#korean adoptee

story and illustration by KAM REDLAWSK

As young as age 8, I was envisioning my future child—namely, a daughter. I remember having such love for her and a strong curiosity about her.

It wasn’t the typical stuff like, “What is she going to be when she grows up?” but, “Who is she going to be?” I’d have visions of a happy, vivacious, independent, strong, curious, sassy and loving person—all the characteristics I admired in female figures I read about as a kid.

Despite this abstract, if constant, love I had for a child I never met, I was not in a rush to get married and have children as I grew older. My goal was to put myself through school, travel, build a career and gain a sense of who I was before bringing a child into the world. I just hadn’t realized having children would no longer be an option for me.

Since I was 20, I’ve lived with an extremely rare genetic condition that slowly takes away the use of my muscles. At this stage, I am confined to a wheelchair: I can no longer walk or stand due to progressive loss of my upper body muscles, including my hands, arms, shoulders, fingers and neck. To physically carry and give birth to a child today would destroy my body and most likely advance my weakness more quickly. While there is the option of surrogacy, it is expensive, not to mention financially unrealistic for my husband Jason and I to be assisted by a full-time nanny and caretaker. Adoption or fostering is a possibility down the road, which would make beautiful sense since we are both adoptees, but it greatly depends on our own stability, the progression of my condition and whether or not it’s realistic to care for a child in spite of my future quadriplegia.

No matter how positively I spin my condition, it is a lifelong roadblock that has eliminated or greatly limited so many of my life plans. I feel as if my disability stifles who I really want to be and my best efforts to live adventurously.

As a 36-year-old woman, I won’t lie and say it isn’t difficult knowing that it is nearly impossible for me to have a child. It breaks my heart because it’s another example of a choice taken away from me—only this one hurts more than I could ever explain or describe.

Read full article here.