To state the obvious, this has been an interesting month. It began with me looking forward to entering the world of the retired in about 8 weeks. Now, I’m preparing to fight cancer.
Surprise!
On top of that, I’ve been struggling with some kind of virus that’s kicking my butt. I have slept maybe an hour out of the last 36. Coughing, hacking, and not being able to breathe have helped that. Then, there’s the stress and anxiety of dealing with the cancer. Doesn’t lend itself to a restful night’s sleep.
Yesterday, I met with the surgeon who is going to treat me. We talked about the results of the CT Scan. That proved to be interesting. In the report I read, it noted that there were a few small spots on my liver that were too small to identify. The doc said that these are most likely simply cysts that are completely normal. But, there’s always a “but,” he wants to be sure. That means I get to have an MRI before they do the surgery. Now, if the spots on my liver turn out to be cysts, or some other innocuous thing, then surgery goes on as scheduled. If, however, they are not then the surgery’s off and we begin chemo.
Yippee.
We won’t know for 2 more weeks. More waiting and not knowing.
I also saw my cardiologist. He needs to give me clearance to have anesthesia. He ordered a nuclear stress test. Another layer of Pain In The Ass.
The surgeon’s office gave me a folder full of instructions that I must follow to the letter before the procedure. I thought prepping for a colonoscopy was interesting. I ain’t seen nothin’ yet.
By the time I got home from seeing these docs I just wanted to jump up and down and scream, “F#@K!, F#@K!, F#@K!, F#@K!, F#@K!” and break things. I’m frustrated, angry, sad, bummed, anxious, scared, and a myriad other emotions. I know that this is a normal reaction to this kind of, what?, disruption?
No one plans for these things.
It’s part of being human.
We hit bumps in the road. (Or, in this case, the road ends and you fly over the cliff).
I’ll get through this.
But, c’mon already!
Sorry. This has been my rant for the day. Hopefully, now I can get some sleep.
I’ve written about this before. In the movie, “Brother Sun; Sister Moon,” there is a line spoken by the character of St. Francis that goes something like, “Words. I used to believe in words.” The implied meaning being that words no longer have meaning to him. While, in the context of that story I can see what that screenwriter was trying to do, elevate action above mere talk, I find that I can’t necessarily agree with the sentiment.
Words are important. They convey meaning from speaker to hearer. Words can start and end wars. They can also sooth and calm those who are distressed.
So, I place a great deal of importance on words. As a wannabe Wordsmith, I try to choose the appropriate words and fashion them in such a way that the idea I am trying to communicate is done with clarity and meaning.
I know that it’s hard in this day of Instant Messaging and e-mail to put much stock in clear communication. We want to hit that ‘Send’ button as quickly as possible. It’s our texting version of trying to get a word in “edge-wise.” We want to make sure that ours is the last word spoken. After all, our own opinion is the best and most important.
It concerns me, then, how those to whom we look for information and enlightenment are so bad at using Words. (Yeah, I’m looking at you @BetsyKling! “Nother” is NOT a word!) We have become a semi-literate culture that emasculates the language. Then, we wonder why we are misunderstood.
I admit that I don’t always get words right. I may choose one that is not clear in meaning. I may string together sentences that don’t make sense. That doesn’t mean that I don’t see the importance of clear communication.
That brings me to the actual topic of this post. (Yeah, I know, you are all waiting for me to make a real point. Here it comes.)
Yesterday, I received the preliminary results of a CT Scan that I had done last week. The docs wanted to see if the cancer in my colon had spread, or metastasized, to any other part of my body. The report reads, ” NO DEFINITE METASTATIC DISEASE IN THE ABDOMEN OR PELVIS.”
At first blush, this is a beautiful statement. The cancer is still contained in the original location. Cool! Let’s go in there and pull that sucker out! Let’s do it NOW!!!
But, our language is strange sometimes. Look closely at the above statement from the report.
