Written by Molly Thorsen Connolly
Molly Connolly is a new parent after adopting a son with her husband, John, earlier this year. After years of trying to have a child, she and John found a birth mother through Facebook after discussing their struggle on the service. This is their story.
On Dec. 30 at 11 p.m., my husband and I were sitting in our basement watching TV. We were both feeling worn out and dejected and were trying to numb our anxiety. I had just recovered from the flu and was feeling guilty about not going home to spend time with my father, who was in the hospital following a serious brain injury and possibly would not live to see the New Year.
The decision to stay in Chicago, as opposed to traveling to Minnesota, was not just based on the fact that I was so sick that I could barely get out of bed. My husband and I were also in the process of adopting a baby boy who was due on Jan. 17. Just three months earlier, we had connected with our birth mother, Valerie, through a group we created on Facebook.
Over Christmas we spoke to Valerie, who had also been in the hospital and doctors were speculating that she might have Crohn’s disease. In addition to this diagnosis, which was causing her extreme discomfort and dehydration, the doctors were monitoring her for possible cervical cancer.
Since our communication with Valerie was sporadic at best, we had no idea how she was doing. She lived in Florida and we had only met her once. Recently, when she did contact us, sounding weak and in pain, she wouldn’t tell us how she was doing, but instead told us that the baby was OK. “Don’t worry about the baby, Molly,” she would say. “He’s fine. They keep checking him and there is nothing wrong with him.”
The only thing that might happen with the baby is the doctors might have to deliver him early. We felt horrible that we couldn’t do anything for Valerie and her pain all the way in Chicago, and we also knew that we might be called at any time to go to Florida.
While John was flipping channels, trying to find something else for us to watch, I struggled to give us both a pep talk.
“She said that at worst, the doctor will induce labor on Jan 25, and she then has a three-day waiting period before she can sign the papers. So, really within 28 days, we will know. We can wait 28 days, right? It’s been years. We can do 28 days,” I said.
I remember John staring at me. Usually at this point he would jump in and we would try to psych ourselves up. “Sure! 28 days! That’s nothing!” he would say.
But this time, he looked pensive. He looked sad. He took an audible deep breath. He looked directly at me, his blue eyes looked dark, his mouth turned down in a frown.
“Do we need to start talking about what we do if this falls through?” he asked.
I closed my eyes. I didn’t want to think about it. At this point, I thought my answer would be no. I didn’t think I could go through it again. The years of “trying”, the medical procedures, the miscarriage and the failed adoption a year before–it was too much.
I opened my eyes and was about to speak when the phone rang. We both jumped. John picked up the phone and checked the caller ID.
“It’s Michael!” he said. His eyes were wide with surprise. (Michael is Valerie’s stepfather who had been in touch with us throughout the adoption effort.)
“Pick it up!” I said. I gestured to the phone anxiously.
“Hello?” John answered. He put the phone on speaker.
“Are you ready to be a daddy?” Michael asked. His voice was filled with excitement and he continued, “Valerie is on her way to the hospital right now. I hope your bags are packed!”
After John hung up the phone, I wish I could have captured the look on both of our faces with words. I have never felt a jolt of relief, disbelief and utter wonder all at once. We both started laughing.
“Really? Is this really it?” I finally said.
In the next few minutes we had a flurry of additional phone calls from Michael and a call from Valerie’s mother, Dawn, who we later learned was driving 90 miles per hour in order to get to the hospital. We could hear Valerie in the background moaning in pain and then Dawn held the phone up so we could hear Valerie.
“I’m sorry!” she wailed. “I wanted you to be here but I’m not gonna make it! I’m so sorry!” She screamed between waves of pain.
“Honey! Just get the hospital and don’t you think twice about us. We are on our way and we’ll get there as soon as we can!”
As soon as we hung up, the whole situation became a comedy routine. We both jumped up and kept bumping into each other.
“You check flights!”
“I’ll pack!”
“Call Patrick about the dogs!”
“We need that car seat from Ann!”
“What are we going to do about our car?”
John called and woke up his 20-year-old nephew who hopped in his car without a second thought to come take care of the house and dogs. I ran around upstairs packing for us, my mind completely blank on what to pack for a three-week trip to Florida in January.
When I arrived in Florida, I opened my suitcase to find not one, but two bathing suits, two wool sweaters, two T-shirts (again for 21 days), 13 pairs of black socks and little else.
John booked two one-way tickets for us to Orlando at a reasonable price.
“Honey this is great,” I said as I looked at the one-way, direct flights. “Except it is for NEXT WEEK!” We scrambled to rebook.
Since the baby would only be 3 weeks old when we left Orlando, we were advised that even if an airline would let him fly, it was not safe to fly with him especially because it was the height of flu season.
We sent a text message to our neighbor who came by at midnight with a car seat for us. We called John’s sister and asked her if she and her husband would drive our car to Orlando if we flew them home. They said yes without the slightest hesitation.
And then at 1 a.m., the phone rang again, and it was Michael. “Check your email mom and dad. I just sent you a picture of your baby boy!”
Epilogue
The most amazing thing for John and me was the flurry of excitement and joy in the days that followed. The core of our story however, is that our birth mother, the woman who brought our darling son into our lives, found us on Facebook.
In marketing ourselves as adoptive parents, we created a group on Facebook in July of 2009 called, “John and Molly looking to Adopt” and we asked our friends and family to join. Our Facebook group linked to our adoption website, www.johnandmolly.net, as well as to our adoption agency.
Back in October, when Valerie decided she was going to place her child for adoption, she asked her mother to assist her in finding a family. Her mother, Dawn, searched for “looking to adopt” and our Facebook group came up in her web search results.
From there, Dawn was able to see our group and link to our page, and subsequently recommend us to Valerie.
Looking back, it’s clear the availability of our public Facebook group in search engines was a key ingredient to our success. But more than that, Facebook provided a way for Dawn and Valerie to see more about who we were because we were open about some information about ourselves on our profiles
They were able to see that we had over 150 friends who supported our adoption efforts and were rooting for us to be parents. They were able to read on the group page about how difficult it had been for us when an earlier adoption fell through, and see how our friends had posted encouragement and support to keep trying.
And when the wonderful day came, when Valerie placed her baby boy in our arms and entrusted us to raise him, we were able to share the good news and pictures instantly with our dear friends on Facebook.
When we returned home to Chicago there were dozens of cards and presents waiting for us. The most amazing thing to me is this event put me in touch with friends from every phase of our lives who were watching the news unfold on Facebook—elementary school through college, previous work colleagues , clients, neighbors, even complete strangers who were friends of friends.
The community of support we achieved, using Facebook, is not just what helped us to find our birthmother, but also what provided us the emotional support to continue our adoption efforts in the first place.
We are grateful to our friends and family, and the wonderful people at Family Resource Center in Chicago and Heart of Adoptions in Florida . We are thankful that we live in an age where communication helped make our miracle come true.
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