Naturopathy + Foster Care: One Respite Caregiver's Thoughts

Current late-night reads...

Since we last touched base, lots has been happening at the S+A abode.  As you know, we are no longer moving forward with the adoption of B+C, but that certainly hasn't stopped us from putting out the welcome mat!  In the past month, we've hosted six foster kiddos, ranging from 3 to 13 years old, and learned A TON about kids, ourselves, and why we're on this journey.

Because we are licensed through a therapeutic foster care agency, the children we care for are considered "clinical," that is, they have more advanced physical, emotional, or behavioral health complexities, and are therefore provided with more wraparound services to help them meet their needs.  We were trained for three months on what that could look like, but in all honesty, we weren't truly prepared for what we've seen, heard, and smelled these last few weeks (is anyone, ever?). Reflecting on each traumatic episode we've encountered has been an emotional dive back into my naturopathic education, my spiritual evolution, and my trauma-informed training, and the life lessons keep coming.  Let me illuminate.

I'll start with one particularly passionate three-year-old, who was obsessed with being right.  She'd pass the blame for accidentally peeing on herself and all over the bathroom floor ("Something is wrong with your toilet!") and would become so angry at herself and the world when it was nap time (because she is "not a baby anymore!"), that she would rage and start hitting herself, hard.  Obviously there are dozens of trauma-informed counseling techniques that come to mind to manage this behavior, and we certainly used a few, but my homeopathic brain immediately went to the remedy Nux vomica. Consider this passage from Desktop Guide to Keynotes and Confirmatory Symptoms by Roger Morrison, MD (page 273):

"The Nux Vomica child...is extremely competitive about his grades and sports.  He is a terrible loser.  The parents may say that the child can under no circumstances admit that he is at fault or that he has made a mistake."  

There were several other keynotes that matched this kiddo's picture, including a tremendous fear of the dark (she refused to fall sleep without two lights on) and also of humiliation, and I wished I would have had the clinical authority to administer the remedy to her.  [Note: Although Connecticut is a naturopathic licensed state, it is still unclear to DCF and our agency what the ethical implications are for "treating" children under my foster care license. Therefore, while it's technically legal for me to treat the child as a physician, I really don't want to put my "licensability" for foster care or naturopathic medicine at risk right now, so I am refraining.  Sigh.] Instead, we gave her a small tumbled tiger's eye to hold, in order to help energetically ground her while she raged, and also to address her solar plexus chakra, which I felt might be the cause of her insecurities.  It took some time and some breathing exercises, but eventually the stone (and everything else!) got the job done. 

Next, consider my most recent respite, one of the most confusing people I have ever met.  This particular thirteen-year-old had the shortest attention span I've ever seen, combined with a remarkably slow reaction time and cloudiness of mind.  I found out on day five of our time together that he is on the medication Lamictal, which is primarily used to manage bipolar disorder.  The contradictory picture made perfect sense to me then: sure, the medication dulls his senses in order to prevent the mania which comes from his diagnosis, but the tendency toward inattention and hyperactivity will always be his natural state, if left unaddressed.  I wonder: would he respond nicely to a protocol designed to both nourish his brain and calm it?  Is low-dose lithium orotate a viable option?  What might change with a healthy dose of omega-3 fatty acids (found in oils like fish or flax seed) each day? Could a high fat, low carb (aka ketogenic) diet be a cost-effective, non-invasive complement to his prescription medications?  What about Craniosacral Therapy or other bodywork? And the naturopathic gears keep turning...

The American Academy of Pediatrics fully acknowledges the ongoing trauma that living in foster care can cause, and most children enter into child welfare services with at least one pre-existing physical health condition in the first place.  With the state of our nation's healthcare system in the crosshairs of politics and business, the responsibility to care for our children lies directly on each practitioner, and I believe that licensed naturopathic physicians have a unique and valuable place on the healthcare team.  Nationwide licensure would help to ensure that healthcare consumers have access to a myriad of complementary therapies, and would hold all licensed physicians to a high standard of care.  Even better, it would allow for insurance coverage of naturopathic visits, granting access to this care to those at a socioeconomic disadvantage. Shouldn't state Medicare and Medicaid recipients (like kids in foster care) be given the option of high quality integrative medicine, too? #steppingoffthesoapboxnow #thanksforindulgingme

I wish I could say that all this rumination has led me to finally open a nonprofit naturopathic clinic here in CT, but between the confusion of our adoption disruption and my own health challenges, it seems that my master plan is stuck somewhere between the dreamtime and reality.  So, A and I are waiting patiently, helping the foster system on a day-to-day, one (or two!)-kid(s)-at-a-time basis. We're figuring out who we are as parents, as partners, and as people...and if slow and steady does indeed win the race, I can't wait to see what's at the finish line ahead.