What, exactly, does “DEFINITE” mean? To me, that’s a qualifier. It tells me that there may, in fact, BE some kind of spreading that they simply are not able confirm definitively.
See how words work?
I really wish that they would have written, “No Metastatic Disease Present.” Or, even, Yes, there is evidence of it.
Now, my mind is thrust back into the land of Not Knowing.
Maybe this is normal for people who are diagnosed with a disease like cancer. Our minds may simply kick into gear and continually ask, “But, what if?”
I guess we’ll find out for sure soon. I meet with a surgeon later this week to determine what next steps must be taken.
Until then, I guess there’s no definite resolution to this.
Here we are. It’s Monday again. You know, that day that comes after a weekend. It happens every week about this time. Folks bemoan it, “Oh, man! I gotta get up and go to work! I wanna Sleep!” Others are a tad more bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, “Yay! A new week! Let’s Go!!!”
For most of us, it’s just another day in a long string of days that sort of blur together.
This Monday marks one week since I had that colonoscopy thing that revealed cancer.
And, I really don’t know how or what to feel about that.
The first couple of days my gut was tied up in knots. I couldn’t eat or sleep. My mind racing all over the place. “What’s next?” “How do I fight this?” “Why me?” I didn’t fall into that category of people who try to deny the reality of their illness. I was ready to put up my fists and kick some ass.
But, I was in that Betwixt and Between place of knowing and not knowing. I knew something was not right…but, not for sure. The doc said that it was probably cancer. Probably. I waited four days in that place until I got the official word. Yep, cancer. Now, even though I now know kind of what I’m up against, I still must wait. I had a CT Scan to see if the cancer has spread. Waiting on results. I have a date with a surgeon. Waiting for that day.
Living in this Twilight World is hard. My heart goes out to those of you who have already experienced this. It’s no longer day. It’s not quite night. It’s something else.
So, no, I don’t know how I should feel right now. After the initial shock I guess that I just feel numb.
Not denial. Just numb. Not angry. Still numb. Not really anxious. Numb again.
As an aside, this is really an interesting dive into what’s involved with being human. I’ll post more thoughts on that later. For now, I do appreciate your consideration during this time. Those whom I trust I know will walk with me. The rest? I hope that they will be moved to care for themselves and their loved ones.
LOS ANGELES – JANUARY 8: Patrick Stewart as Captain Jean-Luc Picard in the STAR TREK: THE NEXT GENERATION episode, “The Hunted.” Season 3, episode 11. Original air date, January 8, 1990. (Photo by CBS via Getty Images)
First, I want to say Thank You for your gracious outpouring of support. I do appreciate it a lot.
The main reason that I want to share what’s happening with me with all of you is to emphasize the importance of screening and preventive measures. Colon cancer is extremely common. And, it’s one of the most treatable cancers. That is, if it’s caught early enough. (Hopefully, mine has. We’ll see next week.) Yet, even though these facts are true, many, if not most, people will never get tested. I don’t mean those mail-in poop-scoop tests that are advertised on T.V. While any action is good, the only truly accurate way to detect the illness is by colonoscopy. You may say, “Ewww! They stick a camera up your butt!!!” Well, yeah they do. They also give you versed. That alone may be worth the test.
People complain about the costs involved. Those without health insurance are afraid. Right now, I believe that the basic test is considered a Wellness Visit. So, there’s no copay and whatever insurance you do have covers the entire cost. Now, if there’s any kind of treatment that must be done, like pathology or any complications, you may be liable for that.
But, what are the consequences of NOT getting tested?
Actually, for a lot of folks there will be none. They will never have any issues at all. Good for you all! You’ll also never know for sure, will you?
For the rest of us? Colon cancer kills. That’s the alternative of not getting tested. By the time symptoms become too great to ignore, it’s likely too late to treat successfully.
So, the point of all of this?
