Adoptive parents, has your kid ever completely broken down?

The Crisis and External Intervention

What finally made Kian snap was when he got appendicitis. He called me from school crying in pain.

“Please, Dad, I need to go to the hospital.” “I’m not your dad, and I don’t take strangers to hospitals”.

“Call your real parents”. Derek was high. Crystal didn’t have a car.

Kian called an ambulance. The bill was $3,000.

Hospital called us as emergency contacts. “We’re not his parents,” I told them.

“He made that clear. Bill, Derek, and Crystal Sanders”.

Kian had to drop out of school to work full-time at McDonald’s to pay medical bills. No insurance, no college, no basketball.

Derek and Crystal disappeared after asking him for money.

When Kon came home sobbing, begging us to be his parents again.

I looked at him calmly. “But Kian, we’re just strangers. You said so yourself. We’re placeholders”.

“Why would strangers take you back?”. “I was wrong. Please. You’re my real parents. You raised me”.

“No, Ken. You made it very clear. We’re just people,” I responded.

“The state paid to house you. And since you’re 17 now, the state stopped paying. You need to leave by Friday”.

“Where will I go? Ask your real parents”.

“Oh, wait. Derek’s in jail for me and Crystal’s in rehab again”.

He stood there. He was 17 years old, no diploma, no college, no future, abandoned by the birth parents he chose over us.

“Please, Dad.” “I’m not your dad”.

“You explained that to me very clearly while we were eating sushi. Remember?”. “You said you owed us nothing. No love, no respect, nothing”.

“So that’s what you’re getting? Nothing”.

He stared at me in disbelief. “That’s it. I’m not taking this anymore”.

He went upstairs without a word. I heard the water running for an hour.

Then another 30 minutes later, sirens outside our door.

The paramedics rushed through our front door with their equipment, and I pointed upstairs without even thinking about it.

They took the stairs two at a time while Rosie ran after them, screaming Kian’s name over and over.

I stood frozen in the hallway, hearing them break down the bathroom door and then all this shouting and movement above me.

My legs wouldn’t move, even when I heard them counting compressions.

The EMT came halfway down the stairs and asked if we were coming to the hospital. I heard myself say yes, even though my brain hadn’t processed what was happening yet.

They carried Kian out on a stretcher with an oxygen mask on his face and tubes everywhere.

Rosie grabbed his hand, but they made her let go so they could load him in the ambulance. We followed in our car and Rosie couldn’t stop shaking the whole drive there.

At the ER, they took him straight back while we got stuck at the registration desk.

The woman asked about insurance and I told her Kon wasn’t on our policy anymore. I explained this was because he said we weren’t his real parents.

She looked up from her computer screen and asked me to repeat that.

I explained the whole stranger situation while Rosie started sobbing next to me.

The registration lady gave me this look I’ll never forget, like she was seeing some kind of monster. She said we’d need to figure out the financial stuff later and sent us to the waiting room.

3 hours passed before anyone talked to us. A nurse finally came out and asked about Kian’s medical history. She asked about any medications he was on or previous mental health issues.

I started explaining about the adoption and how he’d been doing fine until he found his birth parents. Rosie cut me off and gave the actual medical information they needed.

The nurse wrote everything down without making eye contact with me. Another hour passed before the psychiatric intake nurse came to explain what would happen next.

She said Kien would be on a mandatory 72-hour hold after what he did.

She asked about our family dynamics and I got defensive. I explained how Ken had rejected us first. I told her how he’d called us strangers and placeholders.

The nurse kept writing notes while I talked. I could feel something shifting in my chest, like anger giving way to something else I didn’t want to name.

She said someone would update us tomorrow about visiting hours and left us sitting there. We drove home in silence and neither of us slept that night.

The next morning, Rosie got up early to go visit Keon in the psych ward. I couldn’t make myself go.

I sat at the kitchen table drinking coffee and staring at nothing while she was gone.

She came home 3 hours later and wouldn’t look at me. She went straight upstairs and I heard the bedroom door close.

The distance between us felt bigger than just the stairs and hallway.

That afternoon, the hospital social worker called to say they were filing a CPS report for possible neglect.

I got furious and started arguing that Keon was 17 and had chosen this path himself. I argued he chose this path when he rejected us for his birth parents.

The social worker stayed calm and said they had to follow protocol given the circumstances.

My hands were shaking when I hung up the phone. I walked around the empty house for a while and ended up standing in Kian’s room.

His basketball trophies lined the shelves, and there were photos everywhere from over the years.

One caught my eye from when he was eight, and I was teaching him to ride a bike in the driveway.

He had this huge smile, and his arms were raised in victory. This was because he’d just made it to the mailbox without falling.

I remembered running behind him that day, ready to catch him if he wobbled. I forced myself to leave the room and locked the door behind me.

3 days after the incident, Raphael Chandler from CPS showed up at our door for the first home visit. He was younger than I expected, maybe 30, with a clipboard and a tired expression.

He explained that we were still legally responsible for Kon until he turned 18. This was regardless of what he’d said about us not being his real parents.

He listed all the things we were required to provide. These included food, shelter, medical care, and education support.

I wanted to argue, but Rosie invited him in and offered him coffee.

He walked through the house taking notes and asking questions about our daily routines and Kian’s needs.

The discharge planning meeting happened 5 days after Kian went in. Both parents had to attend and sign a safety plan before he could come home.

The conference room at the hospital was small and crowded. It contained the psychiatrist, social worker, discharge planner, and Raphael from CPS.

They went through medication schedules, follow-up appointments, and therapy requirements.

Rosie handled everything, asking questions and taking notes. I sat there signing papers like they were business contracts.

I kept my face neutral the whole time. This was true even when they talked about suicide precautions and removing potentially dangerous items from the house.

Keon came home the next day under the safety plan requirements. We could barely look at each other when Raphael brought him to the door.

The plan said someone had to lock up his medications and give them to him at scheduled times. He needed rides to therapy appointments three times a week.

The awkwardness was constant. This included passing each other in the hallway without speaking. It also included sitting at opposite ends of the dinner table. There was also the sound of his door closing whenever I walked by.

Two weeks later, the school called about Kon missing so much class that he might not graduate. They wanted a parent meeting to discuss options.

I told myself this was just the consequence of his choices. I thought he brought this on himself when he chose Derek and Crystal over us.

Michaela French showed up at our door 3 days later with a folder full of papers. She had a look that said she wasn’t taking no for an answer.

She spread out forms for accommodations and makeup work on our kitchen table. She explained how Kon could still salvage his senior year if we all worked together.

The papers needed parent signatures on every page. I pushed them away without even reading them.

Rosie waited until I left the room, then grabbed the pen and signed everything herself. Michaela pretended not to notice the tension.