Looking back, all the appointments run together. There certainly was a checklist and sequence, but in Colombia, it kind of felt chaotic as we found ourselves running here and there with one driver or another. Plans were always finalized the night before, and it took a while before we became comfortable with last minute arrangements.
Part of it was that we had to wait on this paperwork to do that next paperwork and so on. No dates could be set in stone as we waited on embassy or government offices to finish so we could complete the next task.
One appointment that I remember clearly was an early medical embassy appointment. At the time I had no idea where we were as we walked into a side building off a busy street. Later we became familiar with this area as it was very close to where the Usaquen Market was held every Sunday. But this was the first time being here, and I followed Julie, an adoption worker, into the building as Brandon took the boys to play at a nearby park. Julie was quick and bounded up two flights of stairs as I followed. I was carrying Mila, and by the time I reached the top, I was panting ridiculously. I found myself in a waiting room and shamelessly pulled my mask out from my face so I could breathe and not pass out as I gluttonously sucked in thinned high-altitude oxygen. We had gone from our North Carolinian altitude of around 900′ to Bogotá’s altitude of 8,675′. Climbing those stairs proved that my body was still adjusting. After a few minutes which seemed much longer, I finally was able to put my face mask back in place and breathe normally. With my oxygen intake under control, I now noticed there were a few other adopting families with their children, and we chatted as we waited to be called.
The appointment was more red tape formalities than a true medical visit. We were called back first to have Mila’s picture taken. Her passport picture experience had been a struggle, so I sat her on a stool as I knelt beside steadying her. I used to think family pictures were stressful but government ones are far worse. For, they need just the right face angle, expression, ears have to be showing, no stray hairs in the eyes, etc. Anyone who has multiple kids, with at least one older than age five, has low expectations of family pictures. The session usually ends with the phrase “good enough” and the product is a less than perfect picture that hangs on the living room wall as a monument raised in honor of a studio struggle. But with governmental photos, “good enough” has to be quite perfect in fact. Thankfully, this medical appointment photo session only took a few tries until we had an acceptable shot.
Julie, Mila, and I went back to the waiting area and soon were called to see the doctor. I was told the embassy doctor spoke English, so Mila and I entered by ourselves without a translator. We had found communication difficult among many in Colombia. For a number who were heralded as “English-speakers,” in fact often looked at us blankly. We usually resorted to a mix of Spanish and English. As such, I greeted the embassy doctor in Spanish and was prepared for a Spanglish conversation until he spoke. His English was superb. He had gone to college in the States, and I relaxed as I realized I could communicate unencumbered with this doctor.
It was, in fact, one of the most interesting conversations on our trip, for this doctor looked straight at me and asked why we were adopting a child with down syndrome from Colombia. Knowing no other answer but the truth, I told him it was a calling from God and that through following Him, we were led to Mila. I finished with, “And there is no doubt in my mind that Mila is the child we were called to adopt.” His gaze continued to level as he took in what I was saying. He then nodded and said some beautiful words that unfortunately now escape me. It was something about angels and how Mila would be a blessing to our family. His kind words left a sweet feeling in my heart that still remains as I write this memory. Aptly spoken words of encouragement are powerful.
We left the appointment with a lab slip for some blood work the next morning. It was an early morning appointment where we left around 6am. We had been forewarned and were told it’s a miserable lab appointment where adopted children ages 2+ have to have a blood draw for a TB test. This test is required for entry into the States. At the time, Mila was 2 years old and one month. If we had adopted just one month earlier, she wouldn’t have had to go through this.
We arrived before 7am and looked out at a white stone building. At the door stood an attendant and streaming out was a long line of people waiting. As we exited the van, I prepared my legs for long standing as I gazed at the line. We were sharing the van with another adopting family and child and along with Julie we approached the building. I expected us to head to the back of the line, but Julie walked up to the attendant. To my surprise, the attendant ushered us right into the cramped and crowded hallway and waiting area.
I was told many times that Colombia is family-oriented, and we got to experience that firsthand. At the Bogotá airport, there is a separate shorter line for families traveling with children under seven years old. And here at the laboratory, they didn’t make parents wait in the long line but ushered us right in.
We waited for a little while until Mila’s name was called. I sat in a chair holding her at the direction of a Spanish nurse and placed Mila’s arms forward across the table. They tied her arm with a tight band and poked at her vein with their fingers. Poking and more patting. Spanish conversation. They moved the band to the other arm. More pressing and patting to find a vein.
At this point, I was braced for the worst. Thankfully, I am not squeamish, but worry did set in as it appeared they may have trouble with performing a blood draw on such a small child. That’s when another woman walked in the small room and the others stepped aside. She looked at Mila’s arm, poked to the side, and nodded. She cleaned and prepped the area. With three nurses total and me holding Mila, we braced ourselves as the needle was inserted.
My muscles were tense, and I was holding my breath as I was steadily holding Mila, braced for a reaction. But nothing. This child of mine was new to me. Though she must have had many blood draws given her past medical history, I hadn’t held her for a single one. And I couldn’t have been more surprised as Mila didn’t flinch. She didn’t cry. She just sat there and watched. The nurses were just as shocked as I was.
“¡Gracias a Dios!” one exclaimed as the other talked soothingly to Mila. “¡Muñeca, eres muy fuerte!” They filled several vials with a small amount, withdrew the needle, and put a bandaid on her arm. I exhaled a huge sigh of relief as Mila and I exited the double doors, passed the long crowd still waiting outside, and found our van.
There were many more appointments over the days and weeks that passed. We kept trekking along until one day we got a message that our adoption decree would be ready. So many months of work. So many documents and appointments. So many firsts with our new child. And on June 2, 2021, Mila became officially ours. And that’s when room 504 at Park 101 hotel turned into a party room.
My meticulous overpacking of craft supplies became useful as we decorated. We had balloons and streamer. We made hats and signs. We had party blowers and cake. We video called family to join our celebration. And Mila loved every minute.
She couldn’t have known what had just happened. But Mila smiled and laughed. She ran repeatedly into Brandon’s arms for him to soar her up high.
We went to bed that night joyfully tired. We still had a ways to go before we could bring her home, but she was ours. June 2 is a new holiday added to our calendar, and surely every year as we party and celebrate her adoption, we will go to bed thanking God for his goodness in allowing Mila to be a part of our family. For it bears repeating those beautiful words of the embassy doctor if I could only remember. Something about angels and blessings, but it’s all true. She is such a gift.
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