The Yellow Sock: An Adoption Story (2 page)

They both wanted a child, but Megan had been far more active than he in the pursuit of their goal. After their first anniversary, Megan brought up the topic of children, and he agreed—they had been blessed with a home, their marriage was stable, and they were mature enough to pursue parenthood. So they stopped using birth control and waited for God to bless them with a baby.

Now, two years later, they were still waiting.

To her credit, Megan didn’t become anxious right away. The books she read assured them that no couple should consider themselves infertile until they’d been unable to conceive for an entire year, so she waited six months before taking the matter up with her gynecologist. At her annual physical, the doctor did a cursory examination and said everything looked normal. To appease her doubts, he sent Megan home with charts and instructions on how to determine the time of her ovulation—prime time for conception. For three months Megan began the day with a thermometer in her mouth, then recorded her waking temperature. On the days that the thermometer dipped a degree, she told Dave that they’d reached the Appointed Time.

Dave had never minded the act of intimacy between a husband and his wife, but Megan’s no-nonsense tone on those days was anything but romantic. Still, if her efforts and record-keeping resulted in a baby, he figured it would all be worthwhile.

After a year of temperature-taking, Megan tossed out her tattered charts and turned her eagle eye on Dave. A man’s fertility, she told him, could depend upon what type of underwear he wore, so he had to switch from briefs to boxers. Dave grumbled at bit at this, but the concession seemed small when he considered what she had endured with her thermometers and charts.

After six months of boxer shorts, Megan’s gaze narrowed even further. “You need to see a urologist,” she told him in a flat voice. “There’s no sense in me taking drugs if . . .”

The problem lies with you
. Megan had left her sentence unfinished, but Dave could hear the note of accusation in her tone.

Trouble was, a visit to the urologist was at the bottom of his list of Enjoyable Pursuits. The appointment was certain to be inconvenient, uncomfortable, and embarrassing. He’d never been to a urologist before, and he wasn’t eager to establish a relationship with any doctor who worked . . . down there.

But as he carried the steaming burgers into the kitchen, he saw Megan’s watery eyes and knew they’d failed again. Those eyes lifted to him in a silent plea, and he found himself whispering, “Okay, honey. I’ll make an appointment.”

One week later, amid the yipping and yapping of a litter of miniature Doberman puppies in the waiting room, Megan paused behind the reception desk and glanced at the clock. Dave’s appointment with the doctor had been scheduled for nine o’clock that morning, and at lunch he’d called to say that the doctor would have results by three. He’d be back in the classroom by that time, but if Megan wanted to call and check on things . . .

She forced herself to concentrate on the woman behind the counter. Her Persian cat, an aloof creature named King Midas, had just had his teeth cleaned, and was definitely unhappy with the situation.

“Here’s the doctor’s report,” she said, handing a copy of the kitty health report to the cat’s solicitous owner. “King Midas should be fine, but he’ll need to have those teeth cleaned at least once a year.”

As the woman moved away, Midas scowled at Megan, who scowled back, then shifted her gaze to the clock above the desk. One o’clock. Two more hours before she would know anything.

“Laurie,” she said, turning her back on the waiting patients, “I’m going to the back for a minute.”

Craving a moment of silence and privacy, she moved into the restroom, the locked the door and leaned against it. The afternoon had crept by, each moment longer than the one preceding it. The morning had begun like all the others, but at the breakfast table she had opened her book of daily devotions and read an unusual challenge. “What is the thing you want most from God right now?” the writer had asked. “Are you willing to surrender that desire so God can work His will in your life?”

She had stared at the page in silence, feeling oddly betrayed. Someone had been reading her mind; the author obviously knew her deepest secret. The thing she wanted most in life was to become pregnant, and no, she wasn’t willing to abandon that desire . . . not while there was even a slight chance that her dream might become a reality.

Did God ask such things of His children? She’d grown up believing that if you followed the principles of the Bible, God would grant the desires of your heart. And He knew her heart’s desire was a baby.

She exhaled slowly, then lifted her chin and stared in the small bathroom mirror, bracing herself to face the waiting patients and their owners. If she kept busy, this afternoon would pass quickly.

