Adoption stories: The best part of our adoption experience

Note: I’m telling this story in first person, but I’m using my best friend’s voice. This was her experience, and I have her permission to tell her story.)

For as long as I could remember, I had always wanted children. My husband, Robert, felt the same way. We felt that our lives would not be complete without sharing our love with our own little ones. We tried desperately for years, and I even endured several “tortures” to help me conceive, but it just wasn’t meant to be. I myself was adopted and well adjusted, so we turned to an American adoption agency. We stayed on the list for years, gradually inching towards the top. But by the time we made it to the head of the list, we were considered too old. Frustrated and heart broken, we turned to foreign adoption and chose China.

It took months to get everything approved, including reams of paperwork, background checks, and $20,000, but the moment finally arrived. We packed lots of clothes, drove an hour to Savannah, and flew to Atlanta, where we had to stay overnight. The next morning we flew to San Francisco, where we had to spend another night. The next day we made the looong flight to Hong Kong, where we spent the night at the YMCA. The next morning we took a train into China.

We finally arrived in China on a Friday, but we didn’t get our baby girl, who we had already named “Madison,” until Sunday. The wait was excrutiating, and being in China was pretty scary at that time – 1997. We never felt in danger, but everything was so different – the sights, the food, the sounds, and even the smells. Few people spoke English. We stayed close to our hotel room for the most part, waiting.

On Sunday, we took a bus with our adoption guide. We rode for over four hours through the Chinese countryside, dodging oxen, peasants, and other vehicles. In China, the larger vehicle, or the more daring driver, takes the right-of-way, so the journey was quite an adventure. We passed several poor villages, where “homes” were nothing more than a one-car-garage-type building with a dirt floor and an open front. People wer huddled around their meager fires seeking warmth. I couldn’t help but wonder if Madison had come from such a village.

When we reached our destination, we were not allowed to see the orphanage. Instead, we were met at a hotel by the adoption “nanny,” carrying our 10-month-old baby. When I first saw Madison, I fell instantly in love. She was beautiful, like a China doll. Once I held her in my arms, all my