If I am one of the fortunate who can be successfully treated and become cancer free, then I hope this story encourages you to see a doc soon. Especially, if you are high risk. Ask your doc what that means or do a simple Google search on risk factors. Then, we can celebrate my success together.
If, however, I find that things have turned sour and I’m not one of the successful ones, then I hope that what I share will: 1) Still encourage you to get screened. DO IT!!! 2) share with you the inevitable part of our human journey that none of us gets a pass on.
In any case, I really hope to be encouraging through all of this. If my experience helps anyone else avoid this, then Yay! And, I expect that sharing this will be therapeutic for me. Processing the whirlwind of facts and feelings can be overwhelming. Sharing these, writing them down, helps me to sort through them and manage them more effectively.
So, if you would be so kind, Follow this blog for updates. Feel free to comment your own thoughts and feelings. Particularly, if you’re impacted by something yourself.
So, now, let’s get started! In the words of Captain Jean-Luc Picard…
I shared a few weeks ago that I will soon be joining the ranks of the Retired. After nearly 50 years working in commercial printing, I’m hanging up my computer. I will be spending more time with, well, this computer. We have been working to prepare for this. Getting the finances squared away; signing up for medicare; gloating about it to my co-workers. You know, all of the important stuff.
And, things seem to be progressing nicely.
But, as with most things in life, the things that we don’t see are the ones that tend to impact us most. We try our best to prepare for every contingency. What if the water heater blows up the day after I retire? Can we pay for a new one? Check! How about the car? Check on that, too!
How about your health? Well, I’ve got that dicey cardiac thing pretty much under control. So, yeah, Check!
What about your cancer?
Wha?!? Who?!? What cancer?
The cancer that’s been growing in your colon, dummy!
But, I don’t have any cancer!!! I eat right and exercise and don’t engage in high risk activities! I even get regular colonoscopies to make sure that nothing’s happening!
Well, you did skip a year and a half. Right? You were supposed to have a scope in 2018. But, no, there was something else going on. And, the previous two scopes had been clear. Nothing to worry about. Right?
Wrong!
This past Monday I went in for my routine, but belated, colonoscopy. I wrote a bit about it here. Afterwards, the Doc came in to give us the results. There were a few polyps. No biggie. They snip them off and we’re good to go. There was something else, though. A mass in the ascending colon. They took a biopsy and sent it to pathology. The doc, however, was pretty sure what we were looking at. Cancer.
Yesterday I received the results of the pathology. Yep, suspicions confirmed.
Not how I had planned to begin my retirement. Hell, not in any plans for anything at all! But, there you go. The things you don’t see are the ones that can derail you.
What now?
Today I go for a CT Scan to see if this bugger has spread. Hopefully, no. We have hopefully caught it early enough that it is self-contained. If it has not spread, then next week I meet with a surgeon to go over how they will remove it. The best case is that they will take it out and I will live happily ever after. The way things are going, though, I’m not overly confident.
Right now I am consumed by conflicting emotions. I don’t know what I feel. I don’t know how I SHOULD feel! I know there are folks out there who have experienced exactly what I am. I don’t want to be a whiner and do the whole, “Woe is me!” thing. Especially when you are dealing with far worse.
But, we each process things in our own way.
My way is going to be to process it here. I want to share this experience. Well, not SHARE it. I can assure you that you do not want this! I want to share my experience with you. What’s happening physically? The tests and the doc’s reports and surgery. All the good stuff that cancer patients get to have. What’s going on emotionally? What thoughts and feelings are racing around in my head…my body. It looks to be a roller coaster ride that rivals anything at Cedar Point. What is this doing to form me Spiritually? Where is Yahweh in all of this? IS Yahweh in ANY of this?
So, for the next little while I’m going to write about these things. Sure, I’ll still write the other stuff, too. But, this is important right here; right now.
