Red Letter Guy

This guy is crazy.  He is crazy.  He’s been crazy.  He’s made a career out of being crazy.  Developed it into an art form.  And this chick with the long black/henna’d hair in the red commencement gown is Exhibit A on the evidence table.

If he wasn’t crazy, she wouldn’t be here.

Once Jhosy’s orphan picture was put on the refrigerator, Howard became a driven man.  In the picture, she was six and serious, sitting on a bench at the orphanage, a little Dutch boy haircut with straight bangs, wearing a dress with white socks and orphan shoes.  Her story — which I might tell some day if she says it’s ok — was about hard, hard, hard times.  But the urgency was about her health.

She had had rheumatic fever.  Her heart valve damage was diagnosed by Nicaraguan doctors by listening because, at that time, they had no more sophisticated diagnostic equipment.  They were also unable to do valve repair or replacement surgery so the only option was to find a way to send Jhosy to a country with first world medicine. 

Emboldened by our initial health victories with our two sons adopted from Nicaragua – one with heart defects and the other failure to thrive – we impulsively agreed to adopt Jhosy.

Then the back and forth started.  How sick was she?  Remember, this was 1993.  No cell phones with cameras.  No email.  Phone calls were expensive and chancy.  Think two orange juice cans and a string.  All we had was the fax machine. 

As luck would have it, there was a Canadian man who volunteered at the orphanage who agreed to be a go-between us and the doctors.  He sent us this fax saying that, no, Jhosy only needed valve surgery, she didn’t need a heart transplant.

I nearly fainted at the phrase heart transplant.  My husband jumped for joy.  Oh God, I thought.  We’re going to adopt this girl and she’s going to die.  I figure if a doctor even mentions the term heart transplant, you’ve got trouble.  As in Holy Crap….they think she doesn’t need a heart transplant???

Howard?  He figures we’re home free.  No worries.  What’s a valve here or there? 

Full court press.

He’s on the phone.  He’s negotiating.  He’s arranging.  He’s pushing. His eyes are on the prize — Little Miss Orphan stuck to the refrigerator with a magnet from the gas station.  Meanwhile, I’m backpedaling, finding reasons why not, questioning his sanity, looking for the escape hatch.

So, is it any mystery that the first person to wish Howard Happy Birthday this morning is the girl in the red gown? 

She doesn’t really know this story.  But she does.  She knows that I love her.  But what she really knows is that no matter what, her Dad will never quit on her.  Undeterred, always.  Crazy.