Support and Oz

Today I met with a group of other moms who have all adopted older children from Russia. It was a weird feeling to be in a room of women who all understand. It was a great feeling. We all had that tell tale twitch in our right eye (click here if that doesn't make sense) but ours were all special--they twitch Tchaikovsky.

There were 9 other women there who understood that even though your child's age may be 12 or 7 or whatever, maturity-wise that is not how old they are and you cannot treat them according to their biological age. They are actually an incredibly confusing mix of experiental age, emotional age and biological age. They have experienced far too much for their young lives (and seen way too much via the orphanage). They are emotionally immature because of many of those experiences. And yet their birth certificates give them an age based on birth. Parenting is a mine field of uncertainties with these kids to be sure.

There were a couple of others who had their own version of Tommyland. Though I am quite certain theirs are not nearly as entertaining. Or as cute.

I'm thinking it would be fun to have a support group of women with leukemia who've adopted from Russia. Two support groups in one. I'm guessing it's a small group though. Like one person small. A very elite group to be sure.

Speaking of leukemia, there's not a lot of news on that front. Which in actuality is a very good thing. My last PCR test revealed that the number of leukemic cells was actually down from the previous PCR test which is excellent news. It's not to zero (which would be the ultimate goal) but it's very low. The PCR test detects 1 in 10,000 cells. Wow. The fact that they can check for the evil leukemia cells at that level is mind boggling. I'm guessing if you saw them under a microscope they'd have horns and a pitchfork and an evil glare in their eyes. They probably have a Wicked Witch of the West laugh too. But you can't hear that under a microscope. And then they would melt into a pathetic heap when a bucket of Gleevec is thrown on them! Then, all of the little flying monkey good cells would apologize for being under the spell of the leukemic cells and give me their....broom? Ok, the Oz analogy falls apart at this point. Nevermind.

So I've found a group that understands me and my post adoption stress syndrome and Gleevec is winning the battle against the Wicked Witch of Leukemia. I think that calls for a bowl of ice cream!