Children of Dreams, An Adoption Memoir Read online

  “Thank you, Lord, for giving me this sign.”

  The next day, Sunday, as we gathered in the restaurant for lunch before heading back to Gainesville, there was a raffle. The first prize was a beautifully handmade baby scrapbook.

  I said, “God, if you want me to adopt another child, please let me win this as another sign.” There were at least sixty women in the room. I won it. As I walked up to receive my prize, I had goose bumps. I knew God was speaking to me.

  However, during the next three years as I experienced the darkest hours of my Christian life, no pictures adorned its blank pages. I wondered if I had misheard God. Why was I going through this trial?

  When I told people that I was hoping to start proceedings on a second adoption, only my dear friend Sylvia encouraged me to pursue my dreams. Her words were like a sweet, soothing balm to my aching, crying heart. She never swayed in her encouragement to not give up.

  In the spring of 1997, when Manisha was a kindergartner, I proceeded with my adoption plans, sending in my paperwork to begin the process and half of the $12,000 required to submit the application. I had my home study updated and we began the “waiting game” in anticipation of another little girl joining our family sometime in the near future.

  On a trip to Atlanta, I had my fingerprints done while visiting my extended family. A month later they were returned rejected. Over the course of the next eight months, my fingerprints were redone three more times; at the Gainesville Police Department, the Alachua County Sheriff’s Office, and a fourth time at the Immigration and Naturalization Center in Jacksonville. It took eight months to get them approved.

  In the meantime, an opportunity landed unexpectedly in my lap as a brand new career was emerging on the scene. Broadcast captioning up to that point had been done on a limited scale by just a handful of companies in the nation. I had taken a test with the National Captioning Institute to see if I would meet their entry level to become a real-time broadcast captioner.

  Sometimes we commit to things without knowing how much work is involved. Closed captioning was one of those things. It took hours of painstaking effort over the next five months to pass their on-air test, all while working full time and single parenting.

  In my commitment to complete the captioning training and get on-air by December 1997, I had not paid a lot of attention to Manisha’s schoolwork. I didn’t realize how far behind she was until the end of first grade.

  One day, on a rare occasion, she rode the bus home. I had walked up the street to meet her as she hopped off the steps. She handed me some papers and took off skipping down the street toward our house. I glanced through the papers and among them were her test scores from the Iowa skills.

  The results were in the bottom percentile. Glen Springs Elementary had enclosed an application for her to attend summer school to help her achieve grade level before she began second grade in the fall.

  I was devastated. I felt like I had failed her. How could I not have been aware? In the back of my mind, I also remembered what I had told myself. If there were health problems or school problems, I wouldn’t do another adoption. I had failed the first grade as a child and I couldn’t let it happen to her.

  Over a year had passed since I had begun the application process. Due to all the glitches, my I 600 Petition to Classify an Orphan as an Immediate Relative still had not been approved. Many problems caused my documents to be redone multiple times. By March 1st, I had not received anything even remotely resembling a referral.

  I began to have doubts if this was what God wanted me to do. In my heart, I felt like God had led me to begin the process. Why would He lead me down this road and abandon me now?

  I had Manisha tested by a private school psychologist to get more information on her poor school performance. I received a comprehensive psychological evaluation a few weeks later. Based on the results, I knew there was only one choice. I would join the ranks of homeschoolers.

  I gathered as much information as I could from friends at my church about homeschooling. I was a newbie, clueless as to how to do it or what materials to use.

  I drove to Orlando to attend the Florida Homeschooling Convention in May. When I arrived, the parking lot was so full I couldn’t park on site. As I walked through the front door, it seemed like every homeschooling parent in Florida was there. I was completely overwhelmed.

  I went to the Exhibit Hall where hundreds of exhibitors had every possible book or curriculum a homeschooler would want. I came away with one overwhelming feeling. God had called me to homeschool Manisha. I didn’t know how I would do it working two jobs, single parenting, and trying to prepare for a second child, but somehow I would do it.

