Second in a series
The abandoned baby lay next to a flower pot. She had a round face, tufts of black hair and wore a white outfit with a blue flower print. In a final act of love, desperation, or perhaps both, she was placed outside a Chinese orphanage where someone was sure to find her. Her deserter left her a bottle of milk and an uncertain future. On Sept. 24, 2004, someone named Zong Ming Deng found her. Orphanage officials registered her with the police and returned her that afternoon to the Yuanling County Social Welfare Institute. Orphanage staff named the days-old girl Pei Pei Zhao, meaning admirable or outstanding one. A few weeks later, a notice ran in the local paper along with 12 others for abandoned babies. It asked Pei Pei's family to come claim her. No one ever did. That's all Jenny and Andy DeTolve of Bartlett ever will know about the infancy of their daughter, whom they renamed Madison Pei. They don't know who abandoned her, or why, or exactly how she was cared for in the orphanage or by a foster family for her first 11 months. In their first year as a family, Jenny and Andy learn about Madison's mysteries as they revel in the joy of being first-time parents. Most who adopt internationally don't know about their child's birth parents or medical history and so they sometimes discover some health and other problems. Madison has eye problems, night terrors and neediness that leave her parents wondering whether they're related to her time in China. When Jenny and Andy adopted Madison in 2005, she became one of nearly 8,000 abandoned Chinese babies - and one of 22,728 foreign-born children - to find new families in the United States. Americans adopt more children from China than from any other country, in part because the process is reliable. In Illinois, requests for approval of Chinese adoptions have increased by about 12 percent since 2001; in 2005, work was under way to bring 377 Chinese babies here. On Aug. 18, 2005, Jenny, now 37, and Andy, now 35, met their 11-month-old daughter in Changsha, the Hunan province capital in south central China. A Chinese caregiver handed Madison's parents their screaming baby, who wore a red and pink dress and a jade Buddha necklace for luck. In that instant, the nightmare Jenny and Andy shared after failing to conceive vanished. The couple started trying to conceive three months before their September 2002 wedding. Five months went by without success, and they sought help. The next year and a half was a blur of visits to fertility specialists with no results. The couple decided to turn to adoption. Close friends also had adopted from China, so they were somewhat familiar with the process. The DeTolves used the East Coast-based International Children's Alliance. It took about a year and cost about $25,000, though they'll get an adoption tax credit of about $10,000. They returned to America with Madison in late August. Three weeks after coming home to Bartlett, Jenny jotted a note in Madison's scrapbook, a light-colored album with a yellow duck on the cover: "You have blessed us with your beautiful smile, cute little cheeks and your spunky little attitude. We love you more and more each day!! You have made our lives complete!! We are a family!!" At least, the ones she knew. She put a question mark after who delivered the baby. Sections about her "firsts" - smiling, rolling over and crawling - are left blank. Pei Pei was placed with a foster family after a week and brought to the orphanage twice a week for checkups. The report reads: "Pei Pei is an active, lovely, smart and healthy child. If you play with her, she will laugh, giggle. She's easygoing and popular among her little peers." Jenny, a radiology technologist, and Andy, a firefighter-paramedic, assume her foster family treated her well. But they don't know how often she was held. They don't know if she ever was kissed. They don't know if anyone ever told her, "I love you." Madison likely got more attention from her foster family than had she stayed in the orphanage. Iverson said that for every three months children stay in an orphanage, they are about one month behind their peers in development. Madison's growth in her first year comes in a subdivision called Bartlett Pointe. Her street is lined with newer two-story, single-family homes with brick and stone trim and neatly kept lawns. A sign at the neighborhood entrance tells visitors Bartlett Pointe has the best block party participation. Her nursery walls are painted light green and purple; clouds float on a wall of blue. Other walls hold pictures of Tinkerbell, Nemo and Mickey Mouse. But Madison doesn't spend much time in her room. When Jenny tries to put her to bed her first night home, she screams inconsolably. She clutches her crib with a death grip; using her legs to try to escape. Jenny and Andy try a few more times, unsuccessfully, to put her in her crib. But just getting Madison ready for bed becomes an ordeal. It's as if she knows she'll soon be alone. Nighttime fears are common among many children, adopted or otherwise. The DeTolves' doctor says Madison likely doesn't remember her time in China. Still, her parents wonder if her past plays a role in her present night fears. At about 7:30 one December night, she wanders around the living room, whining. She pays no attention to her stuffed animals and other toys. She doesn't seem to know what she wants. Jenny