More Than DNA: our Adoption (and Infertility) Story

This isn’t the post I thought I’d write this week, Dear Reader. But sometimes, life railroads your plan in the best kind of way. And that’s pretty much what this post is about. Our experience in Adoption (and Infertility) in South Africa. But before I launch in, I want to preface it by saying that this was OUR experience. Yours may be different and may look different. But hopefully the takeaways will be the same. And maybe, just maybe, it’ll give a bit of hope to those of you who feel stuck in this space.

I married my beautiful Maya around 15 years ago now (still not sure how I managed to land her). And around year 4, we decided it was time to start trying for children. We were hopeful and optimistic, but as time went by, we started to think that something was wrong. After a year of trying, and try we did, it just wasn’t happening for us. We realised we needed help, and approached our Doctor and discovered that we had won the trifecta. We both had challenges that would mean our chances of conceiving on our own would be slim, if not impossible. We explored the options and started where many start, with IUI. This is a simple procedure that can be done in a doctor’s office. But after a couple of tries, we had no luck.

It’s amazing how a single line on a pregnancy test can define your life.

I’m naturally a glass-half-full kind of person. And faith is one of my gifts. But to watch the person that means the most to you in the whole world have her hopes dashed over and over again is enough to break your resolve (and your heart) into a million pieces. This is one of those even playing field kind of situations. You know the ones. Where life shows you that money, status, and power make very little difference. Some things you have no power over. We cannot create life (however much science believes it can). We, in fact, had one Doctor shout at us while he threw our results across the room – “Do you know how many children I have brought into this world?” The answer being – none. He may have helped, though… (moral of the story – trust your instincts and know when to find a new doctor…) We cannot cure cancer (yet – but one day perhaps). We cannot change the home we grew up in (but we can take responsibility for the trauma it caused and choose to live differently). And we cannot make someone love us (something I’m thankful for, because I would have been in deep, deep trouble, and probably divorced by 35).

We decided to go the IVF route (in vitro), a somewhat invasive procedure involving sperm and egg retrieval (which is far less invasive for the man than it is for the woman), although hospitals could consider their donation room decorating – dolphins, knitted toilet seat covers and seashells make me uncomfortable. For my incredible wife, this route meant hormone injections, which she took like a champ – and which she had to give herself – as her husband has an upchuck reflex when it comes to the blood of his loved ones. (Am I the only one who feels a weird sensation at the back of his legs when it comes to this stuff?) Once we had enough eggs, these had to be retrieved in theatre. And then the wait would begin to see if any of the eggs would become blastocysts. Some did, we have photos of the little guys. But sadly, none of them made it past that stage. After two IVFs and R90 000+, which somehow, God made possible (as we could not afford it), we had a decision to make. Do we move forward (for another R140 000+ run), or do we call it on having Biological children?

I’d always been open to the idea of Adoption, because growing up as I did, I learned that blood means very little when it comes to determining who your family is. I received more love and acceptance from those outside of my family than I did inside of it. And I don’t say this flippantly. I know in their own way, they loved me. But abuses and addictions meant that their pain was always front and centre first. I remember watching the Brady Bunch and Full House on television and wishing for the “normalcy” I saw. I longed for the day I could have a family that loves one another, that laughs together. And there was something about a “Full House” that I longed for. My upbringing was deeply lonely, despite the fullness of that house. So when biology let us down, we prayed, and let me be clear, prayer undergirded our whole process. Adoption and family took on a whole new meaning when viewed through a faith lens. In a situation that makes no sense, and in which our human instincts and opinions cannot always be trusted, we needed God to intervene with His perspective and His understanding of the plan that He was unfolding for us. We prayed and had our answer. Adoption was go.

I remember attending two seminars, because the one thing Maya and I both have in common is that we like knowing what we’re in for. As long as we have the deets, we can tackle just about anything together. We sat at a table with a formidable-looking woman at the head named Zoe Cohen. She was stylishly dressed with designer sunglasses and beautifully done grey hair. Around the table were a number of couples, brought together by their desire to explore adoption. What I liked about Zoe is that she didn’t pull her punches. We’d come too far and been on this journey too long for platitudes. She explained that Adoption in South Africa is not easy, and threatens to only become harder if legislation is not overturned, something she fought for. She also explained that it is a lengthy process, made lengthier by the laws of supply and demand. But, if we were faithful to the process, it was most of the life-giving experiences (if you’ll excuse the pun).