I invite you to come along with me on this journey! Lord knows that I can’t walk it alone. Your company is appreciated. I also encourage you to share this and invite others to come along. This is part of our shared human experience. So, Please, share on your social media, at the dinner table, with co-workers…anyone and everyone.
Hopefully, in a little while I’ll be able to share with you OUR victory over this thing.
It’s odd how certain thoughts and ideas pop into your head. Churning and turning over and over and over…. See how the myriad facets of that thought present their varying colors and perspectives. Sewing themselves into the fabric of your mind. Amazing!
What does that have to do with anything? Well, this morning my mind wandered to how one generation’s life and experience influence those that follow. I know that this is something that we in the West don’t often consider. We think that each person is an individual who is capable of building her life on her own. Through hard work and grit people can slough off any and all encumbrances and create a successful life…for themselves.
But, is that an entirely accurate idea?
I’m not so sure.
My Dad’s mother died when he was very young. His father remarried. Eventually, his father, an alcoholic, left them and moved away. So, he was raised by his step-mother. It was late in his life when he told me anything about that time in his life. His step-mother was truly a bitch. She abused him in passive-aggressive ways that left lasting scars. As a result, he withdrew into himself. He became known to others by his quietness. His high school yearbook noted that he didn’t say much, but what he said was profound. He never experienced true intimacy with anyone. Yeah, he had a special relationship with my mom. His love was as deep as the ocean. His devotion to her unwavering. But, even with her, he held his feelings close to himself. It seemed that only after his mind began to fail him toward the end of his life that he began to open that long-closed box that contained his heart. Nature and Nurture. Joined to create a New Thing. Dysfunction.
As I wrote before, I was adopted. I was torn from my mother and placed in an institution. I was given to my adoptive parents while still and infant. But, damage was done. All of the experts agree that attachments are necessarily created, bonds of love and trust, at this early age. Although my adoptive parents cared for me, gave me their name, and provided stability and security for me, they will always be at best High Level Foster Parents. It seems that only those who do the adopting consider that their new child is truly theirs. No one who keeps these stats and stories ever really asks those who were adopted. No one seems to really consider our insight into our own lives. I don’t want to take anything away from my mom and dad. They loved me and supported me in their way. I will always have deep gratitude for the life they provided and the sacrifices that they made. But, the ability for me to make intimate links with anyone was diminished. If not totally destroyed. I withdrew into myself. I tried to emulate Mr. Spock. Suppressing my emotions, stuffing my feelings, became my ultimate goal. We all know that’s an impossible task. Rather, my emotions raged like a class 5 hurricane. They found no true or constructive outlet. So, as I worked to contain the storm within, damage was done. Nature and Nurture. Joined to create a new thing. Dysfunction.
Those are two generations in which similar circumstances created similar narratives.
My brain goes to these places as I try to come to grips with dysfunction, not only in my own life, but in my family and among my friends. There is something to the idea of generational influence. For good or ill; better or worse. These are things that we have absolutely no control over. They have been handed to us by those who came first.
We can, however, make choices on how to engage these things. I know that I will never be able to experience a truly intimate relationship with anyone. There are too many issues deeply embedded in my soul to allow that. But, I can push myself to learn new ways to deal with that. The first and perhaps most important way is to be honest with myself about these things. Second, I can learn to forgive those who preceded me. Both the one who gave me away and the ones who took me in. They are no more perfect than I am. I have to be able to extend them the grace to be human. Third, and perhaps most important, I must learn to forgive myself. Because I am acutely aware of my own shortcomings, my own “sin,” it’s easy to find myself swimming in an ocean of guilt and shame. That’s hard. The guilt and shame were truly earned. But, I can’t…I mustn’t…live there. That compounds hurt upon hurt. That leads to death. Spiritual; emotional; physical.
We give too little consideration for anything beyond the tiny sphere in which we live. We think, mistakenly, that we are an individual who is a self-contained entity with no ties to anything outside of ourselves.
