Moscow in May

Time: 10:15PM

Place: "New York Casino" Restaurant, Hotel Peking, Moscow. Sun has set, dusk prolonged in this northern latitude. Russians are gathered around TV sets in the bar, cheering loudly for the Russian hockey team in the international final with the Czech Republic. Waves of shouting, wafts of cigarette smoke.

What a difference three months make. In February a bitter wind charged through the near-barren Moscow streets. Kate, our translator, Mom and I were three of the few people who braved Red Square. Today, the city is alive with beautiful women in close-fitting dresses and 4-inch heels and men in black, fresh-shined shoes with pointy toes. A young couple kissed passionately on a bench outside of Red Square while children ran through fountain spray, shrieking. I just got back from the Tchaikovsky Conservatory and a stunning performance of classical piano and violin. Kate brought along her best friend Sveta, also an English speaker, and the three of us ate spiced lamb and rice for dinner at a festive ethnic Uzbek restaurant.

I'm here to repeat an "eight-panel" medical exam, the same one I took three months ago at the same hospital, a strange place seemingly devoid of patients other than foreign adoptive parents required to cycle through the offices of the resident oncologist, dermatologist, neurologist, general practitioner, pulminary specialist, drug and alcohol specialist, psychiatrist, and I can't seem to recall the eighth. My appointment is scheduled for tomorrow morning at 11:30. At the end of these "rounds," along with a repeat blood test and chest x-ray, I'll hand $1000 in cash to the hospital director. The most far-flung and expensive check-up ever.

I've no choice but to play by the judge's rules and am committed to do whatever she requires to bring my boy home. What's next: The judge has requested my medical exam(s) results, along with 10 new pieces of documentation, by this Thursday, May 27 at noon. If I miss the deadline, she dismisses my case. Hence, this quick, crazy trip. Hopefully she will review my case again soon, approve, and issue a court date to transfer parental rights from the Russian Federation to me.

When my spirits flag, I keep Daniil's face in front of me, his laugh and eager, innocent trust. Moy solnyshko: "my little sun."