Our adoption experience long ago. Was it very quick?

One of the first comments I had when I started the blog was that the reader could ‘hardly believe’ how quickly we were allowed to take baby Sam back home with us in 1971. She was sure that it took much longer nowadays.

I do not know how the procedure goes today but perhaps I did not make it entirely clear how things were arranged for us.  I shall list below the procedure as I remember it.  (Don’t worry.  Future blog posts will not be this long!)

The process in 1971

• We received an initial letter describing a baby who was about to be released for adoption.  We were encouraged to ring the adoption society if we were interested.
• We rang.  This was followed by detailed information about the baby’s birth mother.  Less information was given about the birth father, as he did not know about the pregnancy.
• We arranged to go down from Tyneside to South London and see the baby.  If we “took to him”, we should then sign all legal papers and bring him back home with us.  Our status would be foster parents who were hoping to adopt the baby.
• We had to write a report each week on how the baby was doing.  Also, if we had to take him to see a doctor, we should report that immediately.
• We don’t remember receiving any visit from a Tyneside-based social worker, but I assume we must have done.
• After three months we should inform the society whether we were ready to set the adoption process in motion.  This would necessitate signed documents by a doctor.
• At this point the birth mother would need to sign confirmation that she was happy with the arrangements.  (She had asked that her baby should be placed with a family where there were already children, so I imagine she was happy to hear about the two adoring big sisters!)  We had to provide her with a photo that she would receive after the adoption order.

Everything went to plan UNTIL I took baby Sam to our local GP.  He picked up the baby, mumbled that he was very small and that the notes did not indicate how many weeks premature he was. He could not sign the papers himself.  He made an appointment for us with a paediatrician.

The appointment with the paediatrician came really quickly.  She was a young woman, but rather than appearing friendly, she looked concerned as she read Sam’s medical notes.  She picked up the baby and mumbled.  Then she looked at me intently. “I assume you do know that a premature baby could be deaf, blind, or have learning difficulties.  I can’t just take the notes from the London hospital.  I shall arrange for tests to be made here in Gateshead.”

I left that appointment with my head swimming.  Actually, with the ignorance and confidence of youth, I felt that baby Sam was absolutely fine.  He was our third child and he felt just right.  And furthermore, if he did suffer from any of the problems she mentioned, we loved him and would still want to adopt him.

The tests were interesting.  First a doctor explained that he was going to drop the baby a short distance to see whether he still had a vestigial reflex action. (We looked this up recently. It is called a Moro reflex and babies lose it after a certain number of weeks).  If he still had this reaction, this would give a clue as to how many weeks premature he was.

Next a doctor and nurse rolled out a green baize carpet and rolled white balls from one side of the room to the other.  Baby Sam was supposed to follow the ball with his eyes.  He did not.  He sat on my lap happily and calmly, as is his nature. He let the adults get on with their little game.  Result: Failure.

Next Sam was thoroughly examined and while still naked sat on my lap.  He was presented with little bricks on a table at his level.  He was supposed to play with the bricks.  Again he took no notice.  Result: Failure.

The doctors looked apologetic and sympathetic. “We shall have to test him again after Christmas.  Please do not worry.”

We did not worry.  We still felt all was fine and that he was just more premature than had been originally thought.

After Christmas baby Sam passed every test with flying colours, documents were signed, a photograph was taken and we were able to attend the local County Court.  The judge said that baby Sam was now officially ours, not just for his childhood, but he was our son for life.

This procedure took six months.  I must ask a practising social worker  whether this happened quicker than would happen today.