God had a hand in us attending this seminar because at the head of our table, we found our Social Worker in Zoe. A few weeks later, we were sitting on her couch, surrounded by Yorkies and files, and her giant mug of coffee. She looked us square in the eye and told us that this journey was not for the faint of heart, and that many of the couples who had sat where we were sitting now did not complete the process, so we needed to be sure this is truly something we want to pursue. It would be lengthy, and the assessments (biological, financial, psychological, marital) would be rigorous. And then would come the wait. We completed our assessments and paperwork in record time. Our names were added to the Adoption registry. And then we heard nothing.

In the meantime, we’d gone to a second seminar held in Witbank, Maya’s home town. We were hosted by New Life Children’s Home in partnership with New Life Church, and it was refreshing to hear about Adoption from a Christo-centric viewpoint. These were honest accounts from those who had adopted, especially cross-racially, as we were doing. And they shared the joys, but also the hard realities of what it would look like to walk this out. Attachment was not guaranteed. Racially, there would be challenges to face. But despite the sours, they also shared the sweets. And these by far outweigh the sours that may come. Our hearts were full, and our faith was bolstered for the road ahead. We drove back home and prepared our little one’s room for the day she would come home to us. That was November.

In the interim, life happened. Our social worker, Zoe, sadly passed away after a battle with cancer, and we were handed over to her partner, Julia, to continue the process. We struggled at times to walk past the room we had prepared and sometimes closed the door, just so we wouldn’t have to see it. But, for the most part, we made the pact that we would keep living. We could not let our lack stop us from living joyfully and fully in THIS season.

The following June, we got a call. There was a little girl. The voice on the other end of the phone said, “I can’t explain it, I just know she’s your daughter. Would you like to come and meet her?”

The next month, we drove through to meet her, as well as the incredible foster family that had raised her til now. And then they left us to spend time with her alone. Who leaves two complete noobs to look after a baby without an instruction manual? We were out of our depth. How do you work this thing? Luckily, she had patience with us. We fell in love with this beautiful little girl with eyebrows for days. We fed her for the first time. We held her close. And we looked at each other, Maya and I, and knew, this is our little girl. Somehow, biology, geography, and racial divides be damned, God brought us OUR little girl. And he used a number of people along the way to make it happen.

We handed her back to the foster family and cried in the car on the way home. The next few weeks were difficult to say the least. Imagine giving birth, and then having to surrender your child to someone else without knowing when, where or if you’d ever see them again. It felt like a piece of our heart was ripped out, and living somewhere else. We did our best to keep busy, and a few weeks later, we picked up our baby girl. The foster family was heartbroken. And we were heartbroken for them. They’d cared for our little girl for 6 months, ensuring she had a start better than anything we could have wished for. A start we could not give her ourselves. And we will be forever grateful to them for what they did.

It would be another year and a half or so to get through the legal process of becoming her parents, and even in that, we experienced grace upon mercy upon grace. We filed the paperwork. And then waited for our court date. And even at the Children’s court, each person we encountered was so gracious to us. We were afraid of what it would mean for Auri to have to go into a courtroom and answer questions. So when we were invited into the Judge’s chambers for a private session, we nearly cried. Our beautiful baby girl was treated with such care and dignity. The judge played with her, let her use the official court stamp, and even sign “her own” documents. It was a sacred moment. And it was a relief. We walked out of there knowing that she was now legally ours. I know it’s crazy, but we lived in so much fear that someone would come and take her from us. This was our daughter in every way that mattered, but until the t’s were crossed and the i’s dotted, anything could happen. But now, she was legally ours.

So yesterday, after another 16 months of waiting, I walked out of Home Affairs with her new Birth Certificate. In the eyes of our country, she is now a Dimas. And we are her parents, through and through. She’s four and a half now, and it’s been seven years since we started our Adoption journey. Ten years since we started trying for kids. It’s been a ride, but we wouldn’t have had it any other way. We’ve seen miracles… Other couples managed to adopt and get connected thanks to our connection with Zoe and the Children’s Home. We’ve experienced untold provision, grace and kindness. So many people have been built into the foundation of our little girl’s life. She is 100% ours, and no amount of DNA could have made it more so. She is equal parts her brilliant, steadfast mother and her crazy, dreamer father. She sounds like us, even looks a bit like us. She loves books and horses, has her own Xbox controller and can play old-school Sonic like a boss. She has a teepee bed she does acrobatic feats on, and is unbelievably kind and strong-willed. The jury is still out in terms of which one of us she gets that from. And just yesterday, she took her nervous mother’s hand while crossing a bridge and said: “Take deep breaths, mama, and hold my hand. You can do this.” She is complex, she is African, she is Italian, she is Greek, she is ours. But most of all, today, she is a Dimas.

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