Sorry I didn’t get to post anything yesterday. I was a bit, er, well, indisposed. You see, it was time for my quinquennial colonscopy. YIPPEE!!! What Fun!!! What Joy!!!
Why quinquennial? Well, about 15 years ago I had a routine, “You just turned 50. So, it’s time for a scope,” thing. The doc found and removed a couple of polyps. Apparently, that is an automatic advancement to the high-risk queue. So, instead of a routine once-a-decade check, I get to go every 5 years. Lucky me.
Me being Me, however, I skipped my last one. After all, the 2 in between had shown no new polyps. No worries, then. So, even though I was due in 2018, I waited til now. We’ll see if that was a good thing some other time. For now, it is what it is.
Anyway, (I always imagine Ellen crossing her black and white saddle shoes when I write that), Sunday I spent prepping for the procedure. Now, I don’t know how many of you have had the pleasure of this experience. If not, well, you have something special to look forward to. Basically, you get to take some kind of hellish liquid that flushes your system so that the Doc can get a nice, clean view of your colon. I’ve done this a few times before. So, I wasn’t really expecting too much trouble. Expectations aren’t always realized. I began the process about 6 P.M. Sunday. After about an hour things seemed to be progressing nicely. At least, according to plan. Shortly after that optimistic assessment, the nausea kicked in. I gotta tell ya…I don’t remember that last time I was that sick. Both ends. Not fun. And, in the midst of this I finally found out what time I was to report to the facility for the scope. I had planned on an early morning event because Cleveland Clinic’s MyChart told me that it was scheduled for 6 A.M. Well, that was wrong. The actual time was to show up at 11 A.M. for a Noon procedure. Ok, I’m sick. I’m prepping for an early morning scope. I find out that it’s going to be much later.
I went to bed.
So what if Jaylo was on. It was time to sleep.
Well, I got up yesterday feeling much better, thank you very much. I started the last installment of the prep at 8. Thankfully, I didn’t have a repeat of the night before.
We got to the facility on time and waited. My doc was already 30 minutes behind schedule.
This just keeps getting better and better! Right?
Eventually, they took me back.
Versed. What can I say? It’s the best medication ever invented. It, alone, almost makes these trips worthwhile.
Once the Versed began it’s miraculous work, it was time. I swear that every gastroenterologist should be required to say, “Up Periscope” when they begin a colonoscopy. It would be so appropriate.
After the doc finished violating me, I was wheeled back to post-op until I could stand up and the room wasn’t doing cartwheels.
How did things turn out? Well, you’re just gonna have to wait on that. After all, I’m gonna need a topic for another post!
People keep saying that “Life is a Journey”! The object being that we should savor the moments as they come to us. “Stop and smell the roses,” they tell us. It’s all part of the “journey.” To be sure, I really like that metaphor. It clears my head of any illusions that I have somehow made it to some terminus or completion. There is always another step to take; another rock to step over. Along the way there are people, places, and events that affect us. Some for the good. Some for ill. In either case, our journey continues, helped or hindered, until we walk on from this world into the next.
Julia Cameron has been one of those people who has been a boon to me on my journey. Many years ago I came across on of her 40 odd books entitled, “The Artist’s Way: A Spiritual Path to Higher Creativity.” The book is like so many others the have been written to help creative people do what they are called to do…Create. Julia’s book arrived in my life at a time when I was struggling with my own creative direction. I am a musician. Have been for nearly my entire life. I spent a lot of time in various bands playing all kinds of music. From garage parties to venues seating thousands and everywhere in between. However, at a particular point in my life, I noticed that the music had gone. Just up and disappeared. I don’t know where it went. Maybe someday I’ll find it again. I did find something else, though. When I was in seminary I found that I could put words to paper. Not just jotting random characters to fill page count requirements.I could mold and fashion them. I was what some people call an aspiring Wordsmith. So, I wrote. I wrote papers and essays. I began this blog. I journaled as part of my daily devotional practices. But, I was also unskilled in the craft of writing. I wasn’t sure where the inspiration for consistent writing came from.
