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Adoption in China: SARS Outbreak

I worked in China as a first grade teacher during the 2002-2003 school year. It was during the spring semester that the SARS (severe acute respiratory syndrome) outbreak started to get serious in Asia.
As a result, my entire (boarding school) campus was quarantined in order to protect students and faculty from possible infection.
No one could leave, and no one could come in.
What that meant for me, as a teacher, was that suddenly I was in close proximity with my students, 7 days a week, for 58 days.
It was quite a bizarre experience; children couldn’t see their parents but through a gate, which they had to stand about 15 feet away from. It was an emotional couple of months for my 130 first graders.

Having experienced that, it was with great empathy that I read Christine’s story:

On Thursday, May 15th 2002 the China Center for Adoption Affairs (CCAA) suspended adoption processing due to SARS (severe acute respiratory syndrome). Until SARS was contained, no referrals would be mailed or travel notices sent. At that point, our dossier had been in China for just over a year. Earlier the same week our agency director told us our referral was being mailed any day.

Here’s how we handled the waiting. We tracked the death count. “Only 14 new cases today,” I said sipping coffee, “Only 4 deaths.” Click, click, clicking the mouse before the sleep was even out of my eyes. Instead of getting an ultrasound and listening to heart beats, I watched news reports, monitored political situations across the globe.

“I hope you’re not kicking yourself” a good friend said, “I mean if you had decided to adopt even two months earlier you wouldn’t be in this situation.”

“Huh?” I respond.

“I just want to make sure you aren’t beating yourself up,” she said.

“Thanks,” I said. “I hadn’t thought of that before.”

But it’s the chit chat that I found most excruciating.

“How was the weekend?” people at work would ask.

“Oh it was nice. And yours?”

“Good.”

“Good.” I’d said.
“Finally spring.”

“So good to see the sun,” I said.

“Really,” someone said.

Really I was thinking this wasn’t the Mother’s Day I expected. Really I was thinking my stiff upper lip was turning into a shelf and I was tired of tabling conversation on it. I gave myself pep talks, told myself to try to be happy, keep the faith and be in the present. I reminded myself to keep working out, keep to my schedule and keep busy. But my heart was breaking and the tears wouldn’t fall.

I wanted to cry. I wished I could cry. But if I cried it felt like I was giving up hope so I wouldn’t.

There’s no metaphor for not becoming a mother because of SARS. I read lousy news reports, worrisome news from the World Health Organization and as soon as my husband walked in the room I assaulted him with questions such as, “What if China never reopens?”

“I know. I can’t even imagine,” he said as I put my head down on the desk.
“Sorry,” he said, “Was I supposed to be encouraging just now?”

“Well a little would be nice.”

“Any new news?” he would ask.

“If you want an update you can call the agency too you know. I’m not the secretary of us.”

“I’m just asking,” he said.

“Well everyone asks me and I don’t have any answers. I’m tired of being asked and having no answers.”

“I know this is hard,” he said, “I know because it’s happening to me too.” And that’s the thing about adoption. We were in every aspect of the process together and at times I resented the equality – my feminism went out the window. Didn’t everyone realize I was a mother and my baby wasn’t home or safe?

My poor husband, I talked about becoming a parent like it was a new job I was taking. I forgot sometimes he needed a hug and felt profound disappointment. We tried to cuddle before bed, said prayers, held onto each other and tried to let go of our need to control the entire adoption process.

I wanted to travel even though it wasn’t safe. When a baby is born during a snow storm no one tells the ambulance driver to stay home because the weather is bad, no one hopes the infant will just tough it out. But because we were adopting, people seemed to think, “What’s another day or week or month or year?” or suggested getting a hobby, enjoying our free time and catching up on the sleep we were going to miss out on.

Most didn’t understand we were waiting to hold, feed and love was in China when SARS had hit, was being taken care of by people whose economy was being devastated by this epidemic. We knew it was likely that our child was in a crib for 23 of every 24 hours each and ever day the epidemic continued.

I knew there were other people to consider. I knew if SARS hit the rural provinces in China the way it has hit Guangzhou and Beijing, the enormity of the tragedy would have been unimaginable and “containment” impossible. If a Chinese woman in Hunan village couldn’t leave her home because of SARS my child might not eat as much one day. If a guide in Anhui was stigmatized for leaving his province, was feared or attacked, that impacted my life because this man might one day lead us to our child.

All of a sudden, what was happening “over there” and in another country was intimate to me.

Our daughter, long before we met her inhabited the world and our hearts. We had no choice but to wait until she could lift her arms in the air for an “uppie” and fill our home.

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