  I joined a Christian homeschool group with experienced parents and absorbed as much as I could from their mistakes, their successes, and tried to be patient.

  In April of 1998, we received a referral for a four year old little girl. I briefly thought about it but my gut reaction was I wanted a younger child. I never received any pictures.

  In June, we took a vacation at the beach and my mother joined us in Jacksonville. Shortly before we left, I received a referral for a baby around ten months old. I was excited about the referral, but the adoption agency called me back soon afterwards and told me the baby tested positive for hepatitis B. I didn’t know a lot about hepatitis B but the idea scared me.

  I spent the vacation debating whether this was the baby God wanted me to have. The thought of homeschooling Manisha and having a baby with a significant medical condition seemed a little overwhelming.

  Upon returning from vacation, I reluctantly called the adoption agency back and told them that I wasn’t at peace about adopting a baby with hepatitis. I didn’t like the idea of full disclosure to daycare centers and the thought of being shunned by others.

  We had been homeschooling for a few weeks and Manisha was making good progress. I had hired a reading tutor during the summer that came once or twice a week and worked with her. I tried to imitate the skills the tutor used so I could be a more effective teacher.

  When the hot Florida days of summer came to an end, we received our next referral, Thi My-Sa, in August. I was certain this must be the child that God had for our family because she was dark-complexioned like Manisha and could easily have passed for her sister. The pictures showed her sitting in a crib in an institutionalized setting. She had a sad demeanor and my heart was touched. She was observed being beaten at a grocery store and was rescued by onlookers.

  I hoped things would move quickly and we could bring her home soon. I prayed for her daily and began to prepare for her arrival, but soon affliction would pierce my heart.

  Chapter Seventeen

  …Who comforts us in all our tribulation

  II Corinthians 1:4

  On one Saturday afternoon, I heard that Disney was coming to the O’Connell Center to perform The Wizard of Oz on Ice.

  I purchased tickets for the two of us. After a few weeks of homeschooling, I thought it would be a nice reward for Manisha’s hard work.

  Saturday arrived for The Wizard of Oz on Ice and I picked out a cute matching pair of shorts and top with ruffles for Manisha.

  “Can I bring my American doll, Mommy?” She asked.

  Usually I didn’t want to have to keep up with the things she would later discard, but this day I told her that would be fine.

  She dressed her American girl doll, Josefina, in clothes similar to what she was wearing, brushed her doll’s long black hair, and made her look as beautiful as she was.

  I drove to the O’Connell Center about twenty minutes from our house and parked our car at the far end of the packed parking lot. Manisha brought Josefina along as we walked up to the ticket booth. She walked over and sat down on a brick wall nearby as if she were tired. I waited in a long line to hand the attendant our tickets. A few minutes later we headed through the crowded doors. I purchased a brochure, some popcorn and Cokes. We found our seats toward the back on the second level of the blea
chers.

  The Wizard of Oz on Ice opened to flashing green and red lasers sweeping the ice with floodlights shining on the ice-skaters in spectacular choreography. I was totally absorbed in the show. I glanced at Manisha occasionally to see if she was enjoying it as much as I was.

  It was near the end of the show and someone tapped me on my back. I glanced around and didn’t see who did it. They tapped a second time and I turned around and still couldn’t see who did it. The third time they tapped me, I was growing tired of the annoyance. Then I noticed a woman pointing at Manisha.

  I glanced at Manisha and it took me a moment to realize something was wrong. At first, I thought she was just staring off to the corner of the gymnasium. I glanced at where she was staring but there was nothing there. When I looked more closely, I realized there was a pool of something beside her, like water, and she wasn’t moving. I called to her and she didn’t respond. I shook her and she didn’t respond. I grabbed her, my purse, the doll, and tried to pick her up, but I couldn’t carry her and everything else.

