I took Sunny to the pediatrician this morning. She was just due for a routine checkup, but I of course informed them that she is being discharged from our county’s care and moved to a relative a few hours away. They made it a discharge appointment, where they gave her shots a little ahead of time so her relative doesn’t have to worry about getting her them and getting proof to her new school, and they wrote out more explicit instructions for her care than they otherwise would.
At the end of the appointment, the Nurse Practitioner, who we’ve known for years now, said, “I’m sure I’ll see you with another kid soon.” I replied, “No, actually, we are done fostering and closing our home. We’ve got [Sprout] at home still of course, but we are closing up shop as soon as [Sunny] leaves.”
First she looked shocked. Then a little sad. Then she asked me, “Will you be going back to work, then?” I sheepishly replied, “No no, I’m just enjoying being a stay at home Mom.” Explaining my largely invisible disability to folks usually takes more effort than it’s worth.
I’m sure she will report that we are closing to the pediatrician who started the clinic the foster kids in our county go to. He’s become a trusted partner over the time we’ve been fostering, though his trust was hard won. He’s a good doctor, and a good human, and he’s the reason we managed to get Sprout placed with us. He agreed that we were okay for her to go to rather than the hospital, despite her being on death’s door, because he knew and trusted us to manage her complex needs. We did. She got healthy under our care. And now she’ll grow up with us as her parents.
I know that pediatrician will be sad that we are leaving foster care and honestly I wouldn’t be shocked if he calls or runs into Seth at the hospital and tries to convince us to stay open. He gets that – to the extent any foster home can be good – we are one of the good ones. And since we specialized in medically fragile kids, he’ll be sad to see us go.
It’s a strange feeling.
When I saw a fellow foster parent walking into the clinic with her newly-placed toddler this morning, I felt a twinge of regret. I felt a bigger twinge of regret when I thought about the pediatrician’s reaction when he learns we are closing. But neither twinge was big enough to override my desire to settle into a peaceful rhythm with my Family of Three Plus-Kiddo.
Through a lot of therapy, Seth and I have come to understand that part of the reason I thrived in foster care was because of the constant generation of adrenaline, dopamine, endorphins, and even some oxytocin. Foster care is a constant roller coaster of chaos. And I liked it. Perhaps a little too much.
New kids were often coming into our home, and when that happened there was the newness, and the adrenaline rush of meeting the bio parents for the first time, and the mystery of finding out what sort of case worker we’d landed with, and the need to shop for new clothing and supplies. There was the need to understand the complex medical issues for our medically fragile kids, and tons of doctor appointments. And there was developing a schedule and a routine, which takes a lot of concerted effort.
Even after the initial newness wore off, there were the tensions around court dates and the excitement and fireworks that often happened there. There was constant activity and stimulation, from bio parent visits to medical appointments, from visiting nurses and therapists to needing new clothes for growing kids.
Then there was the emotion and running around that came when kids were leaving. It was packing up clothing and toys and books. It was increased visits with family, and more medical appointments. It was sadness and loss. And it was all tinged with a little bit of excitement about the newness that would soon follow when another kid was placed with us.
I have ADHD, and overall I’d say I’m sensory seeking (though I am autistic too so not surprisingly there are certain stimuli I avoid like the plague as well). But overall I’d say I’m a bit of a dopamine junkie.
Isn’t that what our society is becoming? We get dopamine hits from social media, and tech in general. We get it from shopping, which has become far too convenient (here’s looking at you, Amazon…). But me? I decided to get creative and seek it from being a foster parent.
Now that Seth is a nurse, he lives on the edge at work. He doesn’t need any additional stimulation. He needs relaxation at home so the traumas and adrenaline of his work situation can ebb from his system on his days off. He’s been loud and clear that he needs to stop fostering so that home because a refuge again, and I’m on board fully.
That means I’m having to find ways of coping with less adrenaline, and fewer dopamine hits. I’m having to learn how to sit with quietness and peace, and be okay with it. It’s going to take work. Hard work. I can’t just turn to easy fixes of dopamine like shopping because that causes its own issues. Instead I have to slow down, quiet down, and focus on the good that I already have in my life.
There’s good stuff like Sprout, for example, who I love so hard it hurts. Good stuff like summer warmth, and a new cushiony rocker on my back patio from which I can observe my garden and the bird house where the house wrens are raising their family. And there’s good stuff like immersing myself in creative projects such as the fairy house I’m currently making for Sprout. It’s stuff like mediation, and reading, and more therapy. It sounds idyllic, doesn’t it? But I’m having to learn to be okay with it, with a slower pace, and less adrenaline and dopamine.
Sunny is still here, which is complicating my process of adjustment. She’s still a massive challenge, but she’s getting a tiny bit easier as we get closer to her date of going home. She knows she’s almost there now. It doesn’t seem so impossibly far away. We’ve started packing her toys and belongings, which seems to be helping too.
I’m looking forward to the peace and quiet and all the “good stuff.” I’m sure I’ll always feel occasional twinges of regret about not meeting more amazing kids, and not watching them turn around medically in our care. I’m also sure it’s better for my family and me to turn off the adrenaline and dopamine factory of foster care now.
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