She counted the minutes between one and two, her eyes gravitating to the clock between patients. At one-thirty she’d prayed the Dave’s test results would be good; at two o’clock she amended her prayer. “Please, Father,” she prayed in the quiet x-ray room. “Let Your will be done, but please end this uncertainty. I’d rather know there was absolutely no chance for us to have children than continue this emotional roller coaster ride.”

No matter how bad the news might be, Megan found comfort in the thought that their waiting might soon end. By some miracle of modern medicine, perhaps this doctor could provide an answer . . . and a baby. But even if all he could give was a clear reason why they had failed, at least the months of disappointment would end.

She made a face as she glanced at the calendar. Dr. Comfort, Dave’s boss at Valley View Elementary, was coming to the house tonight. Dave felt that she wanted to discuss his future away from the school, so Megan had planned a nice dinner—cranberry chicken, tossed salad, and her famous yeast rolls. Maybe, if she had time after work, she’d whip up a chocolate chess pie for dessert.

Two-thirty found her at the desk, explaining the doctor’s instructions to Mrs. Wilt, whose dainty Pekinese had developed a urinary tract infection. After Mrs. Wilt pocketed the prescription, Megan offered a flavored vitamin to the petite Peke, who accepted it with delicate pleasure. “Take care now,” Megan said, smiling them out the door. “The doctor will call in a few days to see how she’s doing.”

Three o’clock found Megan at the desk again, her hands on the counter, her attention a million miles away from her job. When the minute hand of the large clock over the desk shifted and creaked past the straight vertical position, she picked up the phone and punched in the number she’d scrawled on an appointment card.

After being passed from the receptionist to the doctor’s private office, Megan waited on hold for about five minutes, then heard a male voice.

“Mrs. Wingfield?”

“Yes?”

As the doctor proceeded to speak in a flat monotone, Megan stared at the image of a sad-eyed Bassett pup on the desk calendar. When he finished, she thanked him and hung up.

So that settled the matter. Her prayer had been completely answered in an instant. God didn’t even want to negotiate.

She blinked as the image of the puppy began to waver. “Laurie,” she said, turning toward the receptionist sitting behind her, “would you tell Dr. Duncan that I needed to leave early? It’s sort of a family crisis.”

Laurie opened her mouth as if to ask for details, then nodded wordlessly when she saw Megan’s face.

Megan moved through the waiting room toward the door, a little amazed that her arms and legs and hands could still function. How could they open doors and walk and unlock the car when her brain was numb and her heart breaking?

Chapter Two

An hour later, Megan lay on her bed, the pillow damp beneath her cheeks. The sense of numbness had carried her home, but the dam broke when she crossed the threshold of their bedroom. After the tears, dry sobs wracked her body for a brief interval, then faded away.

The tears did nothing to ease the pain. She had thought she’d feel better after a good cry, but this burden was far too heavy to be wept away in an hour.

Lying there, she listened to the steady click of the cuckoo clock in the hall and waited for the sound of Dave’s key in the lock. He’d be home at any moment, then she could share this heaviness.

She closed her eyes as she heard the soft sound of the opening door followed by the squeak of his shoes on the foyer tiles. “Megan?”

“In here.” The pillow muffled her voice, but he had no trouble finding her. When she sat up to greet him, the look on his face told her he knew. Obviously, he’d called the doctor, too.

She stood and held out her arms, and they moved together, holding each other in a soundless embrace. Closing her eyes, she pressed her hand to the back of his head.

“I’m so sorry, honey,” he whispered, his breath stirring the hair by her ear. “It’s all my fault.”

“Shhh.” Pulling back, she pressed a finger to his lips even as fresh tears threatened to erupt. She shook her head. “You can’t say that.”

“But I had a feeling, and I didn’t want to face it.”

“Hush.” She lowered her forehead to his chest, not willing to watch him take the blame. This would have to be a shared problem, not his or hers, but
theirs
. If the situation were allowed to come between them, it could separate them forever.

“We have to decide,” she said, taking his hands, “what we’re going to do next. We can try to conceive with a doctor’s help, and there’s always artificial insemination. Or we could adopt.”

