It didn't take long at all, because our home study was already done and ready. I didn't realize Zachy was so tiny. Fifteen pounds of round warm baby boy was the sweetest feeling in my arms! He went from one pair of loving arms to the other without a murmur. The adoption agency insisted that I keep him over the weekend and send him back to see if I really did want him. They weren't sure I understood how severe his condition really was. He slipped into our family effortlessly, and we had so much fun! He arched backwards strongly, but at least that helped him hold his head up. He had the roundest, softest, kissable cheeks! Also, stroking his cheeks made him smile, and the longer we stroked, the bigger his smile grew! So we got wonderful pictures of him! His beautiful Chinese features were exquisite, and a pleasure to see. His unfinished eyes were usually closed, but sometimes open a crack. If I peeked inside, his eyes were tiny and brown, and without luster. They did not move. I had to put artificial tears in them so they did not dry, if they stayed open too long.

 It was so hard to send him back. The agency wouldn't let me tell them my "decision" until he had gone back for the night. Then I did, and two days later, I had my son. The agency was very happy. It had been a very long wait for them, and for the birth parents. I will always be grateful for the love my baby received all of his life from his birth parents. They were wonderful people.

 A new child is such a tremendous thrill. There is nothing else like it. A new little person to love. A new little face for the pictures, a new little form to tuck into the crib. A new warm, soft little body to dress in cute clothes. A new little voice in the house. Zachy’s sounds were unique. He did not make vocal sounds, exactly, but he made a gurgle sound of blowing inside his nose. This must have been his play, for he kept up that bubble sound in his head all his life. It was soft, but it went on most of his waking hours. A person could not get him to stop. There was no way to distract him except to stroke his cheeks, and after he smiled, he would go back to his favorite occupation. Sometimes it would be accompanied by a quiet sort of hum through the sound. A very different sound for a very different little boy.

 Zachy had apnea. Every night for a couple of years, I hung over his crib, watching him breathe before I went to bed. He would stop breathing for up to twenty seconds as he slept, then continue as though nothing had happened. I remember clocking him only taking three breaths in one minute. This happened frequently, and alarmed me. I was so worried that he wouldn’t start up again. I requested that the doctor give me a monitor, but I was refused. "The state doesn't give monitors to babies with no brains." That was what I was told. The doctor was very frank. He said it would not help. If Zachy stopped, and did not start again, it would mean he had died. I disagreed. I could make him take a breath by jiggling him around. What if, I asked, what if he stopped just long enough TO die, but if I jiggled him a few seconds earlier, it would have kept him alive? It's no use, he said. He isn’t going to live long. His brain stem won't support his life very long, and there's nothing you can do about it. At last, I understood, at least with my brain. However, never would my heart accept the state not allowing him to have a monitor. I would have rented one, if one had been available, if only to keep him alive one more day.

(C) 2004 Rosemary J. Gwaltney