Second Mena Day

Yesterday I left off at the fact that we needed to do bloodwork for Mena. This is along one, so grab a coffee.

The previous couple had Mena/Marika examined by a doctor who worked with the Canadian embassy, and also paid for a psychologist to come and do a profile on her. Although Xenia wasn’t really meant to talk about either of these things, she did, and we were so grateful. She even got their contact details so we were able to discuss what the doctor found out over the phone; which was that she was healthy as could be though very small for her age as most kids in orphanages are, and she had the typical minor speech delays that you would also expect with children in state care.

Now when people hear the terminology “delays” they are apt to get very worried especially if you don’t get the context of what it all means. What it *doesn’t* mean is a child who is a drooling mess who can’t make their mouths form sounds, etc. Nor does it mean any kind of mental or physical handicap. All it does mean is that looked at age for age, a child in an orphanage will be a bit behind a typical kid who has had one-on-one attention from birth from a parent. So instead of a kid who is age four according to a calendar with all the skills of a typical four year old, perhaps the child is more developmentally similar to a child who is three with all the skills of a three year old. We all know that kids do things to their own timeline anyways- some kids walk at one, other kids don’t walk till closer to two but at one perhaps they talk more instead. It is really no big deal and nothing to afraid of when you adopt because it only makes sense given the situation. They say to figure on a one month delay to every three months a child has spent in an orphanage as a basic guideline. And then when they join a family and get that care and deep attention from parents and siblings, they catch up very quickly with the immersion into a “normal” home.

Mena is already shockingly bright- we know that, and it’s not just new parent pride. She is able to express lots of her own ideas and thought and opinions, and she does it in a very detailed and unusual way. She talks non-stop and she notices everything in her world, to our delight. In the span of a grand total of 2 day’s worth of visits (about 8 hours or so) she completely stunned us by already learning a few English words and concepts. Yesterday afternoon was a great visit after the stupid blood test, they were short on orphanage staff so we were able to take her outside and play with her supervised only now and then from a window. So without any Ukrainian interference, her first proper word was spoken and learned: “Up!”

They have some super tall grape vines in the yard, and we were playing under them. She was dying to get at the grapes yesterday because she wanted to eat them- big, fat, purple concord grapes. Who wouldn’t? Oisin kept lifting her up and she would squeal and kill herself laughing as she tried to reach for them. Without really intending on making it a lesson so to speak, each time we’d lift her in the air we’d yell “up!” and then we’d put her back down on her feet again. In practically zero time, she figured out exactly what “up” meant and she began to ask to be lifted in the air. So we made a happy fuss with tons of cuddles and kisses and her little blue eyes were just shining with elation. It was so, so cool. This is actually my favourite picture of her so far out of all the ones we’ve taken:

After playing outside for a couple of hours, we went in. The rest of her playgroup was in their room with one of the caretakers… who was watching her “stories” on TV while all the other little kids sat in silent, perfectly behaved boredom on the rug in front of her. When we came in, all the little eyes were on us and lots of smiles- the day before in the afternoon just before we left Ois was making funny faces at the kids where you take your fingers and put your hands upsidedown against your face to make a little mask and they were freaking out with laughter as he pretended to jump to begin chasing them. Clearly, this was the greatest thing in the natural world ever, some Irish guy making goblin noises like he was about to eat them all alive. One of the little boys actually had figured out how to do it, so when we came into the room he was so excited to show us! The soap opera caretaker left the room and of course all happy hell broke loose as it should- lots of giggling and jumping around. It was great!

I forgot to mention something so happy and sad and kind of profound though, when we first came back in the afternoon to collect Mena after the morning’s hospital stuff. As mentioned, yesterday she really wanted grapes, but the ones out side on the vine were not really suitable for eating anymore, so we asked Natasha to tell her that we promised to bring her some grapes the next day. So when we came into the room yesterday, I had a big bag full of them in my purse. Just seeing that we actually came back made Mena’s face light up like a million watt bulb and she came running to us for cuddles. We asked if we could give her some grapes and the lady said yes, so then we asked if we could give all the kids grapes (they seem to be a bit funny with the food in the orphanage, like they are constantly worried about mass diarrhea or something) so now she couldn’t say no. I washed them and put them on a dish, and here is the part that utterly broke my heart. Even though there were about a dozen little 3-4 year olds who see fruit as a treat like very Christmas and birthday rolled up into one, all of the kids shared so peacefully and kindly- there was not a single push or a shove, nor were any grapes stuffed into mouths quickly so more could be eaten. Their faces were just so radiant with pure, pure happiness and they were all so careful that each other all had some to enjoy, and they were eaten one by one and savoured like they were jewels. All the things we spoiled North Americans just take for granted- that if your grapes go bad in the fridge because you decided maybe you didn’t want them all after you bought them, or your kids could care less about fruit and would secretly toss it out at school so they wouldn’t have to eat it (I can remember kids in my class doing this in grade six in Mrs. Rebeck’s class, till she found out and then put an empty fruit bowl on her desk so whoever didn’t want their fruit could leave it in case another child was hungry and could take it instead). And then it was just watching the kids have such beautiful manners as they cared for each other to make sure every person around the table could share the bliss equally of having some fresh grapes. That sight will stay with me forever. They were like little fish in a feeding frenzy and soon the little branch was naked and picked clean and only happy faces remained.

