My Story: In several Parts

I was born a LONG time ago...(more than half a century does seem like a long time some how) to a young married couple who had been married 11 months. They hadn't planned to have children for 2 years. (My sister was born 13 months after me -- before their second anniversary.)My dad was a graduate student when I was born and a medical student when my sister was born. My parents were living on borrowed money. My mother used to tell me, "We loved you, but we didn't want you." Fast forward...I grew up and went to college myself. In my junior year I had a sexual relationship with a friend that ended in my getting pregnant. (Mostly because I kept telling myself I was going to say no the next time and so didn't put myself on birth control.) The month (Jan 1972) I got pregnant I was avoiding my room because my roommate was having a rough time (and thus difficult to spend time with) because her boyfriend had flunked out. It didn't help when he came back and spent the weekend with another girl! Most of the time I was with J, I listened to him talk about how he was going to propose to E when she got back to campus (she was studying abroad). Needless to say, I didn't tell him I was pregnant. (Of course, I didn't even admit it to myself for a LONG time. Denial is a wonderful thing.) After the spring term I went home and worked in the hospital kitchen like always. Mom noticed I wasn't having a period and tackled me about it at the end of July or beginning of August. (I had already paid the tuition bill for the fall term.) It wasn't too hard to hide because I had lost about 40 pounds the year before I got pregnant and it just seemed I was gaining back the weight. When I admitted that I was pregnant my parents (though disappointed) asked me where I wanted to have the baby and Dad set up the doctor's appointment. We talked with my advisor at school and with one of the counselors to make sure I could stay in school. I had to tell each of my profs and make sure it was ok that I would miss about 2 weeks of classes. (I went to the hospital with a suitcase of clothes and books.) It was actually rather funny -- the school counselor sort-of rubbed his hands together and said, ah, a test case! It seems I was the first to get pregnant and not either drop out of school or have an abortion. My mother commented that it wasn't a fair test since when I made up my mind I was going to do something I did it. So, I started the fall term. I went to classes (avoiding contact with most people). I shared an apartment with a married couple my senior year so had lots of opportunity to avoid groups of people (dining hall, etc.) It was like there was a conspiracy of silence about my pregnancy. I went to my doctor appointments and got a crash course on labor and delivery. (I actually found it rather amusing - it was like, "the topic for today is...") They set me up with the agency for adoption. I had "counseling" from the sw (She wanted to know what my parents thought about the pregnancy and adoption. I thought she should ask them!) My mother offered to keep the baby until I graduated and got a job - my Dad thought adoption was a better plan. As I wrote in one of my postings recently, either way the baby wouldn't have been mine. If I'd kept him Mom would have taken him over and even if I eventually had custody of him I would have had her trying to take over all the time. I chose adoption because a) I didn't want my mom to raise him; b) I knew I couldn't raise him without saying something similar to my mom's "I loved you but didn't want you" (and knowing that Mom came close to emotional and physical abuse when she was stressed and being afraid I'd do the same); c) I believed that every child deserves to be wanted and to have two parents. If I'm brutally honest, feelings of shame and a desire to put the whole thing behind me and get on with my life (yeah, right!) also played into it. (As I keep writing in the various threads... I made what I felt was the best decision at the time, and now I trust God's grace to live with it.) I can not honestly say I was forced into adoption. I was convinced that it was the best answer at the time. My husband John and I were dating when I gave birth. My parents had dinner with his parents to make sure they were aware of the whole situation. (Aargh!) If fact, he drove me from my apartment to my parent's home when I went into labor (the day after the doctor told me it would be at least 2 more weeks). It always amused me when people asked if John knew -- he stayed at my home till I went into the hospital and I was throwing up most of the time. Mother would not let John go along to the hospital or come see me because of "what people would say." At the hospital I asked only for medication to stop me from throwing up. Of course, being the early 70's, they basically knocked me out for the actual birth. My instructions when I lost consciousness were to push; so when I came to, I thought I was still pushing. I got yelled at by the doctor who was trying to sew me up. David weighed 6 pounds, 4 ounces. He was born on my 21st birthday. He had already been removed from the delivery room when I regained consciousness. I was in a semi-private room. My roommate had given birth to a 9 pound baby who was brought in to her at regular intervals. She of course had lots of company. I tried to do schoolwork! My mother and I walked down to see the baby in the nursery one night. (Dad disapproved - he thought we (I) would get too attached.) I knew before I left the hospital that David would be going to a couple in their late 20's. The husband was a "mainline" pastor and the wife was a social worker (let's talk about social workers sometime!). I assumed that he would go immediately and didn't understand that they would not get him until after I signed the final papers. (He was born the 4th, they got him the 31st.) I insisted on seeing him before I signed the final papers. (Panic in the ranks!) It was the only time I held him. I got to feed him. He fell asleep in my arms. The girl friend who went with me commented he looked just like George (her husband) when he was asleep. Boy did that get a funny look from the social worker! (George not being the name on the birth certificate.) LOL I signed the papers, went back to school, and "got on with my life." I graduated from college and John and I got married the summer after graduation. My husband got a job teaching and we moved 75 miles from the town where I grew up.