PANIC ON THE WAY TO THE AIRPORT BUT A RELAXED LANDING IN NEW YORK.

Saturday, August 4, 2007

Everyone was dressed, packed and ready to go when Vasilly & Yelena arrived to take us to the van.

My back was hurting again, slowly increasing pain, but I took a couple of pain pills. I’d wait for an injection before getting on the plane.

Yelena was telling us how much her five year old nephew loved the ice hockey game we gave to her (we couldn’t bring it back on the plane).

I couldn’t listen to her finish the story; the pain was over the tolerable threshold. I turned and asked Pippa if she had the injectable medication in her bag. No, she had left it in the apartment, thinking that I seemed to feeling better so she didn’t bother to bring it since she wouldn’t have been able to get it through airport security.

I felt like screaming at her and at the pain. I didn’t do either. It was a reasonable mistake. However there is no way I would get on the plane in this condition; they wouldn’t even let me, if I tried. But I had to have this injection. Or go to a Ukrainian emergency room again. Then I’d have to let Pippa and the children go on home. But how would I talk to the EMT guys or the doctor? How long would I have to remain in Ukraine? Would they operate on me this time? All these questions and a dozen more were racing through my head.

Very carefully and slowly, I told Yelena the situation about the injectable medicine. Since we were now only fifteen minutes from Boryspil airport, I told Yelena to drop us off at baggage check, and then for she and Vasilly to rush back to the apartment and get the medication and rush back. There just might be enough time.

We waited for them to come back. It was really going to be close. I was in too much escalating pain to sit down and I walked in circles.

I waited near the baggage check area and Yelena and Vasilly showed up. Vasilly insisted on giving me in Russian––long and carefully constructed goodbyes, good wishes for the future, and expressions of love, all punctuated with Russian bear hugs, that hurt like Hell, as Yelena translated in English.

Finally, I rushed upstairs, threw the bag of medication to Pippa and to hurry and let’s do it. We all went downstairs to find a private room or toilet and Olya was tickled pink at the prospect of Pippa in the men’s room sticking a needle in my bare ass. But that’s what happened, except we used the wheelchair toilet room.

With five minutes of the shot, I could talk again, and the pain was quickly ebbing.

We rushed to the Ukrainian immigration booth, we were too very close to boarding time. But I used my friendliest manner to the Ukrainian immigration officer, who ignored me and barked, “Ze adoption document, pleazz!”

We thought we had everything. We had passports and the sealed package to go to US immigration. We had not expected this. What was he talking about?

Pippa panicked. So, did I. Andry came out of his sleepy daze and looked nervous. Pippa blitzed through the folder she had of extra copies of all the legal stuff we’d collected. By a sheer miracle, she had put this folder in the computer bag carry–on, instead of checking in baggage. The officer looked and looked as our hearts sank and sank. Finally, without looking at us, he pulled out one sheath of papers, handed it to Pippa and barked again, “Ze original, pleazz!” Pippa found a copy that had been stamped, handed it to the officer, again without looking at us, he stamped this paper and whirling around for us to follow him. Oh God, where was he taking us?

Actually, only about twenty yards. He turned over to another officer sitting by a big machine, who took the paper work, scanned it and us, and waved us on to the departure gates.

Olya and I sat in the ‘fancy section”, business class and Andry and Pippa went on to the back. All this was negotiated earlier. Andry had said all the seats were the same as he was on the plane. Olya was adamant about sitting with me up front. She’s had a taste of the good life in business class previously and has no wish to be with the peons in steerage.

I had a wonderful flight with Olya. Happy, bubbling, she operated my TV screen and synchronized her screen with mine as we watched the funny figure skating movie with Will Ferrell. She was shrieking with laughter and I loved being with her. Twice, she carefully put a blanket around me when I showed signs of being sleepy. It was probably the most pleasant flight I’ve ever had in my life. Being zonked out on pain medication may have added to the pleasure.

There were four families with their adopted Ukrainian on the same flight with us, and we greeted one another as only those who have shared the same tortuous experience can do. They smiled and chatted as they passed down the aisle.

When we landed in New York, Pippa told me the flight with Andry went also very well. Talkative and cheerful, Andry was a happy camper the whole trip across the ocean.

Pippa talking now: With so much uninterrupted time together I learned a lot about Andry. Unlike most children when they travel he was awake 90% of the trip. He asked me some questions that are tough to answer especially when we don’t speak the same language fluently.

One thing he wanted to know was why we had adopted him. There are several truthful answers to this question. I wasn’t sure which he had the vocabulary to understand. I also wasn’t sure which he needed to hear at this moment. I was realizing there was a lot going on with him and he was ready to talk about how he was feeling.

Stumbling through my answer I told him that when we found out that Olya had a brother still in Ukraine we started looking for him. When we found him and visited him in Spain, where he spent summer vacations with his Spanish foster family, we fell in love with him. We thought he was nice, smart and special. When we learned that he wanted to be adopted we started the procedure as soon as we got back to the United States. We wanted him to be our son and come to live with his sister.

Andry then told me that he didn’t believe I loved him until I cried. He was referring to the incident the day before when exhausted from his reocuuring sullen behavior, when I was trying so hard to make him feel loved and happy, I had broken down and cried. I didn't hold back my tears because he needed to see how badly he was hurting me.

He also asked how I could be his mother and love him since I hadn’t known him since he was little. Another good, tough question. I hope my answer satisfied him.

We stayed busy together the rest of the flight. We played the complicated card game he had taught me a couple of weeks ago. I got good enough to beat him almost half the time. Prior to this my only wins were when he let me. I also drew floor plans of our house showing him where all the rooms are including his. This led to a map of the city with points of interest like the beach, park, pool, Miami Ad School and his school. Then came a list of all of our family members and our friends. He talked about his childhood, school and friends and his worries about his new school and new friends in Miami.

The in-flight movie came on when we had run out of things to talk about. Toward the end of the flight he tucked my blanket in around my shoulders and fell asleep with his head in my lap. He seemed physically and emotionally comfortable.