Consultation
(August 5)
Their appointment had been set for 10:00 AM that Friday, but the couple showed up quite early and sat in the waiting room for half an hour, thumbing through back issues of Parenting, 0 to 6, Popular Mechanics (for some reason), and, inevitably, People. The waiting room, furnished with comfortable love seats and armchairs, had a TV, but it had been tuned to an Oakland news channel that featured newscasters and political opinions that neither of them could stand, so they ignored it.
Two other couples waited, murmuring to themselves, and the receptionist called them back over the next half hour. Two more came in, checked in, and took seats, looking nervous but hopeful.
Finally, the receptionist called for them and sent them back to consulting room 1. They went in, sat, and . . . waited.
"I hope it's good news," the wife said. "We applied so long ago."
"If it isn't," her husband said, "we'll just wait a little longer. They warned us adoption isn't a fast process."
"I know. But time moves on."
"It does."
Though they would have sworn they waited at least another half-hour, in fact Dr. Goodwin opened the door and greeted them within five minutes. A cheerful-looking woman of fifty-five, a little chubby with bushy graying hair and spectacles that dangled on a chain around her neck, she wore a white lab smock and carried a manila folder. She verified their name and address, then settled in the chair behind the desk. "Ah, yes. You've been on the waiting list for a year now. We have a possibility, but you may want to think it over. I'll need to give you some details, and to begin with, I must tell you that the child will be special-needs."
"Special needs?" the wife asked. "What does that mean?"
"Will be?" the husband asked at the same time.
Dr. Goodwin smiled, the warm expression on her broad brown face showing that she understood jumpy would-be adoptive parents. "Let me explain. The child is not yet born but is due within a few weeks. As far as the prenatal specialists can tell, in most ways the child is normal, but there is an unfortunate birth defect. It may make life difficult for him."
"It's a boy?" the wife asked, smiling.
Dr. Goodwin returned her smile. "Yes. Now, the defect shouldn't affect the child's mental or physical development in any significant way. However, it does affect his appearance. He will stand out, I'm afraid, and when he's old enough for school, well, you know how other children can make a different-looking child feel unwanted."
"What's the problem?" the husband asked.
Dr. Goodwin opened the folder and took out a sheet of photographic paper. She looked at it and then said, "This will show up better on the monitor." She started her computer, tapped in her password and her records request and then the serial number in the corner of the photo. "Here we go," she said, swiveling the flat-screen monitor so they could see. "These are the latest ultrasounds, taken . . . Wednesday, the third."
The wife cooed.
The husband said, "Those are very sharp!"
"The technology's improved over the past few years," Dr. Goodwin said with a smile. "This is a profile."
The baby looked perfect, curled up, knees bent, chin on breast, arms raised, fingers curled. He even looked as though he were smiling in a dream.
"What's the problem?" the husband asked.
"It doesn't show up in this one. You'll see it here." She switched to a photo from a different point of view, three-quarters profile. At first, they both missed it.
"Look for the left eye," the doctor said gently.
There wasn't one.
"The condition is called anopthalmia. It's a mutation, and it's rare. The eyeball did not form, though there is an eye socket. There's no medical treatment that could provide vision in that eye."
"But the right eye—?" the husband asked.
"Should be normal," Dr. Goodwin said. "Now, in cases like this the child can be fitted for an appliance—an artificial eye, just for cosmetic purposes. A host of specialists will be involved, and it's not an inexpensive process, especially if some surgery is required, but your insurance would help."
"If that didn't happen?" the wife asked. "If he didn't get treatment?"
"The child would grow up with a sunken left eye socket. The eyelids might fuse together. Of course, an eyepatch could be worn when the child is older."
"Lacking an eye means the boy won't have binocular vision," the husband said, "but otherwise—?"
"Otherwise the reports indicate he should be a healthy, normal boy," Dr. Goodwin said. She consulted the sheets of printout in the folder. "The mother is impoverished, unmarried, and has a weak heart. Her prognosis is not good, but she has requested that her identity not be revealed to adoptive parents. He would never be able to learn who his biological parents are. Nor would you."
She closed the folder and crossed her hands on top of it. "There you are. I know this is a difficult decision, more than you bargained for. Of course, you may decline and go back on the waiting list. No one could blame you—"
The husband took the wife's hand and looked at her. She smiled and nodded.
"We'd be happy to adopt the child," he said.
The wife laughed and wept at the same time.
Dr. Goodwin smiled. "I had that feeling about you. I'm so glad to hear you say that. I think your family would give the boy the kind of support that he'd need." She checked her computer again. "Now, before you definitely decide and sign the papers, do take the weekend to study the brochures I'm emailing you. They outline the difficulties of a case like this, the medical and social implications, and describe the prosthetic processes—complex, and the child may require surgery, but the results are good."
"We'll see that the boy is treated," the husband said. "We want him to have every opportunity."
"He will have siblings, I understand. Of course, you must prepare them for the way he'll look."
"We've got the best children in the world," the wife said. "They'll give him plenty of love."
"When is the due date?" the father asked.
"Let me see . . . the child is already close to term. If he's not naturally delivered by the 28th, a C-section has been set for the thirty-first."
"Perfect," the wife said.
"We'll study the literature," the husband said. "But I think we're agreed. We want to adopt the boy."
"Oh, one thing," Dr. Goodwin said. "This isn't binding, but it's the mother's request—between us, it's likely to be a final request, sadly. She'd like for the child to be named William, if you agree."
"Of course!" the father said. "William. A perfectly good name!"
The wife smiled through happy tears and whispered, "Bill."
The End