It was January 24, 2002, just seven weeks after her adoption and beginning her new life in America, that my daughter Alena was diagnosed with Mucopolysaccharidosis (MPS).
I felt as if I’d been run over by a train. It was the worst day of my life. I had no idea that her runny nose, her slight heart murmur, her small statute, her little hands, her big blue eyes, and that button nose held anything that could not be corrected or fixed.
And, I did not know or understand the magnitude of what was to come.