But now about this morning and the blood test. We arrived at the orphanage at 8:25 sharp to pick up Mena and the Assistant Director who would accompany us to the hospital. But before I get to that, first some plain weirdness. The day before we were asked if we wanted to have the test done in Mukachevo, or Kiev. Mukachevo would be free, but we’d wait for results for at anywhere between 10-18 days, and because all of the equipment was older, the test could be less precise. Kiev would do it and have results back to us in 2 days, but it would cost $100 USD. Xenia was phoned and asked what she thought, and she replied she would rather have it sent to Kiev, so that is what we chose to do. But wait- listen to how it had to get done. So, because this is a small town and it’s not exactly like you can just FedEx stuff around willy-nilly, Natasha actually had to run around looking for a THERMOS because we had to buy our own medical equipment (a vial, a needle!) and then after having the blood drawn she had to put it in a thermos, wrap it in a plastic bag and run to the train station where she gave it to a train conductor so he could hand it off to Xenia or a staff member there who would take it to the blood clinic! Like, BLOOD samples, a potential BIOHAZARD, in a drinking thermos, sat in a seat beside a train conductor for 14 hours like his first mate, all the way to Kiev. We didn’t even know what to say to all of that, so we just said nothing.

When we entered the orphanage to pick up Mena she was already dressed and waiting and as soon as I came through the door her face just lit up and she came running to me with her arms held up for a hug and I flew towards her and scooped her up and covered her in kisses. The ladies said she was so excited that she was beside herself waiting before we got there. I fell in love all over again. We drove to the hospital with her on my lap looking happily out the window at everything. She had only been in a car a few times in her life so it was pretty exciting for her. Then we got to the hospital and went in. Ugh. It was a dark, basementy-smelling place where more than half the lights were off so they could save on electricity. The floors were all dreary grey linoleum, the walls were a drab peanut colour, and the very few chairs were vomiting up bits of crumbling yellow foam from their cracked vinyl seats. We waited upstairs for 15 minutes, Natasha carrying the weird empty thermos, then we were told to go downstairs. We waited aimlessly downstairs in a hallway stuffed with abandoned office furniture from the 1950’s stacked up in every which direction in the semi-darkness. Natasha was clearly embarrassed. Then we were told to go upstairs again. Then somebody barked at Natasha to go buy a glass vial for the blood sample, and a needle and a giant package of cotton so we could tear off about 2cm worth to cover the needle mark under the bandage for Mena’s arm. Incredible.

Finally we were shooed into the “laboratory” that looked like a cross between a Soviet dentist’s office, the place where a mad scientist would be stitching up random body parts to construct a personal Frankenstein, and a military field hospital. Army green metal machines the size of double Betamax's with random clocks and buttons dotted the room, some sort of sample swirling machine that looked like a replacement part from Chernobyl was in the corner, and long pincers and giant tweezers and clamps and little cardboard boxes with test tubes and what not were positioned on shelves. I don’t know why on earth we had to bring our own glass vial when clearly they had piles of them sitting there- but whatever. Ois was ordered to sit in a barber’s chair by the window with Mena on his lap, and I stood beside him, ready to distract with a little stuffed animal. I was just getting the happy-excited-energetic voice thing warmed up when out of nowhere some big fat battle-axe of a woman clamped a thing on Mena’s arm and stabbed her with a needle the size of a shishkabob skewer. She took about as much care as she was immunizing a farm animal, and was about only half as gentle. Mena screamed and thrashed like she had been betrayed and my heart was in my throat and Oisin was as white as a sheet as he hid her eyes so she couldn’t see the needle in her arm or the blood. It was horrific. Fucking medieval and barbaric and so lacking compassion for a child it was all I could do not to grab the woman by her throat and shake the living daylights out of her- to do that to a dog would have been inhumane- never mind a 3 year old terrified child.

We were both absolutely FURIOUS when it was over, and vowed that would be the beginning, middle and end of medical treatments in Ukraine. From now on, the only doctor that kid is going to see will be one in Canada. I don’t see the point of putting her through any of that for test results that we will only repeat anyways when we get back home, because even with the best intentions, everybody feels most relieved with having medical care of their home country, more so if it happens to be a first-world one.

Then to compound our anger, in the car I asked if we could stop immediately and get Mena something to eat or drink before travelling back to the orphanage. The kid had nothing since supper the night before, and was so hungry she had tears in her eyes. The Assistant Director told us firmly that it would not be possible as the children had to stick to a routine. A routine? Please! Like being stabbed and bled dry in a dirty hospital was in any way a “routine”? All we could do was hold her hand on the drive back in the car while Mena looked out the window silently, avoiding eye contact with either of us. I wanted to cry I was so upset and angry.

Luckily she forgave us by the time we returned after lunch and her naptime, and then we did the grapes and went outside. Once we came back in after all the “up” stuff and the monkey bars we still had an hour left, so we were told we could go back upstairs to the big playroom and continue playing unsupervised. So we did wooden puzzles of animals, and as Mena got each piece correct we kissed and praised her and made such a fuss, she was so proud and delighted with herself. Then she was trying to point to something up on the top shelf- there were a handful of very nice brand new toys in their packages, and clearly there was something up there that she had been aching to get her little mitts on probably for months, so as a final middle finger raised to the day and being bossed around by the director who wouldn’t let her have any food in the car, I lifted her up and let her grab what she wanted. We opened the package of little girlie things- a tiny plastic lipstick, a little plastic hairbrush and hairdryer, a plastic mirror and barrettes and hair curlers- that type of thing. She thought she had died and gone to heaven and began giving Daddy a “special” hairdo unicorn-style, and somehow she knew exactly what to do with the lipstick and put some on all of us, including her teeny stuffed piggy.

It was so cute! The perfect way to end the day. When we said it was time for bye-bye, without any protest or fuss she put all the little toys back into their package, and we stuck it back up on the shelf so it looked unopened. Take that! Mena two, vs. orphanage, one! Game, set and match.

Tally of new English words learned: Up, leaf, eat, lipstick, piggy, chase! (Amazing, hey?)