grabs a yellow bottle of milk from the refrigerator. She pulls Madison, dressed in light pink pajamas, close to her on the blue couch. She lies back and rubs her baby's back. Madison calms down and sucks her bottle. A few minutes later, she stops and softly starts to whine again. "No," Jenny says. "You go night-night." Madison pushes away the bottle and tries to sit up. Her whimpering gets louder and she starts to kick Jenny's leg. "Lay down," her mom says sharply. "I know you're tired because you're so cranky." Madison eventually is put into her bed, where she cries endlessly. Eventually she ends up, as she always does, in her parents' bed with them. On another night before bedtime, Madison screams so long and so hard, she throws up. Jenny knows Madison's nighttime fear of being alone is controlling all of them. Jenny's mom, Chris Blum, warns the couple they're being too lenient. They can't help it, Jenny answers. "She went through such a rough time for a baby," Jenny says. "I want to give her everything. She's never had anything." Jenny and Andy take turns sleeping with her each night, rubbing her back and whispering reassurances. The other gets a more peaceful rest in the guest room down the hall. "I don't think she sleeps sound," Jenny says, "because she's always looking for us." Her initial medical reports deemed her healthy. But as soon as they meet her, Jenny and Andy notice she scrunches her face around the left eye, as if she is mad. During a trip to a Chinese zoo, kids crowd close to the glass to see the animals, but Madison isn't interested. Soon thereafter, a physician sends a chill through Andy and Jenny. Days before they are to leave China, a doctor is examining baby after baby. He gets to Madison, shines a light into her eyes and suddenly yells, "Operation! Operation!" Jenny sobs all day, terrified her daughter, who they had been with for a week, would go blind. Andy worries Chinese officials who now consider Madison "special needs," will try to keep her in China. Neither happens. Chinese officials handle extra paperwork and the DeTolves see a doctor as soon as they get home.
Madison could see around the right cataract, their doctor said. But the left one completely blocked her vision and needed immediate removal. The cataracts could have come from malnutrition or a traumatic delivery. Within a week and a half of coming home, the left cataract is successfully removed. A few weeks later, Madison returns to Alexian Brothers Medical Center in Elk Grove Village for a temporary contact lens. It's early and Jenny, her mom and the baby are the only ones in an office, surrounded by mirrors and eyeglass cases. Jenny sits on a stool at a table that holds contact solutions. She strokes Madison's head. Madison seems to sense something bad is going to happen. She starts to whimper before a nurse touches her. "You know, don't you," Jenny says quietly. "This poor girl. She's been to the doctor so many times." The nurse tries to pry open Madison's eye. She starts sobbing and clenches her eye shut. The nurse waits a few minutes; the cries subside. She tries again. Again, Madison clenches her eye tightly shut. On the fourth attempt, the cries escalate to drawn-out screams. Jenny rocks her, kissing her forehead. Jenny then tries laying her on a table. She brings her to the cafeteria. She lets Madison fall asleep in her arms in a private room. Three hours pass. Nothing works. Finally, a doctor arrives. As Jenny helps hold Madison's arms and legs down against a chair, the doctor inserts an eye speculum, a metal clamp-like device that forcibly keeps the eye open. The doctor easily drops in the lens and leaves. "I don't know why they just didn't do that earlier," Jenny says, gathering their stuff to leave. Within days, Madison's eye starts to swell. She's allergic to silicone in the lens. Her parents switch her to a gas-permeable lens, but it keeps popping out. Madison loves her pink-rimmed glasses, never once fidgeting with them. Three months later, she's progressing, wearing a patch over one eye for an hour daily to strengthen her other eye. A year after that, she has her third eye surgery to implant a permanent lens. Next spring, her right cataract also will be removed and another implant put in. Madison still will wear glasses for protection, but she shouldn't suffer any long-term vision problems. Madison's eye problems have cost Jenny and Andy more than $5,000 and hours of worry. Despite the unexpected costs - and knowing one more major surgery lies ahead - they say they never once have regretted adopting. But it is tough, Andy says, being the only couple in their travel group of five whose baby has night terrors and health problems. Parents of any child, adopted or not, face health mysteries, Jenny says. Had Madison stayed in China, their doctor said, she likely would have gone blind. Knowing that, they feel lucky. The tension echoes in a dialogue that gets repeated. It goes something like this: Andy: Is this ever going to change? Is she ever going to sleep in her own bed? Is this marriage normal? Jenny: We have to make sacrifices. We'll be married forever. We'll be with each other forever. It's OK if we give up alone time now so she can feel comfortable. It's temporary. It's not that Andy's not important, Jenny says. For now, Madison is the top priority. "It's stressful for us," Andy admits once. "We're not fighting. But