xoxo,
S+A

When Adoption Disrupts, or "Why It's Been Awhile"

I suppose the best place to start would be where we last left our blog: the disclosure meeting.  The disclosure meeting was a pivotal moment in our journey, because it was officially included us in the adoption discussion, and we couldn't have been more excited!  Our disclosure meeting happened on March 8th, in a small conference room in a neighboring city's DCF office.  We met with a myriad of social workers and their supervisors, and spent an hour and a half hashing out potential transition plans, family histories, and current schedules, and finally, we set the date for our first meeting.

We met B and C on March 18th, immediately after reviewing the latest CPR guidelines and pumping life into rubber mannequins.  We had exactly three hours to spend with them in our agency's family meeting room and they were, well, intense.  The boys were excited to have a special play date, and I think the unbridled and unstructured play time was a bit overwhelming for them.  Three-year-old C managed to put away two pieces of cheese pizza, twelve chicken nuggets, ten "straw-babies," and a clementine--and promptly vomited when he at last came up for air.  (Note: must pay better attention to portion control for toddlers.  Yikes.)  Four-year-old B was much more disciplined with his dining, but was having difficulty acclimating to his newfound freedom, and spent the final hour of our day hurling (with extreme accuracy and surprising force, I might add) stuffed animals, throw pillows, and toys at my wife.  The day left us exhausted and confused, but still hopeful for the next meeting.

A few days later, their social worker brought B and C to our home, and we spent a few hours birdwatching through our huge living room windows, playing with "cars and guys," and munching on a much more modest after school snack.  The boys were friendly and affectionate, with impeccable manners to boot!  We wrapped up the day with a tour of their bedroom, and they were super stoked to know that the room included a Mega Bloks train and fire truck.

The following week, we learned that their foster mother requested a week of respite, and the social worker team agreed that this would be an ideal time to see how the boys would respond to living in our home.  They were happily dropped off at our house on March 29th, and A and I were ecstatic to be playing and dining as a family for the first time.  Bedtime proved a bit of a challenge, but still nothing unexpected, and we high-fived each other as we finally turned out the lights at 11 pm that night.

Unfortunately, that first day proved to be the calm before the storm, and we began seeing behaviors from the boys that were beyond typical toddler/preschooler tantrums--clear signs of former trauma.  Without getting too detailed, I will say that what we were reporting to the social workers throughout the week had never been seen with these kiddos, and that in itself was a huge cause for concern.

Although A and I are licensed as therapeutic foster parents (meaning that we have received additional training to be able to parent children deemed "clinical"), in the end, it was decided that we are not the right match for these beautiful boys.  This development was logical of course, but still devastating.  Over the past week, A (who is concurrently battling the cold of her life) and I have shed tears, felt lost, turned to prayer, become angry, argued with each other, fallen asleep at 6:30 pm, binge-watched Netflix, sculpted with Play Doh in silence, taken epsom-and-baking soda baths, meditated, exercised, spent 4 hours and $400 filing taxes, skipped meals, read adoption blogs, and met with our therapists, and I still can't say that we're feeling all that much better.  We're riding our own waves of trauma and loss, and each Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle we find lodged between couch cushions or tiny sock in the laundry basket feels like a stab in the heart.

We're grateful for several things, however, and the most important one is that the boys never knew that we were intending to be their adoptive mothers.  To them, we were just another set of babysitters ready to take them for a week of respite.  The team wanted to gauge how the week with us went before broaching the subject of permanency with the kids, and we are certainly glad that they were so mindful.  The boys left our home on a good note, singing nursery rhymes and laughing on their way to school, and I'm happy that that's how they'll remember us.  Although I don't know what's next for their case, I'm sure our agency is hard at work to match them with their forever home, and getting them the services that they very clearly need.  I have no doubts that these boys will go on to live happy, fulfilling lives.

We're also grateful for you, our friends and family, who have sent us private messages of support, asking how things are going.  We're sorry that we've been slow to respond and somewhat evasive with our answers, but we really are so happy that we're not alone in this.  Please know that we, too, are looking forward to spending time together once the dust settles!

So, what's next for us?  We've taken a bit of time to work that out for ourselves.  In our discernment, we have considered just doing respite care for a while, putting a (permanent?) pause on parenthood, and even relocating once more to start fresh.  But in the end, we're committed to our journey, and we're ready to be a pre-adoptive home.  With the blessing of our agency, we're returning to DCF for case management and placement, where we'll have the best chance at being matched successfully.  In the meantime, we're still respite foster parents.  Two school-aged kiddos will be staying with us during their Spring Break this week, and we're planning to take full advantage of the Yale Peabody Museum membership we received at our shower (thanks, IKEA Stoughton!) while they're here.

