Stories of Adoption

Born in Our Hearts
by Filis Casey

A heartwarming collection of true stories that weave a rich tapestry of the adoption experience from many different perspectives: birthmothers, adoptive parents and grandparents, and adopted children and adults. These inspiring stories reveal the challenges and joys of the lifelong adoption journey including: the pain of letting go of a child; the wonderment of meeting “your” perfect child halfway around the world; the challenges of adopting an older child already set in his ways; watching a child's potential flourish in a loving environment; sibling rivalry and eventual bonding; integrating a child's culture into a new multiracial family; finding peace in the search for identity, roots and unanswered questions; and feeling the happiness and love that comes from forming a family.

While each story is unique, the emotions conveyed are universal: love, loss, hope and joy.

The collection will appeal to everyone affected by adoption, regardless of their phase in the journey.

Stunning black-and-white photos are included.

Facing Loss and Gaining Hope

Journey of Destiny
Keriann Kimball

The story of how I came to be a mother started twenty-two years ago. When my story began, it didn't seem like it would end with a nice, big “happily ever after.” It didn't begin as a story about adoption and destiny. It didn't begin as a story about answered prayers. If you told me as a child that my story would be a testament to the greater plan and the secret granting of a sick girl's prayers, I probably would have laughed. Or cried.

Once upon a time I was six years old. I was laughing carelessly with my sister in our bedroom with the innocence and all-consuming joy that only children can feel. We were giggling and starting to undress for bedtime when my sister pointed at me and screamed. Her scream shattered my childhood and jarred my world into a crooked place. She cried, “What is that? Mommy, come quick! There's something very wrong with Keriann!” I followed the trail of her pointed finger, down to a large bulge on my stomach.

It was determined that the bulge was a hernia. But during a routine operation to repair it, the doctors found a large mass on my ovary, so large that it caused the hernia. A doctor told my parents that their little girl had between six weeks and six months to live. Ovarian cancer is one of the deadliest and most unstoppable forms of the disease, and it is very rare in children. They could do absolutely nothing to help me.

What they could do, the doctor said, was take me home and allow me to live the rest of my days with my family. My parents would not accept this answer. They pleaded and searched for any hope, for any chance to save their six-year-old's life. Finally, a doctor mentioned an experimental study of a chemotherapy drug regimen. Desperate, my parents opted for that lone hope. The next several years of my life were empty of childhood laughter and games with my siblings. Those treasured would-be-memories were replaced with horrific operations and recoveries and two and a half years of biweekly chemotherapy treatments. Those treatments were brutal, a hellish nightmare. The moment the needle hit my vein, I could feel the cold surge of toxins begin to course up my arm and through my little body. I instantly became nauseous and dizzy. This terrible poisoned sensation would last for a full week. Just when I had the strength to walk and hold down food again, Friday would come with a trip to the clinic. The whole sickening cycle would start anew.

I remember my mother during those times, and how she held me, stroked my hair and tried to comfort me. “It's okay to cry, darling,” she told me. “I know you're strong and that you're going to beat this.” She would sing, “Don't stop thinking about tomorrow, don't stop, it'll soon be here.” And my dad always told me, “You are a survivor.” I always thought I was being strong for them, but now I know they were being so incredibly strong for me.

The chemotherapy cycle continued for over two years. I missed school, I missed friends, I missed playing with my brother and sister, I missed eating and feeling strong and being silly. Most of all I missed that last picture of my careless childhood: laughing and changing into pajamas with my sister before bed. All that I had missed-and it was gone forever. But I was alive, and it was time to start living.

The doctors said it was uncertain whether or not I would be able to have children. I did still have one good ovary, and it might be possible for me to be a mother one day. As I developed into a young woman, the remaining ovary seemed to be functioning well, and doctors assumed fertility would not be an issue for me. But in high school I was checked for something called cardiomyopathy, a condition resulting from damage to the heart tissue. The doctors said I had it. I felt fine, but I had to take blood pressure medicine every day as a protective measure. So I carried on with my life, determined to live it my way.

I beca

© 2004 Health Communications, Inc.

About the Author

Filis Casey is the founder and president of The Alliance for Children, the first international adoption agency in Massachusetts. Since its inception, The Alliance has placed more than 4,000 children from countries including China, Latin America, India, Ecuador, Colombia and Russia. She is the mother of two biological children and one adopted child.