“I don’t know what we should do.” Holding her hands, he sat on the edge of the bed and pulled her down next to him. “But we’ll pray about it and see how we feel—“

“I can’t pray any more.” She gulped hard, tears slipping down her cheeks. “I’ve been praying for so long. I can’t pray another month. I’ve been praying for a sign, and this is it. Now we have to decide what we’re going to do.”

She turned to face him. “Honey, this afternoon I asked God to make our path clear. I told Him I’d rather have no chance for a baby than only a little chance, and I’m afraid that’s what we’d be facing if we went to the doctor and investigated experimental procedures. We’d be signing on for more waiting, and struggle, and lab reports, and tests. The frustration and uncertainty, not to mention the expense, might drain us.”

He absorbed this news in silence, then lifted his chin. “So you want to adopt?”

She drew a deep breath. “I’ve been thinking about it. We both love children, and we know there are thousands of kids who need parents. We could be parents to one of them—if we can’t have our own. But I think we should check out all the options. Maybe there is medical hope for us. Maybe I was wrong to pray that prayer this afternoon—maybe I was testing God. I don’t know. I just know I want a baby.”

Watching her husband, Megan saw a look pass across his face, a look she recognized. She’d worn the same expression half an hour ago—when she had realized she might have to surrender her dream of a biological baby and move on.

Dave’s hand reached up and touched her jaw, then her hair. “I was hoping for a daughter like you,” he said, his voice husky.

Megan touched his cheek, and felt his tears burn her fingertips like hot wax. “A son like you would be wonderful,” she whispered, “but we’ll have to see what God has planned.”

And then, because she had an important guest coming for dinner, Megan pushed her sorrows down, clamped a smile over them, and went out to the kitchen to begin making dinner.

Megan toyed with a wilting lettuce leaf on her plate as Dr. Comfort—Stella, in this casual environment—laughed with Dave about the child who’d brought his pet tarantula to school and turned it loose in the kindergarten classroom. “I’ll never forget Miss Pritchard’s face,” Dave said, leaning back in his chair. “I don’t think she’ll ever promote ‘Pet Day’ again!”

“I couldn’t get over the fact that the boy couldn’t understand why we reacted so strongly.” Stella laughed softly. “After all, he pretty much let the spider run free in his bedroom.”

Dave shook his head. “I remember that boy—Ricky Feldon. I taught him the next year, in first grade. He and his family must have been cut from a different bolt of cloth—they were all creative and bright, but they definitely marched to the beat of a different drummer.”

“Remember his sister, Moonglow?” Stella’s blonde brows arched mischievously. “She was three years ahead of Ricky. One day she brought a book to show and tell, then proceeded to read the poems of a love-struck seventeen-year-old.”

Dave frowned. “A library book?”

“Her older sister’s diary!”

Megan reflexively joined in the laughter, but her thoughts were drifting far from the current conversation. She looked at Dave—six-three, handsome, and as appealing on the inside as he was attractive. All of her girlfriends at the community college had thought him a great catch—but would any of them willingly trade places with her now?

Of all the young men she had dated in high school and college, why had God led her to marry Dave? She’d been in love with several of the guys she dated, and any one of them might have made a fine husband. But God had led her to Dave Wingfield, and, as a result, he had brought her face to face with infertility.

She dropped her fork to the table and picked up her iced tea glass. Of all the physical problems Dave could have had, why did he have to have one that prevented them from having biological children? He could have been born with one leg shorter than the other . . . or without a sense of smell. He could have developed allergies, or diabetes, or epilepsy, and none of those things would have prevented him from being a father. But God had allowed Dave, a man with a unique love for children, to face a future without any kids to call his own.

She lowered her gaze as tears stung her eyes. She had to rein in her thoughts, turn them toward something useful. God had led her to Dave, and she had vowed to love him in good times and bad, in sickness and in health. And this problem wasn’t his alone, it belonged to both of them. Since God had called her to this marriage—and she truly believed he had—then infertility had to be part of God’s will and plan for her life as well as Dave’s.