Thanks again for coming along with us on this bumpy ride.  We're sure there's more happiness ahead, and can't wait to share it with you.
S + A

P.S. We just found out that C was matched and B is #1 on the waiting list for our top school selection.  Thanks for the luck and well wishes!  I am hopeful that they can still attend next year, they deserve the best.

When Showers Become a Deluge, or "Our Nationwide Tribe"

Four years ago, we began this journey to motherhood in a cramped room in the DCF offices in Bellevue, WA, and were made aware then of just how alternative our lifestyle was (small space living mavens, devout Catholic lesbians, urban homesteaders--the usual), and how much that didn't fit DCF's picture of a proper foster home.  Shockingly, there was no problem with the lesbian thing or the natural-medicine-only thing or the Catholic thing, but rather, with our determination to build a proper nursery in a corner of our 350-square foot studio in downtown Seattle.  Legally, children older than the age of one need their own bedroom with at least fifty square feet per child, and with our conservative budget, that kind of real estate just wasn't attainable in our neighborhood.  So, we decided to buy our first home in the 'burbs...and after two failed escrows and five unaccepted (but full-price!) offers, we decided to try something else.

We relocated across the country to a suburb of a suburb of a suburb of Boston, because there was no way we could afford anything else, so that A could take a pay raise in a bigger market, which would position her for a major promotion much more quickly.  Our faith paid off, and one-year-to-the-day ago, she accepted an offer of a great promotion, a raise, and a relocation bonus, and we drove a 26-foot U-Haul out of Massachusetts, through Rhode Island, and into an awesome little neighborhood on the west side of New Haven, Connecticut. 

The smaller city made real estate much more within reach, and after a (frustrating) five-month escrow, we finally got to bask in the wonder of all 1,200 of our glorious square feet.  The increase in footage brought our own laundry area, two-point-five bathrooms, and most importantly, two bedrooms. We had finally sailed over our largest hurdle to parenthood, and were ready to welcome little ones as soon as the pen left our mortgage documents. 

My wife and I have lived in many different places around this gorgeous country, and while we love our #nomadiclife, there are moments when our independence translates to loneliness, where adventure equates to instability.  Because we have opened case files with seven adoption agencies (of varying types), we have become quite the experts in adoption from foster care across state lines, but there's one question that has always tripped me up in home study interviews: what are the resources we've identified in our own families and circle of friends, and who will we reach out to in times of crisis?  It's interesting, because I am absolutely of the mind that "it takes a village" to properly raise a child, and yet was determined to be completely self-sufficient in preparing for and raising our children. Since we've been married, it's always just been A and me (and later our puppies, E and V, of course), and I've mentally steeled myself for raising children with limited resources.  If the past several months have taught me anything though, it's that no matter what ideas I may have in my mind, it's hardly ever the full picture--and this is where I humble myself with the reminder that although they may be far away, our ever-supportive community is always with us.

During our trip to Chicago over Thanksgiving, A's parents threw us an adoption shower, and their small home was packed to the gills with family and friends laughing and eating and asking questions about our journey and how best to support us.  We flitted about the living room and kitchen, catching up with long-lost uncles and meeting new spouses and kiddos between bites of deli tray sandwiches and Costco sheet cake.  The experience was magical, and it was our first step into really remembering what it's like to have an extended family again.  

Since then, we've slowly shared the news of our adoption plans with more friends, and one by one, private messages of support and love have poured into our social media accounts and email inboxes, and unexpected Amazon Prime packages full of thoughtful gifts and supplies, from senders spanning both coasts, have arrived on our doorstep.  While this journey has certainly brought new people into our lives, it has more importantly heralded the return of old friends and mentors, and the wisdom and experience these people are so willing to share.  

This past weekend, A and I loaded up the pups and took to the highway to Dorchester, where our wonderful Boston-based buds threw us an adoption shower, complete with fox balloons, S+A-based Mad Libs, and the best game of Jeopardy ever (categories included Adoption, Baby Animals, B is for Bryson, Famous Carters, and Famous Mothers!).  Once again, we were blown away by this wonderfully diverse group of people who had come to mean so much to us in such a short amount of time, and who braved the freezing temperature and howling winds to gift our family with their company and good wishes.

