‘Twas the Monday before Christmas and all through my mind, ran thoughts of the appointment, oh what would they find?
When I initially met Anya in October 2008, one of the workers that was on the trip asked if I wanted to see what was on her medical papers to decide if we really were able to handle her medical conditions if we chose to adopt her. This was allowed as a favor to our friend and is not a common practice. But, it was done any way. I got the English translation and noticed that it listed Hypothyroidism. I actually have a form of that called Hashimoto’s Disease where my body creates antibody cells that “eat up” all my good thyroid cells. I recently found a local doctor that specializes in thyroid treatment, quite by accident. My oldest son suggested him as a general practitioner and at my first appointment when I mentioned the Hashimoto’s, he let me know that he is also a thyroid specialist!
For all the blood tests and exams that had to be redone and redone again, Dave and I used this doctor, so he knew all about Anya and the adoption. After I returned with Anya to the States, I made an appointment for her with this doctor. He also suggested before we left to get her that I use a pediatrician two doors down since 50% of his patients were special needs and he would be very familiar with what is normal or not as far as her dwarfism goes. The pediatric nurse did wash her ears out and Anya is able to hear more clearly and speak more distinctly now! He also directed us to a team of doctor’s at Cedar’s in Los Angeles that specializes in dwarfism and several ladies I have met online that have dwarfs use this team. Any way, the diagnosis of the Hypothyroidism never made it onto her final translated medical records. I found that odd since I knew it was listed. The pediatrician highly doubted she has it and insisted that she would be profoundly retarded if she did and he told me he would treat her for it if she did and that I didn’t need this other doctor. I insisted that she might and even though he told me she didn’t, so he said he would authorize a blood test for her.
I kept the appointment for me, her and Matt anyway with the thyroid doctor and it was scheduled for the Monday before Christmas. He examined us all, told me her thyroid wasn’t swollen, but that he would do an ultrasound to make me happy. I had previously had one done and my thyroid was over twice the size of the ultrasound wand but the whole thyroid should show under one width of the wand. Mine was also filled with white dots (pox he called them) and that was the indication of Hashimoto’s Disease. So Matt had his turn first with the ultrasound to help Anya out (clean as a whistle) and then it was her turn. Sure enough, she had white pox in hers too! The doctor looked at me and said, “Looks like you are a prefect match Monica! Whatever it is that you can sense about her health, stick with it, you were right!” I was so excited (not that she has Hashimoto’s) but that I stuck with my gut instinct and was right about a very important issue for her. The thyroid doctor told me that the pediatrician would have run the blood test and it wouldn’t have shown enough levels to indicate anything at all! We’ll get her on thyroid meds soon and it will open up her cognitive abilities in addition to running her body well.
We headed downstairs to the lab for our blood work. Matt went first again to show Anya how it was done. However, he got faint, fell over on the bar that goes in front of the chair and asked for the trash can to vomit in. So, the Phlebotomist suggested I leave the room with Anya. I was holding Anya and she began looking into my eyes with fear and saying, “Nyet” over and over. I kept gently saying “yes” and finally I told her in Russian that “the doctor says yes.” She shook a bit but let the 7 vials be drawn with great courage. She of course tells the story of how much of a baby Matt was and how brave she was! I was thrilled that she learned to turn to me as a comfort in during her fear and didn’t isolate herself to deal with it.
Her translator friend gave her a stuffed monkey to hold for when Anya misses her and she began calling us all monkey (mon-KA-ka). Dave called her Anya mon-KA-ka and I said in Russian, “No, Anya’s not a monkey, she’s a girl!” She very firmly replied in Russian, “I am a woman.”
For Christmas with my family, we drove down to Torrance and Anya enjoyed the day with her relatives. She was ever so thankful for her gifts and is the proud new owner of a Nerf gun, Irish fairy necklace, some clothing (that fits!) and a Leapster. The thing that sticks with her the most is my sister’s very old Mastiff, Dempsey. Anya was telling us over and over how bol-SHOY (big) her paws, legs, tail and body are.
