After the workshops came the ficha

What's a ficha, I hear you say?! Yes, I didn't really know either. But...hmmm...digging deep on the rubbish memory and the TRAZILLIONS of paperwork I have submitted in the last 21 months of this process, I think that this first part was like a mini biography. Who I am (er...have you got a while??), why I want to adopt (people are really, really fascinated by this one), who my family are, photographs of everyone and my home and obviously Bob, Bee and Bella. It was actually quite fun putting it together - like a brochure: Come and be part of Maz's family! We're really fun! And we are. 

There was all these weird date rules with that. Like, after the final workshop, we had to wait one month before we could get the letter to say make this file. Then that had to be handed in on a specific date one month later. Then came the medical bit. That was an experience to behold. So, perhaps due to a teeny, tiny misunderstanding on account of the language barrier, I thought that I had to go to a government hospital to get the MILLIONS of exams and blood tests and psych tests (this one needs its own blog post: astonishing process). In my defence, the pyschologist at the Ministry gave me a website to go on to check out all the hospitals I could go to! So I duly went in search of said hospitals, accompanied by my lovely friend who agreed to chaufeur me around and translate, should the need arise, for the first lot. We went to no less than 5 clinics in one day, trying to find somewhere that had the correct tests. They just didn't have them. Government funding. No can do. As a result, I spent what felt like years in one place, going back and forth, missing loads of time from work and mainly being unsuccessful. Once I'd had the tests (STOP STICKING MY ARM FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT'S HOLY), I had to go back a week to 10 days later to collect a thing that said come back tomorrow to collect the results. WHAAAAAA? No entiendo. But come back I did. And again. And again. I cried. I pleaded. I shouted. I swore. In both languages. Eventually, I got what I needed...or so I thought. 

That whole experience taught me new levels of empathy, frustration, tolerance and patience in equal measure. I live a very, VERY priviledged life in my adopted country and I'm thankful every day. Sneaking a glimpse at what the majority of this population have to go through to get basic medical care was both harrowing and humbling. Never again will I take the NHS for granted, nor my own private health care that comes with my job. If anyone is in for trying to make a dent on the inequality, especially in developing countries, holler at me. It's madness, utter madness, that some people have their own helicopter and some people don't have electricity, water or health care. MAD.NESS. That's a whole entire other story but it was part of this journey and so it had to be written about.