you feel like two strangers again." Eight months after she comes home, Madison finally starts going to bed in her crib. A year after her arrival, Madison sleeps until 3 or 4 a.m. Then she climbs out of bed, walks to the gate at her door, and calls for Mom and Dad, a teddy bear in one hand, her Elmo blanket in the other. Andy admits he likes this routine. From day one, Madison bonded with Mom, reaching only for her, crying when she left the room. Andy, thinking he would be an instant hit, was hurt. As he filmed the family's China adventures, he would interject narration of the day's plans with comments like, "She was with Daddy for an hour!" Or, "She loves her Daddy. But she adores her Mommy." One year later, it's different. In the middle of the night, Madison cuddles up with Dad. And those times, no matter the stress, are worth it. "We needed something better in our lives," Andy says. "Our marriage was good, but we needed to have this family." That last time, owner Shawn Li greeted Madison in Mandarin, her native language. Hearing it, Madison began screaming, continued for the entire car ride home and for two more hours before passing out. She was rocked by night terrors, crying and shaking violently without waking up. Andy and Jenny think a China memory triggered her reaction. Still, they'll never really know if it's that or typical toddler behavior. This time, the restaurant isn't crowded. The lighting is dim; the atmosphere relaxed. Li again approaches. Again, Madison turns away from him. After the meal, the family gets ready to leave. Madison is in Jenny's lap, playing with a plastic bag of goldfish crackers when Li stops by again and says a few words in Chinese. She stares at him, taking it in, gauging. But she doesn't turn away or cry. As they walk out the door, Madison waves and blows him a kiss. After just three months with Madison, they start talking of adopting again. "Madison will never be able to say she looks like Mom or Dad," Jenny says. "But if she has a sister, they'll be from the same place and can share culture." With a new baby possibly arriving by late 2007, Jenny and Andy plan to move to Montgomery, where homes are less expensive. Once the baby arrives, Jenny will work one day a week. "This year put us in store for the rest of our lives, how much we have to look forward to," Andy says. "It was a whole new beginning." With the second baby, who they might name Savannah, they'll do some things differently, they vow. For one, she'll sleep in her bed from the start. Jenny says she'll likely decline if officials offer a child with medical problems like a cleft palate. After going through Madison's eye problems, she says, it's just too much strain. Yet, in almost the same breath, she adds she's ready for whatever life hands her. After her daughter's first full year here, Jenny rifles through paperwork for the next adoption and stumbles upon a message in Madison's scrapbook: "You have been through so much already in your first year, abandonment, poverty, upheaval to a new country … and cataract surgery and contacts," it reads. "From here on out, our beautiful daughter, it will be the world for you!! We promise it will only get better." Tuesday -- Chapter Three: From Brazil, Russia and America, a family, indivisible
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Adopting internationally? What you need to know
Consider how your family, support system and community would accept a child from a different cul-ture. Consider what you will tell your child if he or she one day has ques-tions.
How important is detailed medical and biological parent information to you and your ability to pass it along to your child? What quality of care will your child have received in the native country?
Find out the costs, time-frame and travel require-ments for countries you're considering.
Narrow a list of your pri-orities in the above cate-gories down to three. This will help in matching your preferences to a country.
If possible, don't commit to an adoption agency until you've picked a country using your own priorities.
Using an agency near your home isn't necessary, but you should make sure you've checked out its cer-tification and references. Any agency's workers can give a good first impres-sion.
The U.S. State Department has a Web site providing both general advice and country-specific information for international adoption. Click here Source: All God's Children International non-profit adoption agency, Portland, Ore. U.S. State Department A look at costs Depending on a country's specific laws, foreign adoption costs can vary from about $10,000 to about $30,000. Most cost between $15,000 and $25,000. Agency fees usually in-clude dossier, immigration processing and court costs. Adoptive parents might be eligible for a $10,000 adoption tax credit or other financial aid, like em-ployee adoption assis-tance programs. Depending on the country, some additional fees might include:
Child foster care (usually in South and Central American adoptions).
Parents travel and in-country stays to process adoption abroad.
Escorting fees, charged when parents hire escorts to accompany the child in flight.
Child's medical care and treatment (occasionally in South and Central America).
Translation fees.
Foreign attorney and agency fees.
Visa processing and visa medical examination fees. | ||||||||||
Story by AMY BOEREMA | Daily Herald Writer