Enter Julia’s book!
It appeared at the right time. Julia took me by the hand and led me forward until the weeds cleared a bit and I could begin to make out the path ahead. So, first of all… Thank You, Julia! Your words helped to prod me forward on this Artist’s Way. I hope that I can continue treading on it until my feet grow too weary to carry me. Then, I will crawl until my hands and knees give out.
There are still times, though, when it seems that the words are gone. I look for that Creative Stream that courses through the Cosmos so that I can dip my toe into its living waters. Yet, it is nowhere to be seen. Those are the days when I must press on anyway. Pull out the machete and hack at the brush and weeds to find my way forward. One tool that I have developed to do that is called, “Letters to Julia.” During my morning quiet time I purpose myself to write in my journal. My goal is to fill at least three pages with whatever comes to mind. Most mornings are filled with reflections and prayers. My deepest thoughts, fears, and joys find their way to these pages. But, on those days when my brain is foggy or I am unable to put to cogent words together, I write a letter.
Dear Julia… I begin. Then, I tell her what’s going on in my life. I share some of my thoughts and concerns. I tell her about the weather in Northern Ohio. Nothing is out of bounds. And, the words begin to come. First, a trickle. Then, a small rivulet. Eventually there is a stream flowing from my heart, my mind, to my pen, and then the page.
After I walk on from this world, whoever may read the journals that I have filled will find many letters to Julia. She has been an ever present ally, mentor, inspiration, and friend on my life’s journey.
Over the millennia people have tried to figure out what God is like. They argue about this attribute or that word in order to prove that their personal idea of Divinity is the most correct in the Whole Wide World. Systems have been contrived and erected for the sole purpose of explaining the inexplicable. Perhaps the greatest error of all is to think that we can glean reality from ancient texts that have no foundation in our own reality. (I’m looking at you Fundagelicals!) If God cannot be envisioned and understood within that context of our lived existence, then what good is it to even seek to know anything about this God? It seems an exercise in self-aggrandizement. Perhaps, it’s more appropriate to try to understand the Divine through a process of negation. What is God NOT like? What are NOT divine attributes? At the end of that exercise we may have, instead of a God-In-The-Box of our own thinking, a God who has infinite possibilities to Be and Exist in an ever more complex Cosmos.
With that said…
God is NOT sitting in front of God’s computer with a finger hovering over the “Smite” key. In other words, God does not kill. Period. God does not cause earthquakes, famines, droughts, hurricanes, tornadoes, or any other natural disaster. They’re called NATURAL disasters! They are not called SUPER-Natural disasters. What may have appeared as a divine intervention 2,500 years ago has been proven to be the result of conditions that appear in our natural world. Plate tectonics, weather systems interacting with oceans and heat from our Sun, and other phenomena are the cause. Not some kind of Divine anger.
God is NOT the cause of diseases and plagues that sicken and kill people. Again, something that our ancient forebears credited to God, or the gods, has been proven to be caused by natural agents. It is called “Evolution.” Viruses and bacteria have evolved over hundreds of millions of years to attach themselves to other living organisms in order to survive. The results are usually benign and symbiotic. Sometimes, however, they are not and illnesses result. Perfectly natural. God’s not sitting on some Cosmic throne saying, “Take that, you sinful humans!” No, if anything, God is Present to comfort and heal those afflicted by these diseases.