I guess this is my long-winded thank you to everyone who has reached out to us in support of the way we are growing our family, from a kind comment on a Facebook post, to celebrating with us in person, to sending us electrical outlet covers and Play-Doh Pizza Party kits. There is no way we could be the parents these boys deserve without your influence, and A and I both are overflowing with gratitude for our tribe that spans a nation. (And hey, thanks to your generosity, we're now literally ready to bring these little guys home! :D)

With love,

S, A, B, C, E, and V

In Support of Mental Health First Aid Certification (and a Tiny Update)

Last February, A and I were walking to our car after Sunday dim sum, and noticed a young boy, probably around six years old, frantically searching the rows of parked cars with tears streaming down his face.  I instantly kicked into protective mode and calmly approached the kiddo, and asked him if he needed help.  He grabbed my hand and pleaded, "Maa-ma, maa-ma!"  

Last November, A noticed a customer staring blankly at a row of kitchen utensils, and simply asked, "How's it going?"  "Not so good," she replied, and began to cry.  A hugged her and reassured her that she was not alone.

I'm sure many of us have had interactions with people we don't know who needed our help, or maybe even close friends or family members who have called on us in their times of need.  Unless you've lead a life of public service or have training in crisis management and social work, it can be daunting to know what to do in the heat of the moment.  Enter: Mental Health First Aid certification.

I first became aware of MHFA when I was an AmeriCorps VISTA.  I had just transferred sites from MA to CT, and learned that I had missed the Youth MHFA certification training by a day.  A day!  Although it was not required that I become certified in order to serve as a VISTA, I was still intrigued.  After doing a little research on my own, I found that MHFA training comes in two certification courses--youth and adult--and for the most part, they're offered fee-free or with a small donation (depending on who's hosting them) on a very regular basis.  I was sold, and because A usually goes along with whatever adventure I've planned in a given week, she was sold, too.

Our first stop was Adult MHFA certification, an eight-hour course spread over two days.  It was hosted by a local church, where we met some of the most generous and kindhearted Connecticuters, and was led by a licensed social worker and registered nurse.  The course was absolutely fantastic, giving us action plans and opportunities to practice navigating scenarios in which we encounter anxiety, depression, panic attacks, suicidal ideation, and bipolar episodes in our friends, our family members, and the broader community.  It helped us explore our own biases and conceptions about mental health in order to move past negative associations and stigma, so we're able to meet our community's needs with empathy and without reservation.

I should stress that while I am trained to manage folks in these states clinically, this course does not at all teach diagnosis or treatment, but rather gives the tools necessary to stabilize someone in crisis until professional help arrives or the crisis resolves, much like CPR or First Aid certification.  It empowers you to diffuse a stressful situation, to recommend resources for professional referrals, and to de-stigmatize mental health issues.  Needless to say, A and I loved this incredible training, and found it to be quite valuable in both our professional lives (mine, as a physician, and hers, as a retail manager) and our personal lives.

As someone who experienced her first panic attack last year, I can attest to the fact that these episodes can come without reason and at inconvenient times.  I am lucky that I was with my wife when it happened, but it began only a short time before I was to board my commuter train into Boston, and I can't imagine having this experience by myself on public transportation.  I want to make sure that if this does happen to anyone around me, I can be an effective supporter until help arrives or the episode passes.

As we're making final arrangements to welcome our boys home, we are well aware of the trauma all foster kids have sustained, regardless of their ages, and we want to be prepared for a mental health crisis, if one should arise.  We finished our Youth MHFA certification last night, and can honestly say that it was very valuable to take both the Adult and Youth trainings.  The mental health challenges that youth face today can be quite different than what adults do, and are certainly different from those we experienced as children. We know that there is still so much to learn about parenthood, and that most of our education will come when we are placed, but between the TIPS-MAPP training, Common Sense Parenting, and Youth MHFA, we're certainly feeling a lot more confident and prepared!

Anyway, all this to say: if you've got eight to sixteen hours to spend challenging your own misconceptions and honing essential skills to help your community, I'd highly recommend enrolling in a Mental Health First Aid certification course, stat.  You could literally be saving a life.

P.S. About fifteen minutes into last night's session, I received a call from our agency's foster care director.  The fingerprints are in.  We're officially licensed foster parents, and we'll get to meet B and C within the week!

A School Lottery, and the Magic of Stress

This week was a big one for S + A, complete with a final home inspection and a tiny foster parent training graduation ceremony.  We're about 99.9% through the licensing process, and are just waiting on those godforsaken fingerprints to come back to complete our application.  (Yep, still waiting.  Sigh.)  Four months of fingerprint processing seems excessive to us, but we're hopeful that it's just a sign that SO MANY people are applying to be foster parents right now, and that's what's getting us through.

