I'm handling it gracefully, as usual.

Still no news on the baby front.  This is one place where no news does not equal good news.  No news usually equals frustration. 

We got a heads-up from another adopting friend that one of the social workers at our agency had, with very little notice, packed up and moved to Africa in order to serve the people there.  Selfishly, I didn't worry too much about it since G. wasn't our social worker.  I commiserated with my friend, told her I would pray and (aside from the praying part) pretty much forgot about the whole thing.  That is, until we recieved word that due to G.'s abrupt departure, our entire branch of Bethany would undergo a restructuring and we would lose our social worker, too.  If you heard a small but ferocious freakout somewhere in the vicinity of middle Delaware last week, that was me, dealing with change the way I normally do.

We love our social worker, Christyn.  She's been with us from the beginning.  She's young and empathetic and she connects with us in a way that we don't think happens every day.  She's also the one that was willing to hear our whole story out and take a chance on us.  She believes in us as people and as future parents.  We're not your typical infertile couple looking to adopt; we've got a huge history behind us and daily challenges as we move forward.  Christyn is intimately familiar with our case, where we've been and how we've overcome.  To lose her now makes me feel like we don't have a chance.  She's our advocate and our friend in this process. 

I spoke to her about my concerns and I also called the director of our branch, the one in charge of the restructuring.  I understand why they are reorganizing cases; it helps evenly distribute the load among social workers so that no one person is overloaded and so that no one has to drive to three different states all the time.  I understand that they are in a difficult position.  And I am normally not a problem person when it comes to stuff like this; if I was I'd never make it with military healthcare, where you see a different doctor virtually every time you arrive on base.  But this is one time where I think it's okay for me to make a polite fuss.  Even if we are the only one of Christyn's cases to stay the same, I want to remain with her.  She wants to remain with us, too, which makes me feel better.  We have gone through so much of this process with each other, we all want to reach the finish line together.   Besides, the thought of telling our whole story again to another total stranger makes me want to cry.  It's a lot to tell, a lot to relive.  Those days were very dark.

We won't know anything for a while yet.  The director has to consider our request and talk it over with Christyn and our new social worker.  The most likely arrangement will probably fall somewhere into the middle; Christyn will go with us to meet potential birth families whenever that opportunity should arise and perform our first post-placement visit.  The new social worker will probably handle everything else.  I'm not overwhelmed with joy at this compromise but it's better than not having Christyn at all.  And my friend Lorie is still in the back of my head reminding me that God can take care of this, too. 

Yeah, yeah.