God is NOT a Cosmic Killjoy. God doesn’t get the Divine rocks off by decreeing that everything that could possibly be pleasurable is a Sin that God is only too happy to punish. People who find pleasure in being human, who enjoy life and love with one another, cause God to be pleased as well. For those who hold the position that God somehow cracked the code to become Incarnate, this should be no surprise. In the life of Jesus God experienced Being Human. Church people don’t discuss this too much. They’re usually too worried about maintaining control over people’s minds and bodies. But, it only makes sense that God learned about the human condition by Becoming Human. You know that fear that you experience? Jesus experienced fear. God gets it. The pleasure of human affection and touch is part of God’s own Felt Reality. Anger? Yep, God understands. Hurt, sickness, hunger and thirst are all things that God experienced through the life of Jesus from Nazareth. And, like the writer of Genesis recorded, “And, God saw that it was Very Good.”
God does NOT play favorites. This is really basic. God doesn’t care whether you are Buddhist, Hindu, Muslim, Jewish, Jain, or none of the above. All are loved and welcomed. This is the part that sectarian folks don’t want you to know, however. All are welcomed, JUST AS THEY ARE! There is no reason to change our basic selves or beliefs in order to be part of Team God. God seems to desire that we become more ‘divine’ in how we relate with one another and the Cosmos around us.
We all like to think that we are on the winning team. So, we erect boundaries to define who we are in opposition to those who are Not Us. It’s only natural, then, that we use this same idea of separation and exclusion to define God. The problem with that is, God won’t play along with us. God seems to be more interested in our relationships with each other, the planet, and ALL who we might consider “Other.” Perhaps we are all part of God’s process of Creation in some way. Perhaps we’ve got to be active in our pursuit of a World where we accept who and what we are. We are Natural and we share in all things Natural. In a way, we are also Divine. I think that God has somehow been wired into our DNA in such a way that we can truly be called Made in the Image of God, or Ikons of God.
Is there a new step in our evolution waiting at the door? Are we destined to become something more like Homo Empathicus?
I came across that hashtag on twitter yesterday. Since I am one, I decided to see where it would lead. To say that I was unprepared for what I read would be understating things. The amount of hurt and anger radiating from these tweets would rival the sun’s heat. I was truly taken by surprise.
I didn’t experience the same emotions that many of these other adoptees did. As I reflect back on my childhood, I really don’t know why I didn’t have those feelings.
Abandonment. Loneliness. Isolation.
Perhaps my adoptive parents were just different than others. Maybe they cared enough that I didn’t consider myself anything less than their son. Even though they never hid the fact that I was adopted, they always treated me like their own. So, maybe I was special in that regard. I grew up with nothing but gratitude to them for giving me a chance at a good life.
I do remember asking about my birth parents. What I don’t remember are answers to that. Like many of the folks tweeting about this, my adoptive parents deflected that question. They tried to get me to focus on what I had with them. Not what I might have had in another life. I really can’t blame them too much for that. They had feelings that they wanted to protect. I suppose the prospect of rejection from the person that they felt they had sacrificed so much for was difficult for them. You see, my adoptive parents had tried for nearly a decade to have a child of their own. Physical issues didn’t allow that. They wanted to have children, though. So, they took the only avenue that was open to them. Adoption. For that, I should be grateful, I guess.
There was something missing, though. As a young child I had no idea what that was. I had neither the ability to process those feelings, nor the language to express them. So, for the most part, I stuffed them. I remember when I was 12 I was talking to friend who was also an adoptee. When I shared some of my regrets at not knowing anything about my birth parents, he told me not to think about them. His feeling was that his birth parents didn’t love him enough to keep him. So, screw them. They weren’t worth the effort to even consider. I accepted his logic. Hey, it made sense to 12 year old me!
And, I lived with that assessment. I never gave my birth parents another thought. Yeah, I was reminded that I was a type of singularity with no roots every time I went to the doctor and had to answer the question about family traits with, “I’m adopted.” But, even that became a point of pride with me. It made the doctor squirm a bit. I liked that.
When I got married I suppose my wife and I discussed the fact that we had no idea what kind of genetic issues might lie hidden in my closed adoption records. But, we didn’t let that stop us from bring new life of our own into the world. Yeah, it might have been helpful. We realized, though, that even in the most solid families with a great pedigree having children can be a crapshoot. Likewise, birth families with a history of physical and mental issues can produce a perfectly well-adjusted child. As they say, There are no guarantees.
