Imagine one day waking up and finding that you had no legs. And when you asked what happened to your legs you were told, be grateful. Imagine being 17 years old and finding your adoption papers.
That's what happened to me.
It was like putting my face into a fire hot enough to melt glass. My world melted.
But I eventually tracked my birthmother down and my wonderful sister. An older sister who at 9 was my primary caregiver for nearly two years and who suffered miserably when I was given up.
It was an illegal adoption. Many are. And the family that adopted me managed to avoid the roadblocks that would've kept them from adopting through normal channels.
Adopted persons have every right to their history, but many people don't think so. That's because they're not adopted. They've never had to listen to a doctor say, "Your child has a genetic condition. What can you tell me about your family's history?" Because like the fire chief, I heard those words. And the sorrow that cracks through you, well, imagine a fire hot enough to melt glass.