girl imagines it might be as they grow up is an odd thought.

One could get dramatic about it - I've lost my purpose/I'm not a woman etc. I could beat my chest and wail like a banjee but that's not my bag. But, as my generation start popping them out, discussing names, genetic similarities and school options, it does nonetheless feel odd to be starting to take the pill for the first time in three years. (Let's at least hope they give me some enormous Wabs).

I will be practical about this again in the days to come. I will fill these blog posts with research I've done about adoption and surrogacy and I will be positive about the 'wealth of options available to us in this century of modern science'  etc. blah blah blah. I may end up feeling lucky as I adopt a wonderful child and feel special at the individual relationship our modern day nuclear family builds together. A battle won is a satisfying thing. And if that can translate into love and union then I can be hopeful I'll feel I got the golden ticket rather than the short straw.

Yes this is personal. And yes I'm posting it on the web.  I need people who know me to know. Then we don't have to talk about it.

Postherpetic Neuralgia

I have the dreaded fear. I'm 6 weeks post the start of my shingles. I am still itching. I'm also still not sleeping. This is called Postherpetic Neuralgia. The nerves where my shingles were have been frazzled and are having spasms. They like to spam out at night time when I'm trying to sleep. This is what over 60s and immuno suppressed people get apparently with shingles. 95% of us will get over it within a year. The remaining 5% keep on squirming and scratching till kingdom come. Please, dear lord, let mine subside soon.

I'm currently writing this with cling film wrapped around my belly to stop my clothes setting off the itch. I, of course, married a particularly hairy man, and so cuddles are proving a little hard at night too. I will create myself a body sized condom so I can give him a night time hug. Maybe on alternate nights, or full moons, he'll let himself be wrapped up instead of me, or both side by side, like two chrysalis ready to hatch out when it's feeding time.

 

Met a renal consultant at a wedding over the weekend who shook my hand and bet with me that my next kidney would last forever. He said I looked ridiculously healthy to not be doing well on the current kidney and said he wouldn't be surprised if I defied cautions and lasted on my current transplant with pregnancy and the lot for a good few years yet.

He went on to explain that renal consultants treat their patients like china dolls because everything is a complication waiting to happen. In no other walk of medical life do you get patients treated with such kid gloves. He is a renal consultant hoping to take this approach through to cardiac treatment. I am a renal patient wishing I wasn't practised on in bars and weddings and parties. I get so excited to meet renal doctors, but it's unfair really for them to talk to me as they can't tell me anything I don't already know and what I do know I don't want to be told again when I'm trying to ignore it all. On the other hand, how they're meant to know any of that when I'm always so excited at the possibility of learning something new is beyond me.

I'm a medical addict. I know I want more, but I know it's probably bad for me. I get so excited when I hear that there might be some of it/them floating around at a party, but it would be better for all of us if the two of us never hooked up. Reminds me of when I first got sick and didn't know any better. I was told kidneys lasted only a few years by someone (no comment). I was told that my heartburn (from not having enough iron) might give me a heart attack if I didn't stop moving (yup. that stopped me in my tracks for a good few weeks!). All these naughty bits of information I got from people on their down time and then wished I'd never heard once I'd digested them. Especially when they turned out not to be correct anyway.

There is but one God and one mediator between God and men and that's my consultant. Let's hope my Lord and Father will prescribe me some itchy-scratchy tonic when I visit my chapel in the morning. Amen

Hot Diggidy

Also, while we're on the good news vibe, I just found my creatinine has gone down to 173 (must mean I've gained about 5% kidney function back = a few more months?) and I have a plethora of white blood cells. Literally. I have thousands of the things. They're just hanging around socialising with each other whiling the time away.

'How it's goin?'
'yeah, good, yeah. You?'
'yeah. great'
etc...

C'est tout. I'm going to log off and enjoy the sunshine. x