Amid all of the frustration and doubt we've experienced in the past month since we were preliminarily matched, there was a small, silent shift that neither of us noticed--until it hit us like a ton of bricks.  Last Thursday, after our final class, and after a 2.5 hour-long meeting with the foster care director at our adoption agency, we put on our boots and coats and walked the 0.3 miles to the local middle school for a Pre-K3 to Grade 8 Open House.  There, we ran through the STEM-based curriculum, uniform requirements, homework expectations, meal schedules, extracurricular activities, and a school tour, alongside twenty of our comrades.  There, we were treated just like any other parents of prospective students, and I have to say, it felt wonderful.  It felt like Orientation Day at the best job in the world, like I had been waiting my entire life to calculate bus schedules and weigh the differences between magnet, charter, and neighborhood schools.  It felt like we are actually, definitely, totally becoming parents.

A takes in the view of the gym.

On the chilly walk home from the best middle school in the entire world, A and I held hands and excitedly waxed poetic through chattering teeth about this new development in our journey.  Suddenly, the fear of this adoption disrupting is no longer the loudest voice in my head, and instead, it's been replaced with the looming deadline for the school lottery--March 5th, in case you're wondering--and the chance that my boys won't be matched with the kindergarten that will get them into an excellent college.  It's figuring out our backup plan (Keep the boys at the school they're at, 30 minutes away?  Homeschool until first grade?  Private/Catholic school?) and calculating the cost of a second vehicle, should it come that.  It's planning for the future, in very real terms, and it's everything.

A with a legit NASA space suit hanging out in a random hallway at the school.  Apparently, an entire semester is dedicated to NASA-based curriculum in Year Six. I'm telling you, this is the coolest science and technology-based interdistrict magnet school in the history of interdistrict magnet schools.  Cross your fingers that we're matched here, friends!

So, that's our update for the week: not too much has changed physically, but pretty much everything has changed mentally and emotionally.  It's an incredible blessing, finding this beautiful magic in our stress, and we'll appreciate every bit of it until we can bring these boys home.

When Little One Becomes Little Two

With eleven inches of snow piled up around our home, A and I took this snow weekend to create the perfect bedroom for two little guys.  As you might recall, until a few days ago, the kiddos' bedroom looked like this:

...but that simply won't do for two boys!  So, we made a few changes.

Don't worry, the tent found a great home in the living room.

Here's to hoping that our fingerprints come back this coming week, so we can meet our boys!

Hurry Up and Wait!: a Written Update from S + A

January 19, 2017, will forever be a day of great importance to this growing family!  I was in Las Vegas, visiting my family, while A stayed behind with the pups to tend the home fires.  As we were leaving Babystacks (a bomb Filipino breakfast/lunch joint in Vegas--you should visit), I received a phone call from our social worker, and assumed it had to do with missing paperwork or additional steps to licensure.  Was I ever wrong!  While my niece howled in the background (she really, really hates car rides), our social worker informed me that she had found a potential match for our family: two young boys, ages 3 and 4, who lived a few towns away from us.  I was in complete shock.  Literally, time stood still.  Barely able to stumble over my words, I asked her how many other families were being considered (zero!), and what the next steps would be.  I gave her a verbal "yes!" for me, hung up, and immediately called A at work to tell her the news.  After a very brief, dazed conversation with her, A gave me, and eventually our social worker, a verbal "yes!" as well, and so began the matching process.

Many steps go into the matching process, as we are learning, and because we are working with a private agency, it seems that pinning down dates that work for us, our agency, and DCF is that much more arduous.  We're asked to be swift in our responses, only to wait interminably on counter responses from other parties.  It's challenging, but is it worth the chance to parent two awesome kiddos?  Absolutely.

Our social worker has already met with DCF to present a case for us as potential parents, and thankfully, we've been given the green light!  Next steps include waiting for a disclosure meeting, where A and I meet with our social worker and folks from DCF to speak directly about everything and anything having to do with the kiddos, including medical history, behavioral health, habits, likes and dislikes, and a transition to permanency plan.  It's been a week of waiting already, so hopefully, we'll get a time scheduled for this meeting very soon!  After the disclosure meeting, and assuming our fingerprints and background checks have (finally) cleared, we'll be able to meet the boys.  We know it's going to be the best day EVER.

Final thoughts: GIGANTIC thank you to my Vegas-based family, who, within a literal moment's notice, compiled two large suitcases of clothes and toys for the boys, as seen below.  We may live on opposite ends of the continent, but we know we can count on you for never-ending love and support (and supplies!).  Mahalo, Ouano ohana! <3