Anya carefully petting Bolshoy Dempsy
They also had a jam session, werid scenario number one: (Scott plays the accordion and learned a new song that I remember my mom liking. I asked him to bring it to play for her.) While playing a different song, Greg joined in on the piano (which he doesn’t play), Matt joined on the drums (which he doesn’t play) and Anya on the guitar (which she doesn’t play). I filmed it with Matt’s lens and it wasn’t the kind with auto focus and I forgot, so it is completely blurry (boo!), but I love it none the less. Later Scott played the other song for my mom and Anya joined him on the guitar again and had a very serious look on her face. She moved she hands up and down the neck like she really knows what she is doing.
Song for Nana.
We stopped by the firehouse on the way home to see Dave and Anya played in the racquetball court with her father. The boys were in the exercise room with me as I watched Anya in the court through the big window. Weird scenario number two: all three boys are using the exercise equipment yelling, “Mom! Watch!” or “Look!” but they are 25, 20 and 17! It struck me as odd that I was trying to watch my new daughter, the one who only had a mom for 10 weeks, and these other three, hopefully well adjusted boys, are clamoring for my attention. Comment from the 25 year old, “Well Mom, you know that when a new child enters the family, the other children feel neglected and need attention.”
We got home around 5:30 and I threw together a pre-heated prime rib, mashed potatoes, gravy and my Christmas salad for me, Anya, Scott and Matt. While I was preparing it, as quickly as I could, Anya asked for macaroni (and cheese). Happy Christmas and thanks for the memories Mom-I just want macaroni and cheese!! She switched from bread and butter and milk last week to eating whatever was served and now has a preference for mac and cheese. I had to make an emergency run to the store to get some. Not milk, nor eggs, nor bread nor butter, but macaroni and cheese. She even asks for it for breakfast!
I also have given the kids pj’s and an ornament on Christmas Eve for years, so I found Anya pair of Snoopy pajamas since she loves him and the Charlie Brown Christmas show.
That night I threw some blankets on our bed and put Anya there to fall asleep and later I found her collapsed, face down, almost in the position you are when you make a snow angel. She was WIPED out. No one told her that the next morning was Christmas and that she was supposed to wake up early all excited. Greg had asked what time he should come over that morning and I told him 8 or 8:30. He arrived at 8:01 and we were all still sleeping! Dave was force hired to work Christmas Day, so we would open presents without him and bring them to the firehouse to show him and we’d eat our Christmas dinner there. We told Anya about the big dinner several days before and she kept telling people about the bol-SHOY ye-DAH (big food) all the way up until Christmas. Scott brought Anya’s scooter in to the apparatus floor at the firehouse so she could ride it around while we were still at the dinner tables. You could see the heads of all the manly fireman eagerly turn to watch her and you could feel the stillness in the air of people watching as she rode around on her scooter. It was really sweet. That night, it took me two hours to calm her down for bed! She has had been pretty tired for the last two days trying to get over all the stimulation, but she is making really good choices when asked to choose to eat this or do that.
Anya with her brothers on Christmas.
The "serious look" photo.
Tricking Grandma with the "which hand is the quarter in?" trick.
Yesterday I took Anya to Target for some clothing that both fits and that she actually likes. She still starts to melt down in Target, I guess it is still too much stuff for her, but she rode in the cart and pointed at clothing she liked and made a disgusting sound for the ones I showed her that she didn’t like. Some awesome friends gave us Target gift cards for her and she was able to get some feminine-ish clothing that really fits her well. I spent part of yesterday hemming the pants and pajamas for her and she was genuinely thankful as she told me thank you.
Mind you, this journey for her is not all an easy path and she has a lot of grief to process. I was wisely told by a psychologist that adopting a child from a hard place means you are instantly a grief counselor and that based on her life circumstances, she will be profoundly sad. Just as an angry person can be set off by a mild incident and all the anger seems focused on that one thing, so it is with the grief. And it either is felt as anger or sadness. It is good to see so much growth but is it usually preceded by something sad happening and us working through it (the boys are especially awesome with her when she is overwhelmed, they even offer to give me a break when they see me being worn down). Off to calm the girl. I took the squirt gun away since she was squirting it in the house after being asked not to…and it might just be the end of the world as we know it.
A few remnants of the parts I cut off of Anya's new clothes
in order to hem them!
Scott bought his shirt the day before Anya chose her matching one at Target. As soon as she picked it out, I knew what she was up to!!
~Monica
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