  The woman behind me that had been tapping me took Manisha from me and I gathered our things and quickly headed for the exit. The sound from the show was deafening and we fell over people in the dark trying to make our way out. It was difficult to find the exit because the seats had been rearranged and people were overflowing in the aisles. Manisha was frozen as if in a stupor.

  We eventually found our way out. My new friend gently laid Manisha down on the floor. She was wet from urinating on herself. The woman looked at me and said, “I’m a neurology nurse and your daughter has had a seizure.”

  A security guard from the O’Connell Center ran over and the nurse told him to call 911. I crouched down beside her on the floor as she lay on her back, eyes fixated in a frozen, unblinking stare. Time stood still. I could hardly think. I wished I had a husband. I had to face something traumatic and I was going to have to do it alone.

  “Where are you, God?” I cried out.

  A few minutes later I heard sirens screaming. Three paramedics burst through the doors, ran over and took Manisha’s pulse

  “She’s still alive,” one of them said. “She has a pulse.” They began asking me a myriad of questions.

  “Has she ever had a seizure? Does she have a medical condition?” Has this ever happened?”

  Manisha began to come to and looked at me sleepily. Then she began vomiting.

  The paramedic asked me, “Which hospital do you want us to take her to?” They turned her over so she didn’t choke on her own vomit.

  I had an anxiety attack.

  “You have got to stay calm. Your daughter needs you to be calm. You can’t lose it now,” the paramedics admonished me.

  I tried hard to hold back tears.

  In the depths of my soul, I again cried out to God, “Where are you? Where are you when I need you most?”

  The silence was deafening.

  The Wizard of Oz on Ice had ended and the security guards cordoned the area off to the exiting crowds.

  The EMTs brought a gurney over, put Manisha on it, rolled her outside, and loaded her into the waiting ambulance.

  “Shands,” I said. Shands Hospital was the University of Florida Teaching Hospital. We could be there in a couple of minutes.

  Manisha was crying and disoriented. The paramedic put an IV in her wrist, but she resisted and lashed out in pain. I sat beside her in the ambulance to comfort her. We pulled out of the parking lot with the siren blaring.

  When we arrived, they took her out of the ambulance and wheeled her in.

  “We need your insurance card,” the lady in the emergency room said. I gave them Manisha’s card while they took her down the hall.

  “Mommy,” I could hear her crying. She didn’t want to lose me. She lay on the gurney watching me, agitated and scared.

  Manisha’s clothes were soaked through. I called my good friend, Laura, told her what had happened, and asked if she could bring Manisha a change of clothes. She promised to be there shortly.

  The doctors came in and out, taking vital signs and asking me various questions. They tried to reassure me. “Probably the lasers from the show caused her to have a seizure. Everybody is allowed one unexplained seizure.” It was probably nothing, they said, but they wanted to do a CAT scan to make sure.

  I prayed there wasn’t anything on the CAT scan. I had enough medical background from working as a court reporter and my dad’s glioblastoma to know that Manisha’s condition was serious. If there was something on the CAT scan, I couldn’t think of anything it could be but a brain tumor. As they continued to examine Manisha, I recounted her adoption from Nepal four years earlier.

  I remembered Proverbs 13:12 and recited the verse to them: “Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but when dreams come true at last, there is life and joy,” and reiterated “life and joy” to make sure they heard it, but they said nothing.

  The orderly pushed Manisha’s gurney over to the CAT scan room. I had found a pay phone and called my mother.

  Her first comment was, “Do you know what day this is?”

  I remembered what day it was. September 18th. Four years to the day and almost to the hour, my father had died of a brain tumor. It was about 5:00 p.m. It was too surreal.

  She promised to get the first flight out of Atlanta that she could. After the CAT scan had been done I heard the nurse calling for a doctor.

  “A doctor will be with you shortly,” she said and walked out. I knew something was wrong and snuck over to look at the scan.