What changed the equation for me was the night I received a phone call. The person on the other end introduced himself as the husband of my sister. Hmmm…I don’t have a sister. Or, do I? My first inclination was that this was a scam of some sort. Even though the voice gave me all sorts of details about the person he said was my birth mother, I had no way to corroborate those. I knew nothing about her.
We met that evening. I took my wife and we drove to the place that we had arranged. When we walked in I spotted them immediately. Over in the corner of the restaurant was a young woman who was more frightened than any deer caught in headlights. Yep! That’s her! We sat down and introductions were made all the way round.
The story of their surprise trip was, well, interesting. It turns out that our mother was emotionally handicapped. At some point she was, as my newly minted brother-in-law said, “Taken advantage of” by an older man. Voila! Enter Me. Our mother was living with her parents who were apparently abusive. They force her to give me up. Now, we need to understand that in the year that I was born was during a time when abortion was illegal. Mothers of children born in our circumstances were shunned and treated like whores. The social stigma of this was a price too high for them to pay.
So, I was placed in some kind of orphanage. At least,that’s what I was told. When I was 6 months old, my adoptive parents entered. I had a rather pronounced birthmark on my upper lip. So, at that time I was considered “handicapped.” That didn’t stop this couple from taking me in as their own. Again, I should be grateful. I could have easily languished in “The System” for years. But, I was placed in a warm and loving home. And, I never really looked back.
After I met my sister, the time came for me to meet my birth mother. You see, the whole reason that my sister tracked me down was because our mother, besides her disability, was overcome with remorse for her lost son. She lamented the choice that had been made for her by her parents. So, my sister and her then husband thought that if they could locate me that would bring some closure and peace to our mother. So, we drove to their place and met her. The meeting was good, I think. Our mother was overjoyed at finally finding me. We did all of the first time meeting stuff with hugs all around and tears and all of that. We set up a time for them to come to our place and visit.
Then, I told my adoptive parents what was happening. I’m not sure what they felt. Hurt? Anger? Fear? All of the above. My mom said that she had feared this day. She asked question about what I had learned. When I answered them, she admitted that she knew the answers were correct because she had the documentation that identified my birth mother. She had my original birth certificate with the name that my birth mother had originally given me. She knew these things and never told them to me. Again, I can understand her actions. I get it. I’m not sure that I will ever agree with them, though.
Be that as it may, this is the life I’ve been given. I have no choice but to accept it an get on with it. And, it has been a good life over all.
There were things, though, that didn’t seem to add up. So, I began to seek counselling. Over the years those folks I talked to have all stopped when I told them of my adoption. All of them point to that one event as being the primary shaper of who I am. And, in every case, I doubted them. After all, I was only 6 months old! How much could that short time be problematic?
Well, apparently a lot. The lack of emotional connection in the earliest DAYS of life can have devastating effects on a person. How? In my case it is most pronounced in my own inability to form and maintain any close emotional connections with others. This has snowballed into people considering me aloof, selfish, closed, and distant. And, people are right! I am all of those. And, more.
Are they a result of my separation and disconnect from my birth mother? Maybe. Or, do they have their roots in the fact that my adoptive dad was also aloof and seemingly unable to make deep emotional connections? Maybe, I got hit with a double-whammy!
In any case, here I am over six decades later still wondering…still imagining.
Will anything be proven by anger, hurt, or any other negative feelings toward either my adoptive parents or my birth mother? Oh, hell no. That would only amount to me punishing me for something that I had no control over.
All I can really do is try to live into the life that I have created with my wife and our family. No, I don’t do it all that well. Like I said, close emotional bonds are not something that I am capable of. But, I can’t blame those who came before me for what I have done with the raw materials that I was given by means of both nature and nurture.