  There was something big and glowing. I nearly collapsed from fear, but the nurse returned and chastised me for being there. She quickly escorted me out without answering any of my questions.

  Manisha called for me, and I hurried to the CAT scan machine where she was still lying.

  “I love you and everything will be okay,” I told her holding back tears. I looked into her eyes wondering what was inside her head that had caused this evil and horrible thing to happen.

  I prayed, “Dear, God, please don’t let her die.”

  A few minutes later Laura arrived with her husband, Dr. Jay Lynch, an oncologist at Shands. They each gave me a hug. Their presence meant so much because I wasn’t sure I could go it alone. Jay left to discuss with the doctors what was on the scan. Laura handed me some clean, dry clothes and I discarded the ones that were soiled.

  My world, as I had known it, had been turned completely on its head. One moment I had a happy, healthy seven year old daughter that I loved more than anything in the world. The next moment, I feared she might die.

  A pediatric neurologist had been called in to meet with me and discuss Manisha’s case. Jay had returned.

  “I want to do some research on something and I’ll be back a little later,” Jay said.

  One of the nurses dripped something into her IV and walked out leaving me alone with her. Suddenly she started itching violently. I ran out of the room trying to grab someone’s attention.

  “Please come help my daughter,” I cried. “Something is wrong. Please come now.”

  One of the nurses ran in and stopped running the IV.

  “What is in the IV?” One of the doctor’s asked.

  “Dilantin.”

  “She must be allergic to the Dilantin. We’ll have to use something else.”

  After that, Manisha settled down and rested more comfortably. I was shaking and scared.

  “Please God,” I cried, “Don’t let anything else happen.”

  A short while later Dr. Kohrman, a pediatric neurologist, walked in. He was warm and engaging and his demeanor helped to put me at ease. He told me he had looked at the scans and wasn’t sure what was going on.

  Dr. Kohrman performed a neurological evaluation on Manisha. About that time Dr. Lynch returned. He and Dr. Kohrman discussed Manisha’s scans in doctor lingo as I sat and listened.

  Along with the neurological evaluation, Dr. Kohrman took a medical history. I told him how I had adopted Manish
a when she was three from Nepal. She had chronic diarrhea when she arrived and had undergone testing to determine the cause, but nothing definitive ever showed up. It had eventually gone away with good nutrition.

  She also had a stool sample with parasites, but they were never able to confirm what was there because the second stool sample was negative.

  I came to appreciate how important the medical history was along with a medical examination. Both Dr. Lynch and Dr. Kohrman agreed they weren’t sure what it was, but considering Manisha’s background coming from a third world country, there was a possibility she had something called neurocysticerosis.

  Anything that wasn’t cancer had to be a better diagnosis, I thought.

  “What is that?” I asked.

  Dr. Kohrman explained, “Neurocysticerosis is a parasitic infection of the nervous system. It is caused by the larvae of the tapeworm, Taenia solium, normally found in pork. When the larval cysts travel to the brain, either the invasion of the organism or the death of the organism can cause symptoms, oftentimes seizures.”

  “Of course, we must be sure of what we’re dealing with,” he went on. “If it’s a brain tumor, she’ll need surgery. We will need to admit her so we can work her up.”

  I had always found uncertainty difficult. To have my child have something serious and not know what it was caused me excruciating pain. Jay took me into a private room away from the bustle of the emergency area and gave me words of encouragement and prayed for Manisha. I was thankful to have a Christian doctor and friend interceding for us.

  Around midnight we were admitted to a room on the ninth floor of Shands Teaching Hospital. The ninth floor had two wings. One wing was for pediatric transplant patients and the other one was for pediatric oncology. We were assigned a room on the oncology wing. It was a nice, private room with a private bathroom.

  My good friend, Sylvia Murphy, arrived late that evening from being out of town and offered to stay the night with me. I was thankful not to have to spend the night alone. My mother would be arriving the next day.